As I am in the middle of job hunting, networking, perfecting my resume, a very dear former co-worker of mine complimented my writing skills on a Linkedin recommendation I wrote for another former collegue. She had no idea (well, maybe a little idea) that I have all these creative juices that can, at times, flow all over the place (In the words of Summer Roberts on The O.C. “Ew.).
I liked writing in school. Out of gym, math, and science, it was the least henious. My asbestos friend (I’ll explain it someday, promise) and I used to skip lunch in high school to go to the computer lab and work on personal stories. It seemed like a much more pleasant experience to escape into my creative dreamland than to negotiate the impending embaressment that is the high school lunch room.
I think I always thought I would be a writer someday. Of novels or poetry or TV scripts or newspaper articles. When I got my first grown-up job, I shelled out big bucks to buy a word processor (I know, lame. Even lamer, it was the year 2000!). I sat down one uneventful evening to begin my career as a writer. Then I realized it was work like everything else. That night is sort of when I let my writing dream die. But then…
The Internet created these things called blogs, where you didn’t have to have someone else “publish” your thoughts–you could just puke them out of yourself for your closest friends to read! Of course, the disadvantage is no marketing support and no paycheck for them. That is why I need everyone who reads this blog to send it to one other person, and so on. So that someday my words might support me afterall. Getting paid just to be me wouldn’t really be work at all.
I'm not stalking you. 