Let’s talk about dreams.

Not the kind we have when we’re sleeping that, when recounting to our friends and family the next day, makes them tune us out.

No, let’s talk about the dreams that keep us alive by taking us somewhere far away from where we really are. The ones that permeate our head when we’re trying not to fall asleep during Sociology 101 in university. The dreams that fill our hearts and help us aspire to something bigger.

The focus of my dreams has varied from the whimsical to the not so out of reach. I’ve dreamed about what it would be like to have a pet lion and a pet eagle at the same time. I’ve also dreamed about what would happen if my current crush and I were the only two people to inhabit the earth. (Answer: We’d have a lot of sex everywhere.)

For the sake of this blog, I’m going to focus on the one dream that I’ve had since I was a teenager: For as long as I could write relatively well, I have dreamed of being a columnist. And recently, that dream came true.

This isn’t a unique dream for a writer. Everyone I know who puts words on page for a living wants to be a columnist. It’s the most prime gig you can get. On a regularly basis, an allotted spot on a blank page is devoted to YOU and YOUR voice. A column is basically the kingdom for your ego to reside.

Last fall, a friend who writes a column for the Metro asked if I’d like to take over while she took a few months off. Holy shit! Talk about a dream coming true! I eagerly agreed and got in touch with the editor. They asked me to do a mock entry, which the editor liked and I was told to file my first story within a week, along with a headshot.

Oh! A photo! My (admittedly pretty attractive) face would be accompanying my words in a publication that gets 500,000 eyeballs a day. What a thrill.

The week leading up to my first column entry was a busy one. I’d just returned from New York and had a pile of deadlines that needed taking care of. By the time I was to file my first entry, I’d completely forgotten about the photo I was suppose to submit alongside it, which I’d planned on getting a professional photographer friend to take. So, in a stressed and somewhat depressed state, I submitted this one, taken on my Mac’s photo booth:

So, my eyebrows could benefit from a plunk and my hair could use a comb, though I kind of like the ruffled, day-the-beach-look. But messy hair aside, I thought the photo was neutral enough to pass as my first column photo. I submitted it without much more thought. Here’s how it looked in the paper:

When I started posting links to my column on Facebook, I got a lot of great feedback. Then, people started commenting on the photo that accompanied my words.

“You’re a lot more photogenic than that photo.”

“That photo doesn’t do your pretty face justice”

“Do you want me to retake that photo for you? Really, I insist.”

I was starting to realize that my ego’s kingdom was slowly being destroyed by what I had failed to see as an undoubtedly ugly photo of myself.

The comments continued.

“You look like a crackhead! A pretty one though.”

“The only thing missing is a big hairy wart.”

OK! I GET IT! My column photo is ugly.

My dream of having my voice heard by probably the largest amount of people it’s ever been able to reach was largely overshadowed by the fact that I look like a varmint that lives in a humid sewer. When I used to dream about having a column, this wasn’t how it played out in my head.

My friend is now back from her extended vacation and I’m handing back the column to her, so grateful for the experience and exposure. I’ll miss walking on the subway, looking around and seeing at least a dozen strangers of different races, ages and backgrounds, reading a paper that I’ve contributed to.

Too bad the majority of them probably looked at my picture and thought, “Dude, that girl’s a dog.”

Here’s to dreams coming true.

Hi reader. I want to hear all about your dreams coming true. Email me as usual at write@eliannalev.com, or leave a message below or on Facebook or wherever you like to catch me. Oh, and while we’re at it, please click here  to LIKE the shit out of I’m a Good Story on Facebook. 

I’m not sure if this is obvious, but I really want to be a columnist when I grow up. It’s something I’ve always wanted to be ever since I could read with my own opinion.

The first columnist I ever fell deeply in love with was Bruce LaBruce. He’s a gay art pornographer/photographer/man about town who used to write a weekly column in Toronto’s Eye Magazine and a monthly one in Exclaim. He’d write openly about the guys he was shagging, the artists he was hovering up heroin with and the C to B-list celebrities he was photographing naked.  For a high school girl who desperately wanted to be “cool” and “edgy” but had no clue how, this was my lifeline. It was like what Cobrasnake is now to Middle America youth who have little access to coke parties.

When I lived briefly in London at the end of the 90s, I became completely enthralled by a column in what I believe was the Saturday Times of London magazine (this was a long time ago and my memory is rusty). It was called something like “Never Trust” and each week it would talk about an archetypical person to avoid. Girls who are best friends with their mother. A man with long fingernails. It was always cleverly written and so satisfying to read. I wish my Google skills were better so I could retrieve these decade-old gems.

The next columnist to win my heart was the Globe’s Leah McLaren. Basically, she was better than the National Post’s Rebecca Eckler. I read them both regularly, but found Leah to be way more likable. Though I can’t say I related to either of them. I was fascinated with Rebecca’s vapid voice,  inane subject matter, and her extreme smugness. She wrote about her love of rotisserie chicken and how she wanted to be extra skinny. And I read most of it, start to finish. After all, her stories got more feedback than anything that actually mattered in the newspaper.

Leah was obviously catering to a different crowd and always appeared to be well read, which I respected. I remember one of my journalism profs referring to both of them as “the Disco Queens of the newsroom” and thinking “that’s not a bad thing, is it?” I knew they were both on to something, even if they weren’t terribly respected for what they wrote at the time.

Last month, I went on a press tour with a wonderfully warm, vibrant, and hilarious writer named Lorraine Sommerfeld. She started writing at the age of 40. After she got laid off from another desk job, she went to talk to the people at the Hamilton Spectator.  They were revamping and desperately needed a parenting columnist.  Seven years later, she is writing two syndicated columns, both of which appear in the Toronto Star. I called her up to ask for some advice on being a good columnist.

Here’s what she said:

Know What You Want
“The first step is admitting that you want it.  A lot of people, especially women, have a hard time admitting it. We have to sharpen our elbows and just say that’s the deal.”

Say Yes to Everything
“As soon as you start making excuses, they will find someone else. Say yes and stop being scared of everything because it’ll open doors like you wouldn’t believe.”

Your Ass is on the Line
“You’re saying ‘I’. You have to watch your facts just like a real journalist but you also have to be prepared to defend your feelings, which journalists don’t have to do.”

Be Careful Who You Write About
“I have a sister who I haven’t talked to in 10 years and I’ve never mentioned her in my column. I never mention my ex-husband in my column. It’s easier not to give someone a handhold to come get pissed at me.”

Not Everyone is as Honest as You
“I’m willing to take the shots and admit that things have hurt me or that something has scarred me. I can speak pretty openly and people find that bond and they like it. But I have to realize that if I say something about someone else, that person is going to get sucked into a vortex pretty quickly .”

People are Going to Want You to Fix Their Problems
“Putting a strong line in the sand–that was a learning process for me. If you’re going to write openly and honestly and be vulnerable, people are going to try and glom onto you. At first you’re happy you’re affecting people but after a while you have to get tougher and push them back. But wish them the best of luck.”