“I’m not a looser by no means.”

“Hear’s a picture.”

“about me romantic exelent kisser super nice person”

“Is 38 to old?”

“I’mam active duty marine”

The other lovely benefit of this is that I’m learning (albeit with some possible bumps along the way) how to make and publish and format an e-book. I expect the next attempt (which may be on the topics of taking your dog overseas, how to budget for backpacking in Europe or how to publish an e-book – that’s right: clever) to be even better.

Consequently, today is the first day in a long time that I feel time has slowed down. I’m sitting in my living room with no background noise and no agenda and nothing urgent that must be done right this second. It’s unusually quiet – in the house and in my mind. (And then, of course, right as I am typing this, Luna wakes up from her nap and lets out an alert bark for no reason at all. Or at least no reason that anyone cares about…possibly a dog being walked on our street or someone parking).

Hush, pup.

Back to silence. And thinking. And maybe doing a little reading. I did fall off the reading train a bit this month. Not that I haven’t been reading, but I haven’t been reading for pleasure so much as for research. Reading guidebooks and re-reading books about getting a visa in Europe and living abroad. But perhaps today I’ll get back to my novel: a thick book by Stephen Lawhead about Saint Patrick.

On another note, it’s been almost six months since I quit my full-time job. Lots of people (who are self-employed themselves) told me that once I quit things would fall into place, clients would come out of the woodwork, everything would work out. Back then, even though I knew I was going to do it, there was a little fear that things would be tight and tough and all work.

But those other self-employed people were right. When you take the leap and when you put yourself out there and when you love what you do and you do it well…when all of that happens, things just work. And I’ve been self-employed for six months. Still standing. Making new plans for big changes. Bringing into focus the vague dreams I had for a life of freedom–of living where I like and doing what I like and working on things that could change the world.

And now, in the quiet house, I think it’s time to take a hot bath and do some reading. Before all the clients get their files and data and contracts together (which tends to happen all at the same time – like a perfect storm every week).

Having said that, a plan is starting to form in my mind.

I’ve already sent the first few chapters to the agent whose feedback was so invaluable to me two years ago. She’s the one who liked my voice. She’s the one who told me to expand the story. And she has first dibs.

If the book isn’t a fit for her or her agency (for those of you who don’t know the agency world: they mostly focus themselves within certain genres, certain types of books, certain types of authors), then off it goes into the void of agents who don’t love my voice yet.

If all of this fails me, I might just self publish. Before, I would have seen this as a heartbreaking failure. I wasn’t publishing the book for me. It was for the masses! It was going to be my livelihood! It was going to let me travel to exotic bookstore locales and sign books for my adoring fans!

I don’t see it that way anymore, though. It’s my story. I want it told. I want people to read it. And however they get it is however they get it. If one person better understands the nature of love because of it, good. If one person who is lonely feels like they have someone who understands them because they read it (or, I daresay, feels like I do about Eat, Pray, Love…that Elizabeth Gilbert seems like an old friend, telling me a story), wonderful. If people can smile and laugh and have a better day because my life has been ridiculous, the book has done its job.

So, here’s the thought: if I don’t have an interested agent or publisher by the end of the year, I’m going to start doing research on self-publishing an e-book. Meaning that no matter what, those of you who have been patiently waiting for me to get my butt in gear and publish this sucker will get your wish. You will be able to read it sometime next year. Though who knows in what format.

.One.
After a long few weeks of working every day for varying amounts of time, I finally took almost three whole days off. I went to the gym. I replaced my embarrassingly holey tank tops at the mall (with BonBon as fashion support). I made shrimp sauted in truffle oil and covered in freshly grated pepper. That, my friends, is the good life.

.Two.
The second draft (and by second draft, I mean major rewrite that took the book from a 32,000-word short story extravaganza to a 70,000-word memoir. Still with lots of craziness. But now also with lots of heart. Today, I sent it off the the potentially-interested agent from two years ago. We’ll see if the interest has grown or faded in that time.

.Three.
Pookie the Raven introduced me to his handsome, kind, scruffy friend. Did I mention that he’s handsome? I win.

.Four.
After going through my wardrobe and significantly diminishing it by tossing out anything that looked garish, had holes, had stains or had been sitting for a year with the intention of finding a tailor, I found myself with very little to wear. For the past few weeks, this has been a source of stress for me, particularly as some of my staples (black tank tops and t-shirts) had made it into the toss-out bin due to holes. This week, I partially rectified the problem by replacing the tank tops (the rest of my wardrobe becomes so much more wearable when I have tops to wear under things!) and buying two cute little jackets.

I’m still holding out to replace the rest of what needs replacing (waiting until after my annual Naked Lady Party, which I’ve planned for early October – and waiting until this gym membership gets me in the shape I A. want to be in and B. can maintain). But at least I don’t have to run around naked. I consider this a win.

Perhaps it hadn’t really hit me yet because I wasn’t sure how things would go without a day job. Because I wasn’t sure where the leads would come from. Because, even though I’d taken every precaution, made smart decisions, kept my budget under tight control–even though I’d done all that, full-time contracting seemed like magic. Something outside my control.

I don’t really believe it was outside my control. But I guess it’s the same feeling you get when you graduate from college and start looking at taking on a job and fully supporting yourself, without student loans or grants or generous relatives. It feels surreal. Or it did for me.

And I suppose quitting my job felt pretty surreal too.

So, after several months of networking events and meetings and follow-up and snatching up projects, it finally hit me:

I’m doing this, really doing it. And it’s working.

