Some people I know who shall forever and always remain nameless, still consider my writing a hobby.
Yeah…I know. I’m surprised they’re still breathing, too.
Anyway. Writing, as you know, is like oxygen to me. I need to write in order to live, much the way I need oxygen in order to survive. It’s not a hobby, but a necessary facet of my life. A hobby, on the other hand, is nice, but I don’t need to have one to live.
This got me to thinking, though, that having a hobby is a…good thing, to quote Martha Stewart. Hobbies distract us from the mundane aspects of our work lives; they bring us a little fun in a day that can be fun-less and soul-sucking. Hobbies can clear our minds of the detritus and negative energy our work can bring, and focus us instead on something positive and enriching.
Now, my writing gives me all those positive things I just mentioned. But it’s still not a hobby. Nor, is it in reality, work. Not for me. Writing is as necessary to me as water is to the balance of nature and all living things. Writing centers me; keeps my mind sharp, my memory intact. Writing makes me smile and laugh. Of course, when I’m writing something sad it can also make me weep and wail. Well, maybe not wail…but you get the premise. A hobby doesn’t do that. A hobby doesn’t make you sweat and toil, worry and wallow when you aren’t getting the thought you want just right, or the dialogue as tight as you can and still convey the essence of the words. A hobby doesn’t make you bleed emotions and rip your heart into shreds. A hobby doesn’t make you feel immortal or powerful or omnipotent.
So, don’t call my writing a hobby, because it’s not. It’s a…vocation; a calling; a mission. But it’s not a hobby.
Valentine’s Day is chocolatier Chloe San Valentino’s favorite day of the year. Not only is it the busiest day in her candy shop, Caramelle de Chloe, but it’s also her birthday. Chloe’s got a birthday wish list for the perfect man she pulls out every year: he’d fall in love with her in a heartbeat, he’d be someone who cares about people, and he’d have one blue eye and one green eye, just like her. So far, Chloe’s fantasy man hasn’t materialized, despite the matchmaking efforts of her big, close-knit Italian family. But this year for her 30th birthday, she just might get her three wishes.