Worker Bee.

I've been busier than usual lately.

After months of rejection, it seems that I have all the work I can handle right now. I've gotten some more freelance assignments--and these ones are actually paid jobs! First, I'm writing a couple advertorial-type pieces for the local daily newspaper's ad department (and if the ad department can sell more of this kind of ad, I should have more work there, too.) Second, I'm writing a feature on cottages for a locally-published lifestyle magazine. And while it's not paid in the strictest sense of the word, I'm writing a book review for my editorial association branch's newsletter, for which my remuneration is the book in question.

But that's not all.

About a month ago I started working at my favourite independent book store--the very book store in which I would spend hours on end, first as a child and then as a teenager, dreaming amongst the stacks, lulled by the intoxicating smell of new paper and possibility. If reading for some is a sacrament, this store had indeed been my chapel.

Growing up, I had applied to work here no fewer than two or three times. I always thought that if I had to work in retail, a job in this store would be perfectly suited to me. In addition to playing to some of my strengths--namely, my knowledge and love of books--work there would, I always thought, be a pleasure as it would allow me to indulge in my youthful fantasy and to commune with people who shared my reverence for the written word.

And I have not been proven wrong.

The downside to all this work, though, is that it's become difficult not to feel overwhelmed. I feel that I hardly have enough time to read (in addition to reading for pleasure, my boss at the book store has stipulated that I follow some book sections/columns and trade publications--gotta keep up with the product knowledge!) and to edit (I'm still working on Michael's manuscript) let alone blog (here as well as at this new team blog over here) or work on my stories (I've been trying to prep a piece or two for short story contests and/or journal submission.) I feel instinctively that all the demands on my time will force me to make some hard choices about some of my commitments. Thing is, there isn't anything that I really want to give up. Is that crazy? If only some of these opportunities could have come my way months ago when I was whining about not having any work!

Still, I know that there are worse things to be than overrun with work you enjoy. I really shouldn't be complaining.