Time for Change

Hello. Hello? Is anyone there? I guess that's what happens when you treat your blog like a spider plant. If you stick it in the corner, don't water it and neglect to breathe dragon breath on it while talking to it in funny voices, it kind of withers up and dies on you. At least, that's been my experience with spider plants.

Sigh.

Sorry, SWC.

I think it's time for a career change. When we started this blog, I was starving for a writing outlet. I had some fiction projects that I kept close to the vest, worked on a friend's online journal, submitted a few pieces of fiction to various journals, some of which were accepted and most of which were rejected. That left me with plenty of time and energy to spout off here on the blog. I waxed poetic about food porn, other people's jobs and just about any kind of nonsense that struck me as amusing or infuriating at the time.

Then Slippy came calling with her siren song of copy writing and magazine work. It was splendid! It was marvelous. I got paid to write and all my dreams were coming true. I learned so much about so many things, and had so much fun. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. That includes freelance writer/editor budgets at small private schools in economic crisis. When there are salaried staff members who are supposed to be able to do what I was doing, paying me doesn't seem to make a great deal of sense economically. I'm still dabbling at Slippy U, but when there's just not a lot of work, what's a girl to do?

I'm still slaving away with the nuns. The novelty has worn off, but dammit if I don't have a wellspring of affection for those gym teachers for Jesus. So, out of a sense of obligation, affection and "what the hell else do I have going on," I'm still working with them.

The library thing, you ask. Heh. Well, that. Have you ever told someone to "Take this job and shove it--I ain't working here no more?" Let me just tell you that although it may reveal a real asshole side to you, it feels great. In fact, I would have struck that off my "Things To Do Before I Die" list if I hadn't pretended to blow my nose and wipe my ass with a paycheck once. That was actually way cooler, especially considering I was a temp and it took them five whole business days to fire me. I am sure there isn't a HR department in the world that wouldn't say, "Send that little bitch packing pronto." I imagine miming using your paycheck as a personal paper product precludes an employment violation lawsuit.

Anyway, it seems my freelance writing career has gone by way of my teaching career (never really started that one in an official capacity), my bartending career (didn't feel like doing that one pregnant) and my internet start-up career (quit it as soon as I had enough saved up to backpack for six months). That is to say, a long-term career path and I seem to get along as well as a chauvinist and a feminist.

That is to say, not well at all.

So, now that I haven't been doing much writing-for-hire, I've regenerated some of my creative yen to blather on about whatever crosses my mind. This whole experience has made me realize something, though: I never wanted to be a chef or a hooker, because I knew that as soon as I started to get paid for doing something I love, I would start to hate it.

Not so with writing.

I haven't stopped hoping that I can get paid to write, and now that I don't have obligations, I can work on some of my own projects that sat fallow while I was workin' it. I'm just sort of hibernating now. So come, join me in my cave. You bring whatever you've foraged and I'll tell some nice stories ...