child Archives - American Wordsmith

On Adaptability and Resilience

Never have I felt more like a woman than now. I wrote a piece a few months ago, entitled “Race and Gender Do Not Matter,” which was not very popular. So, I think I should clarify. While I still don’t believe either matter when it comes to one’s career, gender certainly has its role in the family dynamic. I do believe that the traditional nuclear family is the best. Like the story of Adam and Eve, if anyone grows a human from a rib, it’s Eve and not Adam. I just learned that the cells of the mother stay in the baby for years after birth and the baby’s cells stay in the mother as well. They are truly a part of your body, blood of your blood. Every day my body has gone through these incredible changes, and I’ve heard that successfully giving birth will be my ultimate act as a woman.

I’m not even there yet, but I am so excited (and nervous) about what lies ahead. How much will I feel that nurturing sensation toward my baby while breastfeeding? Will my heart explode with love? How integral is this whole experience to my understanding of the world as a female human being? In order to get there, however, I realize that I must adapt and cope with these constant changes. Women amaze me in their ability to adapt and become resilient through pregnancy and postpartum. Heck, even dealing with a period at such an early age forces girls to mature into women much faster than their male counterparts. Our bodies are like the metaphorical caterpillar turning into the envied butterfly once we become mothers. Somehow, a woman, stretch marks and all, becomes even more beautiful when she cares for her newborn so sweetly. Femininity is linked to gentleness and grace. And I am beginning to see that mothers have that extra touch of it once they have completed their full metamorphosis.

I already believe that there is something vital in a woman having a child and understanding herself even more than before. Like, “Ah, now I know why those breasts are there.” Or, “Oh, yes, I can see why all women waddle around like that in the third trimester with their hands on their bellies or backs.” Even, “This is how much I love what is mine: wholly, deeply, selfishly.” You cannot have those feelings or thoughts without experiencing them. Now, I’m not saying that you understanding yourself better is a good enough reason to have a baby, but I certainly think that if you are also excited about the prospect of spending the time, the precious moments, and generally slowing down in life with a baby, then it is worthwhile.

I truly hope to slow down in my life. I tried doing that with each “book baby” (and will continue to in the future, don’t worry). But at this time in my life, I want to taste life twice with my own baby. I want to feel like the world is new and fresh again. I want my creative spark to light up once more, not from fear but from sheer wonder. And every day that they learn something new, I want to see it reflected in my baby’s face and bask in its glow. That, I hope, will bring even more meaning and purpose to my life on this benevolent planet.

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Links: https://harvardartmuseums.org/collections/object/230156; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZWZTyOWO3c&ab_channel=TheAtheistNun

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Views Expressed Disclaimer: The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent the postings, strategies, or opinions of American Wordsmith, LLC. Please also know that while I consider myself an Objectivist and my work is inspired by Objectivism, it is not nor should it be considered Objectivist since I am not the creator of the philosophy. For more information about Ayn Rand’s philosophy visit: aynrand.org.

Creating a Lifestyle Worth Living

As I approach my thirties, I have come to truly learn what kind of job I can not only handle but not dread from day to day. From micromanaging bosses to the gossip around the watercooler, I have not looked back since choosing to go freelance. I worked during college at my school’s private library for four years as a part-time student assistant, then as a receptionist in a law firm, and finally as a library assistant in a public library before being fed up with the pace and lifestyle those kinds of jobs made for me.

I have always been self-driven and goal-directed without the “helpful push” of a boss. I have always been my own boss. (My carefully filled-out agenda each school year would tell you as much). And with this personality came the difficulty of watching my peers slack off and enjoy standing still in their jobs while I felt like I was suffocating. Once I had paid off my student loans in about five years, I resigned from my last employee-centered job and went full-time freelance.

I began my freelance proofreading journey by taking the Proofread Anywhere course in 2017, and by 2018, I had completed the exam successfully. At this time, I was a receptionist at a law firm because the law had always interested me. My philosophy professors in college certainly pushed their students into law during my time there. It was considered a more “practical job” over becoming a philosopher, I suppose.

