"A hobby is hard work you wouldn't do for a living." - Author Unknown

Nominally, Waiting for My Cornbread is the manifestation of the random thoughts that bounce around in the recesses of my brain.  While I generally write with the purpose of entertaining, every now and then nuggets of insight and deeper thought will surface from one of those recesses.

This is one of those nuggets.




I took my first creative writing course my junior year in college.  It was the first time I had ever been asked to write anything other than the typical research paper, news story, or any other report typical of academic work.  I was enamoured with the idea of working with topics that interested me, not just the ones that were part of the curriculum.  This discovery opened the door for me to become a sports reporter for a small Philadelphia website that year and to write published pieces for a groom's magazine.  What quickly became clear to me while working on these projects was that I didn't enjoy them as much once expectations and deadlines became a part of my process. 

The way I see it, when you are pumping creative steam into a project and most of the parameters are defined by your overseer, the work is no longer yours.  You create it, your name is in the byline, but that work is now the property of another.  I'm aware that this reasoning may just be the materialization of my need to control situations (the main reason I don't like to fly), as I'm sure most - if not all - of the professional writers of the world could make a case to the contrary.  Once I came to grips with this, I realized that I could never be happy writing for a living or for anyone other than myself... and my loyal Cornbread readers, of course.

The joy of writing/blogging as a hobby is that I never have to cede control of my work to another.  I never have to meet the demands of anyone but myself.  I have complete creative control.  If I want to run this post today and another tomorrow about how Mr. Belding was the greatest pop-culture principal of all time, that's my choice.  I guess this is the feeling business owners have when they report to work every day.  I'm a firm believer that every person should not only have personal hobbies, but more importantly, a steady stream of working projects.  Hobbies are not projects by definition, but like the car enthusiast who decides to build his own hot rod, a worthy project is born from a healthy hobby.

I look at a good project in the same way I look at a good story; there is a linear structure leading to a satisfying conclusion.  But to reach that conclusion, a person must survive the journey.  Every thought that I feel is post-worthy becomes the start of a new adventure.  After I write the idea in my notebook (I've always kept notebooks) I begin what has now become my writing process:  I write the idea down on a blank sheet of paper, drawing lines connecting the topic to a thought or possible opening sentence to a paragraph.  I fill the page with more and more of these until I'm spent.  When I'm done, I number these satellites in order of priority.  I then open my MacBook, turn on the jazz piano station on iTunes Radio, fire up Blogger, start a new post, and let it rip.  Like a flavorful marinade, I let the words sit overnight.  The next morning I look over my work, curse at how terrible it is,  grunt in disgust for writing so late into the night (if you could only see the typos),  and then curse more as I begin to edit.  Editor's Note:  I'm cursing right now.

This is my process, and I'm learning to enjoy each step of it.  I'm beginning to adopt an appreciation for the journey in everything I do now, especially when writing.  For a long time, I only focused on the result when I wrote, mainly worrying about whether anyone would read my work and whether they'd like it if they did.  I have 78 total posts on Neighborhood Skeptic.  With the exception of "Ode to the Token Black Guy" and my rap translations, I hate every single one of them.  The only reason I haven't gone through and burned that blog to the ground is because it represents a snapshot of a period of my life, the representation of who I was at the time - an angry, profane, impatient man starving for acceptance.  It stands as my public journal, reminding myself of where I came from and allowing me to continue to grow.  Purging the whole thing would feel like removing a piece of myself.  The strange thing about Skeptic is that most people who read it really enjoyed it.

...and I think they're all insane.

But now that I'm learning to enjoy the process, I can produce what I like and not worry if someone loves, hates, or is apathetic to a post.  I understand that this is how anyone who creates for public consumption should approach their work.  It's cliche, but you can't please everyone.  One person may passionately hate your work, but another may list it as one of their all-time favorites.  It would be hypocritical of me not to subscribe to this, I loved Pootie Tang yet hated Bridesmaids.

Going forward, I'm doing what I can to generate readership for Cornbread.  But if the site doesn't grow beyond the couple dozen friends and family whom I know look forward to each post, then so be it.  They're my audience - but they aren't who I work for.  While I thoroughly enjoy the feedback I receive from my tens of readers, I do this for me.  The minute I start writing to appease what I think "the people" want, I forfeit everything that makes this entire venture so enjoyable.  One of the most important things any of us can do for ourselves is to find something we're passionate about, something that brings us joy, something that we always know we can turn to when everyone and everything else shuts us out - something that we'd do even after someone set us on fire and then forced us to watch a "Jersey Shore" marathon.  Once we find that thing, learn about it, let it grow inside you, cultivate it, and then release it to whoever will listen - even if that person is just yourself.  That passion is what will drive you to produce your best work and maybe even fill a void in your life like it has for me.

Sorry for sounding preachy, I had to get that out.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to start brainstorming about that Mr. Belding idea.