Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, April 8, 1993 TAG: 9304080360
SECTION: NEIGHBORS PAGE: S-10 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: SARAH COX SPECIAL TO THE ROANOKE TIMES & WORLD-NEWS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
WORK `SOMETHING OF A MIRACLE'
I have answered a New York Times travel editor's call, and "Sesame Street" is blaring in the background.Once a magazine editor asked me, quite politely considering the circumstances, if I'd like to call him back - after I'd taken care of my son, who was having a tantrum.
I have done interviews for stories while stirring my minestrone soup. I have asked clients to hold, please, while I take my bread out of the oven. And, I have had to cancel appointments because visits to the pediatrician always come first.
It's a miracle that I'm still in business as a free-lance writer, but then it's somewhat of a miracle that I ever even took the first step.
Deciding to quit my full-time marketing job, which was packed with a good salary, great benefits and an office with no windows or children, was - and probably always will be - the hardest thing I've ever done.
At the time, we had only one child, a 1-year-old daughter, but the money I brought home helped pay for things like groceries, electrical bills and car payments. I knew when I quit that I'd have to keep earning money.
Now, I have two children - 5 and 3.
I have a tiny office with two windows, and the view is of a huge sycamore tree, my pond and, beyond that, the Blue Ridge Parkway. I have no more boring days fiddling with pencils and filing through junk mail.
But, I have assignments interspersed with calls to assist in the potty, and I have moments of crisis - writing the perfect sentence, punctuated with separating children's arguments. I have seen my name in print, and heard my copy criticized over the phone.
You see, when you work for yourself, you have to answer for yourself. There's no boss' skirt to hide behind and no weekly paycheck to rely on.
What I do today reflects what work I bring home tomorrow.
A friend has said repeatedly to me: "I couldn't work out of my home. I barely have time to clean, cook and watch my children."
But she doesn't know the number of times I've had to say to my children - too sternly - "I can't play with you now."
She isn't there to see my little girl playing by herself, day after day. I bet that friend doesn't go to bed nights feeling as guilty as I do - because the mayor's speech could have been written better, the book could have been read with more expression at bedtime, and the laundry is still in the dryer.
Five years now, and the problem is that I could earn more money at a full-time job, and we could use that extra money. But could I give up my view? Could I leave behind warm days perfect for letting bread rise in the sun? Could I give up writing articles, speeches, brochures and video scripts for a safe job with endless days?
My days are not endless. They end too quickly. And maybe that's my gauge.
There was life before writing and children. But I cannot see life beyond it. Together, they are my sustenance, the food for my imagination, and the ramparts against critical clients.
Memo: Also ran in Current April 17, 1993.