The new gig is going well, really well. Sure, my brain is
FULL, and I sometimes have trouble shutting it off so I can sleep, but I really
didn't dare hope it could be this good. Who knew insurance could be so
interesting? I certainly didn't. My teammates are fabulous—it struck me the
other day that I'm surrounded by writers for the first time—and I've hit the
boss lottery big time. My new supervisor, the Director of the Communications
Center, is sharp as hell, incredibly emotionally intelligent and has a fabulous
sense of humor. She also believes in investing in employees. Exhibit A: she
sent me to an Ann Wylie workshop in L.A. on Thursday and Friday. After a little
more than a month on the job, she wanted me to go to a writing workshop on the
company's dime.
For those of you unfamiliar with Ms. Wylie, I encourage you
to check out her site. She's made quite a name for herself teaching classes and
as a freelancer. Over the course of two days, I re-wrote, polished and
perfected an article for State Fund's internal website that I'd written, and
watched it transform with input from Ann and the class. It didn't take long for
me to see why my boss holds Ms. Wylie in such high esteem, and why her techniques
have shaped such a large part of our department style guide.
Ann told us that she's not a naturally gifted writer, but
over the years she's developed effective techniques that serve her well. Her
view is that writing is heavy lifting and if you're struggling, you're doing it
right. She is of the opinion that hard work and technique trump natural talent
every time. That comment raised my metaphorical hackles and I later realized it
was because I didn't want to (and maybe still don't) believe that. I've long
understood that writing equals butt in chair, but the idea that it's all
technique and hard work crowds out the romantic notion of my muse floating out
there, descending at will to bring me gifts of perfectly-polished prose.
As I continue to settle into my job and hone my craft, I
have a hunch that I'll figure out a way to focus on technique and dedication
but not disavow my muse. After all, each writer charts her own course.
