I wish the old kind of authorial celebrity was still an option. The kind where you went to the good school. And then you graduate with people who drink their way to the outer ring of the inner literati circle. You publish. You win.
If it was, I’d be too old for it. Instead I’m middle aged in the age of hustle. Where all things are possible as ever less is permitted. I have managed to live a few hot moments early. I lived way outside my weight class and slipped away with minimal damage. I was lucky. But I was lazy. I wasted all that good young time thinking I could slip into the post-grad educated white collar world. I didn’t have it. I barely made it out of bartending. And only because I figured out the way my brain was wired could make money from writing.
That shit. I always feel like I’m going to get sent back to the minors. That one day I’ll stare at that long spreadsheet and come up short on words. I live in fear that this streak will break and I’ll be back to picking up glasses and throwing drunks out. But year after year I get better at it. I know I could do this anywhere. I’m not worried about the future of my career, I think.
So that copywriting thing is paying the bills and I still have gas in the tank. So it’s creative projects time. I’ve got my own horror podcast, Scary Thoughts, coming out with my friend Marc Kate. I’m about to start editing the advice book (tentative title: Be Advised: Fair Warning from Gen X) which will be illustrated by my friend Lindsay (fingers crossed). I have two more podcast ideas, but they are weird and I want to practice some more before I get those out there. I’ve also been doing a little volunteer copy consulting on the side, for veterans’ businesses.
Lots and lots going on, I guess. It’s good to stay busy.