The Journey From Writing To Writer

Dear readers,

At 37 years old and counting, I feel like there have been few consistent things in my life, other than this: school is like church and writing is like breathing. One inspires me; the other I find necessary to continual prevention of suffocation. Even in my darkest times, I couldn’t be persuaded to abandon either.

A cousin of school, the library is also one of my favorite sanctuaries. I feel at home, surrounded by flocks of fellow devotees to knowledge, all walking with a light step and speaking in hushed tones. Moreso, I love the stunning visual displays of the rows of miniature printed worlds, the smell of a room full of books, and sitting in cushioned chairs in the deliciously—sacredly—quiet temple.

After much wandering in libraries in both my origin state of New York and then later finding new sanctuaries in my transfer state of Georgia, I decided that I’d like to author my own books, not just read others work. Old boxes of stored childhood memorabilia show that I scribbled stories and poems practically since I could hold a pencil, but I was about 9 years old when my own aspirations occurred to me. This coincided with my first submission to a Poetry.com contest—two poems of which were published over the next few years. I thought it would be a much shorter distance from seeing my work in the pages of their books to putting out my own books, but nearly twenty years later, I find myself trying to make sense of where the time has gone. Years ago, while sorting through old things passed on from my parents, I found a goal list from when I was 12 among old things that basically said, 'Publish three books by 19.' Whoops.

Life always seems to interrupt plans, frustratingly!

For the blog post included in my second month newsletter, I thus would like to talk a bit about how I have returned to my love for writing again and again, even as my path in life has been winding, and even though I always feel like I am arriving at the next level of writing dedication so late.

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When I often feel like I am losing so much, my passions keep me sane. They allow me to see the world better, center myself within it, or dive down wormholes to other worlds (the Zen trick being, not to get lost in escapism to the point remaining present becomes an afterthought.)

As a teenager and young adult, I was struggling with my mom's death, as well as with the aftermath of a difficult childhood at home and with peers. My (healthiest) response was to write a lot of poetry and prose. Part of this included having started two novels--my first published books, I thought! Unfortunately—or fortunately, given how green I was—they were lost to computer crashes.

Around this same time, I was becoming increasingly politically engaged. The sequel George Bush being in office and leading our country into 'wars' that led to so much violence and death—and putting in place invasive and harsh policies from the Patriot Act to the Drug War—didn't help. Aside from helping organize/spread the word about upcoming protests, I channeled my angst over this into writing editorials for the school newspaper that earned me the superlative, "Most Likely to Cause an Uproar"—an award that my journalism teacher said she created the title for new, that year, specifically with me in mind.

After two-years of being on the newspaper staff and completing the accompanying Journalism program coursework, I declared a Journalism major/political science minor at a two-year college. I still loved writing poetry and prose, but figured this was a middle line "practical" path that also accompanied my need to engage with and investigate practical real-world issues and make an impact on public discussion (and, dare I even dream, policy and voting.) By 2007, though—on the cusp of the 2008 economic downturn—everyone seemed in agreement that the advent of free internet news meant print news was dead. Following my cheapskate completion of a chunk of essential core classes, I pivoted in response, switching to a four-year school and declared English and Psychology double majors. I was hoping to pursue writing, teaching, or therapy as a career.

Then, I did something a little great, but also a little dumb. I followed my heart.

I was in a very spiritual phase as a teenager. Not secular Buddhist spiritual, but like, new-age mash-traditions together perennialist woo-woo down-the-rabbithole kind of spiritual. I took a couple of Religious Studies and Philosophy classes just on a lark—it was interesting, but not my life plan. As only a 19-20 year old can do, I then ignored all sound advice and switched my majors yet again. I learned a lot of invaluable things from these programs—but I also only realized in hindsight that chasing your dreams goes smoother for rich kids with supportive parents.

To my credit, I did originally think I could both chase my passion and have stable income following graduation. Philosophy boasted a potential route to law school. Unfortunately, my health issues that arose after a major surgery at 18 turned out to be chronic, and worsened over the next decade. This made the long-hours, high-pressure experience of law school seem wholly unfeasible by the time I graduated from undergrad. Teaching was also a potential goal, which, among other ideas of what to do in life, eventually led me into grad school.

Although my first degrees in Philosophy and Religious Studies ended up being a bit left field from Journalism and English, I didn't abandon the latter. I moved my English and Psychology classes into minors, and embraced campus clubs and coursework related to English: I took nearly every fiction writing class available, one poetry class, and joined the poetry club. I was also thankful to have been invited to contribute a handful of articles to ReligionNerd, an online publication founded by a fellow Religious Studies student. Moreover, in 2013, I published my first poetry collection.

