[writing] Creatively bankrupt

I just realised that I am a stinking copywriter. Which shouldn't be that much of a surprise, but when I got nominated to write up the Ebay auction for the FNet figure project, I churned out a page of surprisingly readable text without any appreciable pause for thought. I know how to craft a good auction - before I started selling I did a lot of research on the topic, looking at good auctions and bad ones and really really ugly ones. (Hint: 72 point font does not make me want to purchase your MIB Cy Girl Electra. It makes me want to stab you in the face.) I guess I just hadn't realised how much of an automatic procedure it had become for me.

I guess it's a useful skill just like any in the writing business, but I dunno - I'm having a hard time feeling proud of it. Advertising = bad. It's a reflex of my generation, just like deep suspicion of government and the urge to purchase small items of technology, the multiuse depths of which most of us will never fully explore. It's manipulation. It's trickery. It's shim-sham, it's glitter, it's razzle-dazzle.

On the other hand, I've never sold anything that I didn't really believe was a good product, and the FNet figure is no exception. I suppose that so long as I continue to use my powers for good and not evil, I'll be able to sleep at night.

[writing] work, work, work

Writing is going well. Averaging three novel pages a day, and have written two poems and sent out two poetry submissions. Every aspiring writer should have a wonderful spouse like mine. I'm especially enjoying the total freedom I feel - it is so very nice to be in charge of your own time.

I do miss all the folks at the cafe, though. I was in there for a poetry reading for a class I was taking and seeing everyone was great. They even totally stopped all noise while I was reading, although I admit I did bribe them with cookies... I have to start strapping on the laptop and hanging out at the cafe in the afternoon every so often. It'll do me good to get out of the house and see real people and such.

I've dragged the little heater Shawn gave me last year into the office and have it going at a steady clip. It's saving my life, but my poor eyeballs are so so dry. I'm trying to stay hydrated. At least with working at home I don't have to worry about running to the bathroom every ten minutes.

[life] please don't touch me

It just wouldn't have been a memorable last day of serving if some skeezy old dude hadn't asked me if I were on the menu and then, as he was leaving, put his arm around me and told me he'd "see me around."

Why oh why is it that when you are in the service industry, waiting tables especially, people think that they can touch you? Just because I pour your coffee doesn't mean that you are granted access to my touch bubble.

Do not. Touch. Your server.

What makes it worse is that for some reason I was too brain-stunned to tell Mr. Touchy-Feely off properly. All I could do was twist away from him and say, "Okay then!" in this weirded out high pitched voice. So much for all my dreams of last-day-on-the-job righteous ranting. The perfect opportunity to lay my wrath down and I feebed out.

Oh well. My manager gave me a plant and a whoooooole lotta chocolate. Chocolate always makes things better.

[writing] working girl no longer

I quit my job today.

It's been a long time coming. I'm no longer at the point where I find serving tables to be either rewarding or unbearable (and I have found it both, in the past). I did it almost on autopilot, cruising through each day, barely seeing the customers, going home with sore feet and a blank mind.

I love my co-workers. As far as serving goes, there are far far worse places to serve, and infinitely worse people to work with. My manager is an absolute doll, I love her to pieces. But I was hanging onto the job as a kind of security blanket, a way to feel as though I was contributing financially to our household, a way to lend order and regularity to my life. It's time to let go. It's time for me to do the writing thing.

I'm a bit scared. And a bit sad. And a whole lot excited.