Proofreading has now become my longest-held job, and I have no plans to quit now. To me, typos had always jumped out on the page while reading books or other people’s papers. Perhaps I can thank my mother and father for reading to me at an early age and allowing me to challenge myself with more difficult reading material. My mother was also a writer and her day job consisted of copywriting for publishing houses, and my father wrote poetry for pleasure. Words were always a part of my world.

As a child, I loved holding my younger brother hostage, reading out loud from any book I could get my hands on. I would read for hours until my voice gave out. All of those moments of getting lost in a book, listening to the cadence of my voice rising and falling like waves, were so deliciously addictive. Nothing interested me more than continuing to read…and I still feel the same way.

With copious amounts of reading blossoms a desire for quiet, space, and routine. I grew accustomed to sitting in my home alone in silence and maximizing my time to accommodate more reading. This lifestyle translated extremely well into becoming a remote proofreader. I pull up the chair to my desk with my rather small laptop open on it, sitting in the quiet and reading most of my transcripts and manuscripts out loud. The lull of my voice carries the words back into my head, tripping an alarm every time I come across an error or something that simply does not sound or look right.

I usually have a split screen between the piece I’m proofreading and the Internet or a style guide sheet. Usually, reference books are strewn around me on various tables to my left and right. The thing about proofreading is that you have all the answers at your fingertips—you just have to know where to quickly search for them. Decision fatigue sets in after answering a million questions that crop up after reading every sentence with so much care. This is why I am being paid to do it. Proofreading can cause headaches, eyestrain, and fatigue. I have experienced it all. But I am good at it, and, while it is hard work, I love it.

Opening up a fresh transcript from a court reporter, I learn so much about any number of topics. I always wanted to learn everything growing up, and since we have yet to produce a chip to insert into our brains, I have had to spend time reading to learn. My desire to know more is not hindered by my job now—it is quenched. I learn new legal terms in Latin or medical terms or criminal slang on any given day.

When a publishing company asked me to copyedit and/or proofread for them a few years into my proofreading career, I paused. In college, we had creative writing workshops which were essentially learning to give editorial advice on everything from developmental, structural, and grammatical aspects. And I loathed it. Why? Sadly, the culture in this country, especially in the universities, is one of liberal, collectivist thought. I disagreed to my core with most of the stories. The fictional pieces were filled with things the college students had read in their other classes or filled with childish clichés from a lack of reading enough or riddled with grammatical errors that were acceptable to pass off as a “stylistic choice” thanks to modern writers everywhere. Not only was editing not appealing to me, but freelance writing and journalism paid for writers to produce work for businesses and products that I did not care about. My words (and brainpower) felt too precious to waste on those challenging jobs, writing was already hard enough.

My college days taught me that I would never be able to become a professor, though I loved learning, or an editor, though I loved writing, or a traditionally published author, though I knew my writing was good enough. My choices were made and shaped so much by this culture. But without feeling too much pity for myself, I decided that I still wanted to live a happy life on this earth right here and now.

So I pulled away from the “traditional 9–5” in exchange for the atypical freelance life. I took control of who I interacted with on a daily basis, which mostly consists now of my husband, family, and friends. I behave with the proper etiquette to all strangers I meet, but I do not engage any more than I need to. I guard my time carefully, and I devote myself to the most black-and-white type of work possible in the writing world: proofreading.

In another blog post, I wrote about how I considered proofreading a skill, calligraphy a craft, and writing an art. I wrote the novels that were in my soul when they needed to be written and put them out into the world myself. I practiced calligraphy after a long workday to help free my mind from the meaning of words to focus more on the beautiful shapes they made instead. (Plus, I had always wanted my cursive to look like my mother’s when I was young). However, in the spirit of transparency, living in Iowa and in this dormant age, the royalty checks are not large enough and the calligraphy clients are few and far between. Most of my money comes from proofreading alone.

While I struggle financially, I am not a “starving artist” thanks to the help of my wonderful husband. I surely help supplement our family income, but I am not at all the breadwinner. I am learning to be okay with my status, investing myself in more of the domestic duties around the home while continuing to learn as much as I can, since knowledge means much more to me than wealth. In a proper society, the value that I produce would bring me the appropriate amount of money, but this is not a healthy period. I acknowledged this reality, and so I adapted my life accordingly.

