I just recently got a new job.
Well, another one, actually, in addition to the one I currently spend eight or so hours a day at – in addition to the one in which I shuffle papers from my desk top to the filing pile and then back again; the one in which I send out overly pleasant emails with lots of exclamation marks and smiley faces; the one in which I answer the phone saying something like, “Britain, Workman, Huey, Sleeman, & Co.. No, I think you might have the wrong number, dear. No, no trouble at all,” and then I go back to filing my nails. Oops, I mean, filing my papers.
You know. THAT job.
I’m positive Faulkner must have had one of those. Well, I’d like to pretend he did. I’d like to imagine him slowly taking his pipe from his mouth after hearing that terrible jarring telephone ring, and then him answering the call with a simple, “Helluh?” Yes, that’s what I’d like to imagine, as I sit at my desk day after day shuffling papers waiting for my novel to get written.
Actually. I’m kidding. About the paper shuffling. Not about Faulkner. I never joke about Faulkner. Paper shuffling is not entirely what I do, but one day, when I grow up, I do want to be the kind of woman whom people ask each other about. “What IS it she does, exactly? She told us, but I still don’t understand. Something in I.T.? No? Well, I don’t know. Let’s just pretend we know.
Anyway, I digress. This job, this new job, is different.
This one is an actual WRITING job! And it feels very strange to me, to be able to put thoughts and ideas and creative license to paper, and then to actually get paid for it.
And it’s not only a writing job, it’s a TRAVEL writing job. It’s for an up-and-coming website called Funlists.com where you’ll be able to find things to do in the communities you’re exploring. Kind of like a Trip Advisor site. But different. And I get to write about the places I’ve been, the places I know, and oh, the places I’ll go…
At any rate, my point (if I ever get to it) is that having a job writing is exhilarating! I sat in the hot tub in the public pool last night with my family and actually made up a fictional review of the facilities – after going down the slippery twisty water slide with my son, of course. It was something along the lines of, “Where else are you going to see the tattooed gangstuh without his Mariner’s hat, the shiny gold bling-bling chain still around his neck (doesn’t he know this is a SWIMMING pool for Chrissakes?!), and his tattooed GF in her itty-bitty leopard-print bikini (Yes, all the men in the pool were wondering if they were real too. It wasn’t just me.)? Or the—oh my, more tattooes—guy with the long fuzzy beard who had a helmeted hockey player tattooed on his shoulder, who kept dipping his shoulders just below the water line, looking effectively like he was drowning the player. Ha! So funny! Or the little girl mining for, well, nuggets with her boney index finger whilst in the hot tub. Uck. Time to get out of the water.” Well, ok, my fictitious review was more about the people in the facilities, than the facilities themselves, but it was kind of fun to entertain the idea. What IF we wrote about the people who frequented these places? And what would the write-up about me be? I cringe.
But having said all of that, I am inspired again, thanks to my new job.
And having said THAT, I now also know what “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel” really means. Zoiks. Be careful around the inspired ones. They’re like loose cannons.