Which means I’m free. Free to set my own schedule. Free to take an afternoon off (well, not in the past two whirlwind weeks, but you get the point). Free to use the gym in the middle of the day, when I don’t have to wait for the bike machine. Free to take on projects that I love. Free to live in a different city for a while.

I realized all this and I couldn’t stop smiling. I’m exactly where I want to be. Doing exactly what I want to do. How many people can say that? Particularly in their mid-twenties.

So, Wednesday, I decided to celebrate (not only because of my realization, but because I’d sent out the final of my urgent-urgent! projects that morning. I still had things to do with the rest of my week, but nothing that was going to hold things up if it wasn’t delivered right-now-oh-my-gosh.

Thus, I called up my girls and we headed up north to the tasty, tiny Italian pizzeria, Proto’s, in a hipster neighborhood just outside downtown. I ordered a tiny, thin-crust pizza with a rich, full-bodied red wine, then Gelatto covered in chocolate and espresso powder for dessert. And we talked and laughed. And I felt like I might just float away–with all the long hours and long revisions and deep budget cuts and self-made challenges finally being worth it.

We’re not out of the woods yet, for sure. Most businesses fail within the first two years. But, as the Gilmore Girls would say: and if we fail? It’ll be the best two years of our lives.

One of the things the conference had me contemplating was this: the vastly different paths we take to our careers. From this large sampling of content strategy practitioners and enthusiasts, you get backgrounds in writing, technical writing, design, user experience and information architecture. You get people who fell into the career accidentally because they could clearly see problems that no one else was willing to address. And people who fought tooth and nail to get into the industry–having to sell their bosses, clients and the senior management every step of the way.

And in thinking about this, I’m grateful.

For every step in the journey. Everything that seemed frustrating and pointless at the time–but has made me better now.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve started and ended in similar places. My first job in high school was as a webmaster for a church. Because I coded and managed the youth group’s website pro bono. And the pastor liked the work.

It was the first time I was paid to code and edit. And I loved it. Granted, I spent a significant amount of time clocked out and hanging out with the youth pastor. But still.

Then I went to college and got a creative writing degree. Amidst the “would you like fries with that” jokes.

And then I went into sales for a short time. Selling high-end furnishings and then managing the sales team, U.S. marketing materials (coming in from London and requiring some language shifting), customer service. Then the ad agency world, where I ran the customer support department for a content management system and wiggled my way into writing and auditing and editing and strategizing all content and social media.

It’s the sales and customer service roles that I look back on with a surprised gratefulness. Because what I do no– developing and improving the ways companies communicate online–benefits every day from the perspective of the customer. Those customers whose concerns and desires and hopes and frustrations I was so deeply involved in. Those customers who taught me to ask and test instead of assuming. Who taught me to put integrity and clarity before the pitch. Who taught me that the end of the world is usually fixed in less than an hour…so never panic.

So…to the companies that hired me to do sales and customer service: thank you. To those who turned me down for early writing jobs: it’s okay. Because all of it came together to make me a better content strategist, a better writer and a better entrepreneur.

Speaking of time to make lunch: today I was reading on the couch by 3:00. The fact that I had so much to do yesterday and this morning leaves me shaking my head (how was I juggling this and a full-time job?), but now that I’m self-employed, I have this amazing breathing room. This ability to snuggle up on my couch and read with a puppy in my lap at 3:00 in the afternoon. Which is, after all, the least productive part of my day. Give me a project in the morning and watch me devour it. Give me a project at 3:00 p.m. and watch me take a nap on it. You can see how making my own schedule will work out well.

Speaking of working out well, have I said how much I love my new house? How I love the wood floors and the fact that Luna has no breaking mechanism on wood floors and frequently runs into the couch on accident. How I love having my pictures back up on the wall–Venice, Florence, Cinque Terre all remembered in brilliant color. How I love my big back yard, where I sat for hours Sunday, drinking Chai tea, watching Luna run in random circles and watching episodes of Coupling on my computer. How much I love the cool bedroom with its two walk-in closets. And my sunny office, which happens to be the warmest room in the house.

I love the little things too: the mail slot and the tulips in the front yard and the mystery plant in the backyard and the clouds and sunshine painted on the garage door.

Luna likes it too. The minute I started working from home, she started eating pretty normally again. And her schedule, while still a little shaky, is getting more and more comfortable for us both. Except the wake-up-at-7-a.m. part. We’ll have to break her of that. 8 a.m. is just fine, thank you.

Anyway, all this to say, all is well. All is well.

In fact, I don’t have time to write this entry. Or any entries. For a while. Which is why I’m writing it now…to tell you not to expect much here until after the 15th. The 15th…the last day of Totally Overworked and Exhausted Gigi Who Boys Are Mean To.

Which makes the 16th the first day of Fabulously Self-Employed Gigi At Whose Feet All Boys Will Fall…Silently.

I may schedule a few pretty picture posts to keep you entertained. Check in, but keep your expectations realistic.

It’s all or nothing time.

As you know, about 7 months ago I started Content for Do-Gooders. Because I want to write and I want to do content strategy and I want to make websites better. But I also want to change the world. In some small way.

So here I am: working with economic developers and non-profits and a local college. Trying to use my skills in the absolute best way I know how.

Just one more week and it’s the total plunge. One more week and I’m officially full-time self-employed.

It feels good. And a little nerve-wracking. But right. Always, ever right.