I continue to incorporate my skill, craft, and art into my daily life, and it is not something I ever plan to retire from. I won my freedom back from a school system that expected us to conform to the traditional workforce. I have created a life that I feel good about. And with my husband and me beginning to plan for children, I can stay at home with them in the future while working. A new chapter of my life is beginning and, for once, I feel grounded and in control of it.

My hope is more people think critically about the work that would fit best with their own personality and lifestyle. I realize that my path of being very much a homebody and self-directed is not for everyone. But it is what makes me happy. What makes you happy? If you had all the free time in the world, what would you do with your time? Is there a way you can monetize your passion for something? Go out there and create the world you want to live in, even if that is only within your own four walls.

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Why Did I Write The Dormant Age?

***WARNING: SPOILERS***

I essentially wrote The Dormant Age as a way to praise and commemorate my lifelong hobby as well as a critique on modern ballet and its destructive ways.

Madame Roberts is clearly the good foil to the bad Madame Angulaire. She teaches her students not only ballet but how to live with grace throughout life—from youth (Dawn) to old age (Natalie).

The main launching point for the conflict came from a college course (of course) called, Meaning and Purpose of the Arts, where I was introduced for the first time to Martha Graham’s work. I will never forget the day when I watched that video of her thrusting herself to and fro in that ridiculous and ugly purple tube of fabric to the choppy, sporadic sounds of the piano (Lamentation, 1930). Ballet requires music, otherwise it is just pantomime or without movement it is no longer dance. But even the music deteriorated into irrational bits, screeching out with no rhyme or reason. The whole scene felt like some sick charade. I wanted to scream in the middle of class I was so angry. My body shook as if I had been slapped violently across the face, or as if my professor had spit on me for daring to believe that classical ballet was beautiful, something above the rest, when I should be wriggling in the ground like a worm.

The way I knew ballet was as a set of purposeful movements aimed at ennobling Man. Dance was not meant to show him ugly and weak and utterly irrational. Yet, here before me was a dancer trying to turn the art I knew and loved and honored into garbage.

So, I wrote about how our “modern art” movement is destroying the simple line. There is nothing wrong with this line. People just want to be different and get their doctorates based off of lies. The post-modern movement in art means doing the exact opposite of anything classical. It is upholding death over life.

Already being a staunch Objectivist, I could feel the evil in that classroom that day. The book idea was clear to me then, only earning my degree and then earning enough money pushed back the writing work until recently.

Classical ballet is all about growing up learning to refine one’s movements, to take hold of the subtle changes in the body. A child has minor control over their mind and body, but an adult controls both. The ideal Man has grace and poise—utter control—over his entire being. (Remember Tolstoy’s line about how bad families are equivalent to how many bad philosophies there are out there versus the few good ones). Classical ballet upholds a good, rational culture, while modern ballet seeks to destroy it and leaves nothing in its place.

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On Gratitude and Attention to Detail Using a Writer’s Microscope

I have been highly sensitive to my surroundings since I can remember and this contributes to my writerly perspective. There has always been this kind of narrative voice inside my head, which comes out whenever I focus my eye on something for a while. As a child, car trips often threw me into a state of contemplation all before sleep won over my heavy lids.

Though being sensitive to everything has contributed to my struggles with anxiety, I do believe that most people could benefit from trying on the writer’s perspective on the world from time to time. I truly believe that savoring moments in life comes from being more sensitive to little, everyday things. After all, I consider that “this is it” so you may as well suck all the pleasure you can get from life’s marrow. Go look outside at each uniquely designed snowflake when it snows in winter, breathe in heavily the cool spring’s morning air, caress new buds blossoming in summer, traipse through the crunchy leaves as they fall in autumn.

I like to think of my writing as using a microscope to look at daily life. Everything I do throughout the day is not just “boring chores” or “simple cooking,” rather it’s being surprised by new spider webs to dust away or being gently warmed by the oven baking some potatoes for dinner. Life is so much richer when you open yourself up to it. Become as vulnerable as a poet or, as the metaphor stands, a priest. Learn gratitude through a writer’s perspective of the world and live more slowly.

