Call it Humpday laziness, but I’m beginning to like having Wednesday as Crazy Hip Blog Mama Carnival Day: it releases the pressure of coming up with a topic for one day. It’s a little like how I know that no matter what happens, Monday is Pasta Day and dinner is a no-brainer.
There is a certain ease to knowing some things happen at certain times.
Today’s prompt is on Your Dream Job.
I wrote a paragraph that included way too many italics and references to being a dashing lady of leisure.
I read it a couple of times and realized it sucked and it was unrealistic. So I chucked it. After all, it’s a dream job and not a weird Victorian dream that could pass for bad Masterpiece Theatre.
I want to write for a living and have people quote me and respect my work and think, "Wow, she is such a good writer and commentator on mores and rules and the social animal"
I don’t want to be hounded by paparazzi or sell out, but I do want to be invited to stuff like the Kennedy Honors and the Costume Institute gala (and I would never wear what Anne Heche wore that one year).
I want to write for a few hours every day and produce pithy, important writings that grace the op-ed
pages or perhaps are collected into essays. And when I write, I want to lift up my eyes and look at the beauty of a garden or at the vastness of an ocean. Or both. Yes. Both: I could have more than one window in my writing room. And sometimes I could even go out and write in coffeeshops, where people would recognize me but give me my space, because they would respect an artist at work.
That all sounds good.