MoodyTunes

One of the alternately frightening and exciting aspects of leaving a stable, “Why would you ever quit THAT?” job and entering The Great Unknown Writing Life is the prospect of varied, small jobs. For varied, small money. I assure you: It’s a thrilling experience.

If it’s variety I wanted, it’s variety I got. I’m in the middle of a whole lot of pet-sitting appointments, so many that I’m actually daydreaming about eating canned cat food — fried like corned beef hash with a healthy dose of scrambled eggs, if you’re wondering about preparation — and I’m having more conversations with felines than humans. I’ve thought of several cool story ideas about lost pets and rooting through strangers’ houses, but I haven’t written them because I’m too busy scratching flea bites. And rooting through houses. (Not really.) (Maybe.)

In July I will transition from the glamorous world of scooping cat poop to working on a project called Voices from Our America, which is, in short, about “…uncovering the neglected histories of past generations, especially those of African and Caribbean descent, and preserving their stories.” I can expand on my role later. What I can say now is that it’s a unique opportunity for a fiction writer, and one I look forward to exploring.

I am also expecting to profit greatly from the realm of short story contests, to the tune of perhaps 5 complimentary copies of journals nobody reads and/or t-shirts and coffee mugs.

I am my own mechanic. I pay myself in beer and potato chips.

I am training to become a professional waterboarder. Newer readers should read about my re-purposing of the term “waterboard.”

I drive by my old office almost every day. I wonder what’s going on in there, but I don’t miss it.

To bring it all back to my current “job,” it’s a good thing I’m thinking about pet food cuisine…I’ll be living off it soon enough!