Solution 1

So far, no one will pay me to write a novel.  Bummer.

I’ve taken a job hostessing.  For the most part I like it, meet lots of intriguing people, and carry on the good name of a downtown institution.  The only bothersome part of it, really, is that I spend my day waiting for customers to open the door and send a blast of freezing cold air at me (god bless blizzards), then smile and thank them for it.  How long ’til spring?

Also, I help out at my uncle’s graphic design business – I’m the “cutting operator” meaning I trim booklets all day long.  My hands are covered in papercuts.  Apparently I am very prone to papercuts.  You think I would seek alternative employment of my time.  Nope.  I am a (cold) writer and bookworm who cuts back at the offending paper.

It makes for paychecks.  I always said that once I graduated college I would schlep through the unglamorous jobs to survive, build my bank account and wile away my free days building my portfolio.  My sister bartended after college, my dad substitute taught a bit, my best friend worked at Staples for a time.  These schlep jobs are the average youth’s rite of passage.  And so I smile and cut, semi-happily.  Sadly, though, my plan is yet one-third complete; both my bank account and my portfolio are stagnated.  Every penny earned is spoken for before the check clears the bank, which frustrates me greatly at times.  Worst of all, said frustration is a persistent and dutiful writer’s block… I’ve barely written anything since graduation.

Writer’s block is a deadly opponent, as any writer who stumbles across this blog of mine well knows.  This blog itself is Solution 1, a two-fold tactic: vent and write.  Here, I spill the malevolent frustration of mine into words.  I’ve always trusted the power of venting, ask my sister.  Pace the room, throw your arms about with abandon, ignore your grandmother’s disapproval of foul words and rant until you can take a deep breath.  It’s a great cure for a contrary disposition.  But with such a persistent frustration as broke-ness, a highly energized venting session gets old for your faithful listeners, and tiring for your arms.

So I sit down to write out my problem to you, kind computer screen.  And what do you know, I’m writing again!  Hopefully, once I’ve sussed out my own issues, I can return to those of fictional companions I have yet to write.  If that doesn’t work soon, I’ll have to come up with a Solution 2…

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