On attitude

I have reached a peace of mind.

How? Well, the way I have it figured, being a freelance translator means I could be brought down by two things. One, if the economy collapses for good. True, not a very happy prospect but too far beyond any control for me to loose too much sleep over it. Two, if I screw up. Ergo, I only have to worry about not screwing up, something entirely within and under my control. Hence the peace of mind.

Goodnight.

General reflection

This has already been published elsewhere. Still:

Translation is a bitch. Latex-clad, whip-wielding, dominating bitch. And we are the doggies.

I need a break.

On paradoxes of the trade

Observation: the quantity of translation jobs is reversely proportional to the quantity of time available to complete said jobs.

Now, I'm not complaining on people calling in, demanding my services. It seems, however, that customer service representatives and office managers at translation agencies have some kind of instinct, forcing them to call at the worst possible time. I should know, I've been one for a while. Or maybe it's the summer and the fact that most people are away on holidays and I'm one of the few suckers to stay behind and work.

What do you think? Hello? Anyone there?

On freelancing

Freelancing: 1. To perform a task on your own away from a company. 2. An independent worker. 3. To urinate without using your hands. (Urban Dictionary)

You know, there's something deeply philosophical about definition 3.

On proofreading

There's nothing glamorous about proofreading. It's tedious, time-consuming, underpaid and absolutely essential. Nobody cares about proofreaders and yet they are indispensable.

It's rather sad that the world holds so little respect for those brave men and women, who obediently and diligently disentangle the knots and puzzles left to them by translators. And the knots and puzzles are always there becasue translators are essentially divided into two groups: those who are behind schedule and those who don't realize it yet.

And proofreading can be frustrating at times. Well, an experienced proofreader is probably immune to that but every time I get to proofread something of, shall we say, questionable quality, even my wife keeps her distance from me as I yell verbal abuse in the translator's general direction. All the more reason to respect those who do it on a daily basis.

So the next time you open a translated book, take a minute to think about the translator and then about the man or woman who actually made the translator's work readable.

On ambitions and the disappointment that follows

When I first contemplated taking up translation as profession, I had ambitions. And not just any ambitions. I wanted to really make it out there. I wanted to be acclaimed and recognized, I wanted people asking and quoting my opinion. I pictured myself as the next Edith Grossman.

Noticed the past tense? Good. Because those ambitions are no more.

After a few years of deluding myself I have finally realised that all those things above will not happen. Why? Why, indeed. Someone believing in destiny or some other form of determinism would probably say it wasn't meant to be. Which really doesn't work for me, because I don't believe in destiny. I believe in cause and effect. Ergo, I must have done something wrong along the way. Perhaps I didn't try enough. Or I did but it didn't work. Or perhaps there is something wrong with my face.

Don't get me wrong - I'm quite content with what I have achieved thus far. I have customers, I make enough money to carry on without counting every single penny and the texts I translate are sometimes quite entertaining. In general, I'm OK.

And therein lies the problem. It's just 'OK'. Nothing more. I know that there are probably dozens of people who would gladly swap places with me and be 'just OK', but that's beside the point. I have put my ambitions aside, yes. I haven't forgotten them, though. Subconsciously, I'm still waiting for something. A breakthrough that would finally put me on the map.

And I'm afraid that's all there is and ever will be - waiting, until one day I realise that my life has all but passed in the general state of OK-ness. Which is not a very happy thought.

Round and round we go...

Remember that flashback I wrote about?

Well, it's no longer a flashback. It's a full-fledged deja vu. However, it's only been 6 mugs of coffee this time and it won't be 4 AM for another 33 minutes, so we're making progress.


Right?

Flashback

It's 4 AM.

Standing on the balcony, watching numbly as the sky slowly turns grey.

Barely noticing that the cigarette is all but smoked down to the filter.

Shivering from the cold of the morning and the exhaustion of 17 hours of non-stop work.

The effect of 9 rather large mugs of coffee slowly wearing out.

Good Lord, how I miss it.

Returning to translation, symptoms of

Even thought my official return to the job will not be for several weeks, my organism has decided to switch back into translator mode.

In other words, my back hurts as hell, my eyes are sore and charmingly bloodshot, and my head is being pounded by a thousand John Bonzo Bonhams on speed.

Welcome back.

The Inevitable Conclusion

As stated above, I'm returning to my profession. The circle is now complete and the inevitable conclusion is as follows:

Once a translator, always a translator.

Sounds a bit Narnian to me, but then again, translators do operate on the border of two or more different worlds.

Out of curiosity, is there anyone actually reading this?

Return of the prodigal son

I have tried not being a translator.

Didn't work.

So as of the middle of February, I'm back in business. Or rather, starting my own. What awaits me is a gargantuan pile of paperwork, close-call skirmishes with bureaucracy and the ever-growing, ever-thirsty Charybdis of taxation.

And you know what?

I already can't wait.