Ayn Rand taught me to look at the world benevolently with a sense of life that worships Man. In reality, I find that my sentiments look a whole lot like many of the “slow living” and “cottagecore” and “romanticize autumn” videos out there online, only my work does not end with a biblical quote. For I do not believe that a god creates things, you do.

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On the Reader

I grew up with sensitive parents who each dealt with their own set of mental health difficulties. While I felt their love and affection during my key years of development, by seven, divorce shook my family to its core, and by eleven, death had riven it asunder. I would never be the same again and I was forced early on into the philosophical conundrum of asking “why?” Why did my mother have to die so young? Why do I deserve this suffering? Why can’t my family get along? Why is life so difficult?

Books became my way of searching for the “why” to life. It was the only way I knew how to do research. My parents both read and wrote, and so I became familiar early on with the concept of reading and escaping and learning and knowing through the page. I learned that reading and writing were my strengths throughout school as well.

That is why surface-level stories have not interested me since elementary school, when every book on the shelf felt like a gift or a piece of candy. But today, especially with so much out there, I do not have time for stories that are simply meant to entertain—not that there is anything immoral about them. But I have always wanted to learn how to be happy. I have always read literature with a purpose in mind, which is why I take it so seriously. How do I find happiness? I took the good and bad stories as a guide for what I should and should not do in order to be happy. And to do that, I had to judge.

I have learned so much more about humanity through literary fiction than any therapy session or movie or lecture in school. By asking myself why does the character behave that way, I can have a dialogue with the writer through their story. I can walk in those proverbial shoes of another human being to discover new things about myself and my own life story.

So there has always been this fire in my belly to know—to read and then compare that created world of the authors to my personal experience. Nothing will get you further in life than being honest with yourself first and foremost, and that it what I love the most about my parents. For I think they were each brutally honest with themselves and the world they lived in. I learned to never stray from taking an honest look at myself, which is what a writer must be: brutally honest with themselves and the world they live in.

Therefore, I hope that it has become clearer to you why I do not feel I have the time to read “genre fiction” but only “literary fiction.” It is not because I am being snobbish; it is because I need answers to live. If I didn’t have access to all the classics I have read thus far, then I may have suffocated a long time ago. For, you see, as a child who had no control over my external circumstances, something had to be under my control and I needed to know that life would get better and that I could make it so.

My reading and searching and effort paid off when I found the philosophy for living a happy life on earth, Ayn Rand’s Objectivism. It gave me the secular kind of morality that I was searching for and the control I craved to steer my newfound adult life into the light. She saved me from the gut-wrenching feeling I had whenever I left my humanities classes in high school but could never explain clearly. I was suffering from a public school system that rapidly became less about learning how this world works and more about how guilty I should feel for even breathing. The message of guilt only heightened in degree in college until I had to find more of a concrete link to Objectivism through the Ayn Rand Institute and all they had to offer.

High school and college life made me feel like that out-of-control child, where life was determined and I had to succumb to a fate where life was “nasty, brutish, and short” (Hobbes). I have felt existential dread before, but it was due to an entire educational system that, overall, refused to integrate. My supply of air was thinning out, and the anxiety beast inside of me rose up and fought to take over my life. After lots of therapy and medication and building up my adult life away from the school system, I am finally starting to feel like I am on stable ground again.

To me, good literature reveals truths about who we are as humans—from the best in us to the worst. In that sense, I agree with John Gardner who wrote On Moral Fiction. We need more moral fiction, not in the religious sense, but in the way that it can inspire and guide people toward virtue and against vice in order to attain happiness. Again, we have come to an age that no longer needs religion, but it most certainly still needs a moral code. Ayn Rand gave us a philosophical framework to live by such values but now, I believe, people need to see a barrage of examples of secular-based morality.

Sadly, people still believe that morality is inextricably linked to Judeo-Christian beliefs. But people must live according to the laws of reality or else they will die. And, again, going back to the Tolstoyan idea, there are essentially so many ways to die and only one way to live. Maybe that’s why reading books with tragic endings raises the hairs on our heads, because we are learning how to avoid death. At least, that is how seriously I take my reading and writing endeavors, and I hope you will too.

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