Since the time I learned my ABC's, I was a writer and a liar.
What I mean is: As soon as I knew how to somewhat sound out words, I'd scribble lies in my diary - pretend that I was someone else; create fantastical stories about my fictional life; say and do things on those pages that were not happening in reality.
Perhaps this is why writing has always appealed to me. When things aren't going my way, I can create a superhero-esque me and soar above the mundane realities of life.
I remember the excitement, for example, I felt the first time I was "published." It was second grade and my teacher Mrs. Holden instructed the class to write stories that she would later comprise into Xeroxed and laminated books for us all (I think I wrote about me getting straight A's and talking to a boy I liked).
When I flipped the cover to find that my story - my name - was first, waves of satisfaction rolled through me. Granted, this didn't mean that my story was the best. But in my child's mind, this gave my writing merit.
Here's another good story:
Since moving down to New York City four months ago, I contacted over a dozen publications in the hopes of breaking into the writing scene. After endless hours crafting column proposals, conducting interviews for potentially-publishable articles, and seeking out the "right people's" contact information, two weeks ago I received two responses back from: The Village Voice (a newspaper that introduces "free-form, high-spirited and passionate journalism into the public discourse") and The New Yorker.
After carefully weighing my options, I decided to take up the former publication's offer of writing a weekly column about being a newcomer to NYC. In my spare time, I will freelance articles for the latter magazine.
Luckily, writing for these two publications has made me financially secure so I can quit my job as a laser hair removal technician. I put my two-week notice in last week, and will be finishing out this upcoming week before I come home for Christmas.
New York University has been going well also. When I registered for my spring classes - which will commence the second week of January - I was offered the position of graduate assistant for the women's studies program. Happily, this will cover the costs of my remaining tuition.
Now, all the money I do make can go to paying off rent and old school loans.
Mundane reality: I have contacted over a dozen publications since moving to the city. But I have not received responses back from any of the publications I have applied to in Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan. I was given the email of Judith Regan (a notorious editor and book publisher, who became famous for pioneering the publishing of celebrity autobiographies). But like all the other editors, she has not gotten back to me either.
I am still a laser hair removal technician. Because of the still-sinking economy, fewer and fewer people have extra money to spend on such luxury splurges. Therefore, everyone's hours were cut at work - I'm only working three days per week. I've been applying for serving and bartending positions, but no one is hiring.
Almost everyone I know in the city has been laid off or has had their hours cut.
New York University was put on the backburner this past semester - I had to concentrate on earning income in order to survive in the city and wanted to concentrate on my writing. I will be starting in January, but I have not been offered any internships, and will therefore add these loans to my pile of other loans.
One of my favorite poets, Robert Frost, wrote, "The best way out is always through."
I know that I will make it through.
I'm still trying to figure out if I believe this or if it's just another good story.
Sarah T. Schwab is a Sunday OBSERVER contributor. View her Web site at www.sarahtschwab.com and send comments to editorial@observertoday.com