I’ve got them all fooled. In my life I’ve held several jobs. At each interview, at each performance review, I’ve convinced them I’m a good employee. They think I’m a professor, or whatever the job happened to be before that. In reality, I’m the trickster. I’m the individual who can’t be categorized. You see, I’ve been a writer since I was a kid living on a pittance of an allowance and whatever I could earn from a summer job in a small, economically depressed town. In my time off I was writing. Some day, I knew, someone would recognize my talent. I would be paid for my stories and novels. Nobody would know who I was—least of all my employers. That dream refuses to die, despite the decades and the reams of unpublished material that coat my study. Dutifully I trudge off to work. On a winter not unlike this one, I recall working for an employer whose employee handbook stated that the office would be closed for ...
Blog of a struggling writer.