I wrote this initial chapbook, Moments of Peace, fresh out of undergrad, in a bit of a gap year, taking whatever work that would have me while searching for the chance to step into a more personally meaningful and financially rewarding position. It is a short book of spiritual poetry written during a less-secular time of my life. I was inspired to publish by memories of my mom, who told me she eventually wanted to turn my verses into a book for her to keep, even if it never reached the general public, and even though, in her eyes, poetry needed to be just a hobby. She passed away when I was 13, but the goal lingered with me, motivating me to keep going, and ultimately to value my own work enough to put it out there, regardless of what the turnaround might be for such a dedicated commitment (cough, pain-in-the-ass task of bringing a book to fruition.)

Moments of Peace was, thus, a big jump forward from Poetry.com contest books and college/local magazines like Old Red Kimono, as well as from the ‘thanks but no thanks’ returns from other publications. It was my attempt to take my work into my own hands and put my vision out, regardless of whether a gatekeeper approved.

Outside of these limited composition opportunities, however, survival frequently eclipsed my creativity. I just didn't have time to write as much as I'd like, much less finish full length novels. Before grad school, I bounced between low-paying, stressful, often seasonal, retail/restaurant/call center/canvassing jobs, just trying to stay afloat while my health crashed. I also bounced between cheap housing situations and occasionally being unhoused. It sucked. People like to romanticize how struggle breeds great art, but honestly, if you don't have a stable and focused space to think, let alone create, it's difficult in ways that not everyone can surmount. I often wonder how many creative souls never get to fulfill their potential because they're stuck in drudgery just to live. I know I'm far from alone in having experienced this—and that's not comforting.

Eager to pursue a greater calling and find more stability in my life, I next considered what to do for graduate school. I loved my former majors, but I wanted to choose something with more career mobility. Further, my own center of belief had moved to the more secular side of just Zen after studying religion historically, and I was at least somewhat exhausted of the art of tearing apart others' debate stances, after undergoing the program in Philosophy. I did still want to dive deeper into understanding others, however. I also had deeply enjoyed conducting a senior independent research project my last year in Religious Studies, where I completed a basic level, pilot ethnography of religious pilgrimage in Sicily and France. This led me to pursue and earn a master's degree in Anthropology—also, kind of a passion pick, but the urge to do cultural fieldwork and pursue research or teaching made it seem like both a natural and sound choice.

All of this ongoing life stuff meant shifting gears from my writing goals. My new directions in school forced my passion for writing into the square boxes of professional and academic work—a master’s theses, research papers, organizational assistance—or into remission altogether. I value all writing, but in grad school, channeling my scribblings to such stifling forms left little room for creative freedom.

That being said, I hoped my degrees would lead to a sustainable and meaningful career—such as teaching, research, or non-profit work—and always just hoped that once I was there, I would have enough stability to also write and edit books along the way. I've had a few positions related to each of these, but nothing that has been my dream situation.

Directly following this degree, I did teach intro level Anthropology classes part-time for a couple of years—but I found out too late how competitive and low paying college teaching is, especially without a PhD or Ivy League credentials. I accrued a lot of debt from getting my undergrad and grad degrees, and teaching paid so little, I still had to get side gigs to stay afloat. Then enrollment dropped, and so did my classes. My thesis had been related to the inequities of the prison system, and I hoped to switch into doing research that made a positive difference for a major social problem in the world. Instead, I ended up in various positions related to market research for six years, before getting laid off in 2023. I have followed that up with some freelance work helping an organization with research and writing for non-profit grant seeking, proposal bids, and other contract writing, but to this day am still seeking to do more work that is purpose-laden. I am searching, hopeful, like the hopeless idealist I am, for a position where I can do impactful research that will benefit the world, or to work for other good causes in ways that draw on my particular introvert strengths and interests. Or, at the very least, to be more prolific and finish the damn in-progress manuscripts. Writing professionally and creatively is what moves me.

To say that it's sometimes heavy, however—working towards aims that you can’t control the outcome of—all gatekeeper industries, racing with a lot of competition towards very narrow odds of success—while being told writing isn’t a practical career, just a hobby—is an understatement. It's exasperating to be forced to put so much time into job applications and cover letters and resume revamps across a lifetime, while scrambling to make a living, just to have rejection letters piles up and to feel like, "Fuck. If I had just spent all that time writing, I could have a few books out by now." More frustrating is seeing that others who dedicated themselves to creative writing or stuck in journalism actually did have career paths (read: the field wasn't dead!) (those liars!)

