It’s going to be okay, right?


I left childhood many years ago, followed paths that I thought were meant to bring me success and work satisfaction, and learned skilled that were supposed to bring some kind of fulfillment.

My lifelong quest has been a frantic chasing of the perfect balance between creativity and responsibility. Having someone take care of my bills while I chase creativity is a little distasteful, which always thrusts me towards responsibility. Except it is spiritually draining to sit in a room with stodgy authoritarians who perform tasks that high school drop-outs could easily complete, or managing clashing personalities who enjoy office/corporate drama. When faced with that, I am an optimist with soaring ambitions, whose inventiveness and creativity in this – brand new – field is going to change the World and finally change my life.

my youth was completely wasted on a lack of focus because of this teeter tottering between office stiff and frenzied creative energy, never settling comfortably in either one

On the other hand creativity on a growling stomach, with bills stacking into teetering piles on my desk, and the anxiety of looming failure and defeat, does not translate into success. My frazzled state of mind is unable to create anything that I enjoy, and the sparkle of optimism fades, slowly at first as I struggle with taming despair, then plummeting like a rock, into darkness, and a good old fashioned Netflix binge.

By the standard of many, my youth was completely wasted on a lack of focus because of this teeter tottering between office stiff and frenzied creative energy, never settling comfortably in either one. I’ve watched people build lives around children, husbands, careers, and never envied their lives, but I have envied their seeming satisfaction at having “arrived” in a comfortable place.

I’m still lost and trying to find my way to the thing I love most, creating something out of raw ideas in my mind and collecting skills that will make that happen. Maybe my personality can never be properly satisfied, so that I will be locked in this cycle for the rest of my life. Maybe that final push to stay hungry for a little while longer, is just over the horizon and will lead me to success.

However, right now I’ll finish packing my lunch and race for the huffing red and white bus that will transport me to the birthplace of Zombies, where a little bit of my soul will be sucked out.

Have a nice day folks!


When it is good to be a woman

The past few days have been almost whirlwind like. Finally, one of my projects is complete and I’m proud to share it with anyone who thinks things like these are totally cool.

In doing the research I needed to compile my super duper list of African authors, I came across the story of an Algerian author.

Yasmina Khadra (Arabic: ياسمينة خضراء‎, literally “green jasmine”) is the pen name of the Algerian author Mohammed Moulessehoul.
Moulessehoul, an officer in the Algerian army, adopted a woman’s pseudonym to avoid military censorship. Despite the publication of many successful novels in Algeria, Moulessehoul only revealed his true identity in 2001 after leaving the army and going into exile and seclusion in France. Anonymity was the only way for him to survive and avoid censorship during the Algerian Civil War. 
The irony of this is completely incredible!
For those who have not had the privilege of studying African literature, many authors from the 70’s were very vocal about corruption and the state of their countries. They were subsequently jailed, killed or forced into exile. This was about 10 years after Europeans decided it was time to stop fighting so hard to control people and give them their independence.
Almost every author I know who was sent into exile was a man and in reading Moulessehoul’s short biography, I see why. Maybe the words women wrote were not considered quite as powerful, or subversive. Even today women struggle trying to get their voices heard. They write and speak and invent titles meant to instigate others and force them into conversations about issues they find important.
On the other hand we have a man, using a woman’s name, in order to say what he wanted to say.
I wonder if this is still where we are. Ignoring female voices because their words do not weigh as much as a man’s words would. Maybe not.