My uncle once said, “You can drive a million trucks and never be a truck driver, but if you [orally pleasure one dude] you’ll forever be known as a –” Well, you get the picture.
A bit graphic, perhaps. But, I’m working towards a point here, people.
Anyone who has read my ramblings for a while now knows that every six months or so I wonder if I am a “writer.” They also know that once a month I apologize for being a craptastic and neglectful blogger.
But, seriously, when can you officially say “I’m a writer.”? A good indication that I’m not a writer could be that I have no idea if the previous sentence is punctuated correctly. Though me being too lazy to look it up may indicate that I really am a writer.
See? It’s very confusing. I’ve written the world’s greatest kids book. But, I haven’t found a publisher yet.
I’ve optioned one of my screenplays. But, I didn’t get any money for it.
I HAVE been paid to write before. I’ve written for a bunch of websites. A few sketchy start-up magazines — one of which turned out to be some kind of softcore porn dealie featuring only Asian and Hispanic women. I’m not kidding. The guy originally told me it was “like Maxim, but funny.” The article was a 2000+ word opus on Archie comics. Thankfully they decided not to run it at the last moment. I guess that leaving out any mention of Betty & Veronica’s heaving bosoms was a good move on my part.
Once again I am no closer to getting my answer. So, for the next six months when people ask “What do you do?,” I guess I’ll go back to my old standby, “As little as possible and you?”
I feel like I should mention that my “To do” list for today reads:
1) Work on “hockey” screenplay
2) Break-in new baseball cap
3) Watch PVR’d “Survivor” from last night before someone’s blog ruins it for me.
4) Continue resisting urge to get a Blackberry.
Dude, if that doesn’t just smack of being a real “writer,” then I don’t know what more I can do.