#TheWritingLife Will Leave You a Dried, Bitter Husk…

apple-dollI’m going to tell you something that few writers will tell you bright, shining up-and-comings — this career field will leave you a dried up, bitter husk of a person.  It’s true.  You’ll work harder than you ever could imagine, you’ll forget your children’s names and faces, you’ll face forward into the glowing screen as the rest of the world goes on without you.

I’m glad you’ve been warned.  Wow.  What a load off my mind.

There are days, more than a few, when I wish I had a job in a bank or a nice government office where I could just walk away from work.  Got 500 people into license plates today, great!  Time to go home and look at my family and do stuff and have a hobby.  Maybe I’ll read a nice book and drink a cup of herbal tea.  LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.

Unfortunately, there’s something wrong with our brains that leave us turned on ALL THE TIME.  We’ve got a deep, ancestral need to work until our brains have turned into uncapped Play-Doh and our eyes are bloodshot from staring at a screen for 10 hours straight.  The dirty shot glasses, empty soda bottles and crinkled candy wrappers strewn about our work space betray the level of debauchery taking place in our private lairs.  It’s inhuman — that’s why normies run by the door as fast as they can, hoping we won’t drag them down to our level.

When we do finally emerge from our lairs after doing battle with yet another month end blog-writing spree, to finally take a shower after a full week of presenting the benefits of products and helping people understand how we can help fill their needs, our clothing may actually be permanently bonding with our skin.  Our funk is so great that the neighbors yell, “HOLY GOD, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!”

After we’ve bathed and eaten a normal meal, we may look at ourselves in the mirror and mutter something about how that’s never going to happen again. We’ll get better organized, we’ll learn to say no, we’ll fucking bathe once in a while, but by the next month’s end, some twisted shit in our brain is ready for another attempt at de-evolution.

Writing isn’t pretty, kids.  No matter if you’re a copywriter, a novelist or a journalist (ESPECIALLY if you’re a journo) — get ready to spend your days bathed in sweat as you run on an endless fucking hamster wheel of letters and punctuation.  Let’s not make this more glamorous than it is, ok?