(I cheer everyone on, of course—it's truly inspiring—and I remind myself to keep going: better late than never.)

Back to my journey, while I was first working my corporate job, I infused a little more creativity into my life again when I launched The Conscious World (2018–2020-ish.) This was a webzine intended as a collaborative platform for artists, academics, and activists. It allowed me to reconnect with both my activism and a guiding purpose, as well as to further develop and showcase my range of skills (from web design to editorial to leadership.) I recruited a handful of writers and other talented individuals sharing their stories and art (well, a dozen, really, but a handful who ultimately delivered publishable content that fit the theme.) (no shade to those who wanted to contribute and couldn't find the time, capitalism is like that.)

I also opened up the site for membership in an exclusive forum I designed with a ton of different themed discussion boards, some of which was less curated and more community led. I ultimately had to put down for time's sake, though, after pouring myself into building/maintaining/expanding it while working a full time job, and only having limited audience interest/fellow author participation. It did, for a good while though, bring back that thrill I once had on my school newspaper, writing editorials and feeling like the team I built might bring attention and unique viewpoints to crucial contemporary issues—that our voices mattered.

In between then and now, however, my dad passed, COVID hit, and I was promoted into a role that demanded a lot more brain power and screen time. I had no more spoons after working, grieving, panicking, and spending the time I could with loved ones still alive (after getting vaccinated/with using precautions for COVID safety protocols) to do much else. While every project I’ve ever started is, in my mind, on the backburner, we also must move forward and embrace the present, and whatever opportunities it presents. We’re all just trying to survive in environments and situations we did not fully choose (see: capitalism, pandemics, our current political climate, our bank accounts, other threats of disaster in the world.)

After years of struggling in the service industries while earning three degrees, a few years spent teaching, six years spent in various roles across subsidiaries of a major corporation, I have spent the last two years since being laid off trying to cobble together a living from things I love. This is my attempt to remain personal and grounded, and to pursue making my passion at least some part of my livelihood.

This means that I have—at last—returned to poetry and fiction. It’s been over a decade to get my second poetry book out (Eightfold: Zen Poetry for Blindly Clasping Beings), but I recently finally returned to myself for it. Some of the sixty poems in it stretch back across the entire gap between one book to the next; others I found myself inspired to write the more I concentrated on reviving my practice of poetry and continually recommitting to the practices of Zen. All of this is a precursor to other in-progress books—non-fiction books connected to Buddhism and Anthropology (separately); science-fiction/fantasy novel series that I am trying to flesh out and avoid plot holes in.

I’m grateful for the time I’ve had to recommit to getting my writing off the backburner, even as it’s also been a time where I have been tossing far more rings out than landing them—in terms of freelance/gig work being variable in nature and inconsistent in (sometimes lucrative, other times meager, scrape-by) returns—and still dealing with dynamic health conditions that fluctuate but never quite disappear.

Further, I have to say, I love doing the things I love. It saddens me to live in a world where the talents I have aren’t always the thing that also can bring sustainability—a world that drains us like a vampire, turning us into tools for others dreams rather than allowing us to easily be scripters of our own destinies. It is painful that modern work often involves making a few top-dogs richer and richer while everyone else does what they're told to be able to eat with a roof overhead. It takes so much effort, luck, and skill to navigate outside the maze of preset environments, schedules, and settings.

On the one hand, challenges can provoke growth. I am more adaptable than I ever thought I would (or would have to be), and the world has made me practical—at least enough that I know what has to be endured to survive (even though "practical" options often are extra difficult with health limitations putting parameters around potential work.) There will always be part of me that needs to be a little not practical, though: To live for my vision. To thrive in my chosen lane.

And that is where you will find me most centered: writing for me—and anyone who will listen. An eternal thank you to those who have been kind enough to join me on this journey,

A. H. Spadafora

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A. H. Spadafora is an author, freelancer, animal lover, and booknerd who lives in the Atlanta area with underused degrees and borrowed cats. She is currently working on multiple manuscripts and juggling gig work while seeking out the right full-time opportunity. With a strong background in the social sciences and humanities, she is particularly enthusiastic about research, creativity, and balancing career with personal well-being. ​Writing has remained the one constant throughout her journey—a passion that has shaped life alongside the search for survival, purpose, and the chance to do good in the world. ​

Eightfold: Zen Poetry for Blindly Clasping Beings is her second book of poetry published. Prior published works include her debut poetry collection, Moments of Peace (2013).​ Her affinity for Buddhism is evident in both of these collections, and likewise shines in her upcoming non-fiction, fantasy, and science fiction works-in-progress. 

Zen Chaos Writing is A. H. Spadafora's publication trade name.