Being a writer is not a whole lot like what you might imagine it
to be. You probably have an idea that writers spend their days
thinking great thoughts, and leisurely writing and re-writing their
precious words.
Not in my world.
Being a writer is not a whole lot like what you might imagine it to be. You probably have an idea that writers spend their days thinking great thoughts, and leisurely writing and re-writing their precious words.
Not in my world.
Being self-employed, I have to take the work that comes along. Which means that instead of working for one boss, I have many, each with their own little idiosyncrasies and needs. Some are easy to please, while others are pickier.
I am working from home, which has its advantages and disadvantages. I must function among a whole host of distractions, not the least of which is the rocky road ice cream in the freezer.
This week I had a particularly challenging day.
First, I met a friend for coffee at an hour of the morning when I am more likely to be horizontal than vertical. But I went, had a nice chat and a cup of java, and came back home.
I had several e-mails waiting for me. Self-employed writers live and die by our e-mails, which is why I check mine several thousand times a day.
One e-mail said: Where’s the story you promised me? And can you do another one on top of that? Like yesterday?
Another said: Can you re-write the piece you sent? And include a bunch of stuff in it that I didn’t specify before? Oh, and I needed it yesterday.
Plus there was a voice mail from the media rep of a semi-famous documentary film director that I was supposed to interview, saying the interview was on, despite the Columbus Day holiday.
And I had a column to write for The Pinnacle.
So there was my day, all laid out for me at 8 a.m.
Except that I also had to find a plumber.
There was a serious clog somewhere in the main line that was making my life miserable, and I’ll spare you the ugly details. Suffice to say I was anxious to get it taken care of. I called several plumbers, and finally found one who thought he could squeeze me in that day.
Monday is a busy day for plumbers, apparently.
I couldn’t go anywhere because I was waiting for the plumber to call back to say when he’d be there. So I did get some work done, in between fretting about my pipes.
Then I realized I needed cat food. I have an old picky cat and a younger, not-so-picky cat. The younger one eats anything I put in front of him. The older one won’t eat anything but a certain brand of canned cat food, Shredded Turkey ‘n’ Cheese flavor.
I took off to Safeway to buy cat food. I was about 10 minutes away when my cell phone rang. It was the plumber. Of course.
I headed back home without the cat food, but rejoicing that there would be a solution to my clog very soon.
Then I realized that in 15 minutes, it would be time for my very important interview with the semi-famous documentary film director.
So I raced home, dealt with the plumber, watched video from a flexible camera that was put into my pipes (now there’s a gruesome sight), and got a call from the film director, who gave me 20 minutes of his time, and was actually very nice about it.
“I’m so tired,” he admitted. I seconded that emotion.
The clog was unclogged. The plumber was paid. My stories were sent.
Oh, and I had to make dinner, too.
But it was a good day, all in all. True, I thought no great thoughts. I dreamed no big dreams. I wrote no deathless prose.
But hey, my toilet works again. I’m happy.
