Tuesday, December 16, 2008

A little back story

So, my new friend, let me tell you a story.

I was once unemployed. That's a lie- it was twice, and for a total of ten months. During this period, what did I do with my time? I looked for jobs, read, watched TV, hung out with friends, played a video game here and there, worked out, talked to my dog…you know, all normal things to do. But then a funny thing started to happen: The muscle of my mind began to atrophy. Worried that my head would shrivel up like a raisin (remember that movie Beetlejuice?), I wondered what, if anything, I
could do to keep my mind active. That's when I started writing…and I couldn’t stop. It seemed very much like I was sleeping and dreaming of writing, and when I awoke, a book called Between Jobs: A Novel had been born. Now, I'm trying to get it published!

Well, actually, that's not when I started writing all together. As far back as I can remember, I have always been a writer...

Like the time in third grade when I went to my uncle's wake. It was my first wake, and my mom thought that in case the need to express myself in this situation arose like vomit in my throat, I should carry a pad and pencil and use them as my very own barf bag. Here are some gems from that masterpiece:

Description of Uncle Wally
eyes: don't know (he's dead)
hair: brown
wearing: tux
faicail hair: mustache
hairstyle: slick
(Just wanted to throw this in, Aunt Joe's son's name is Kevin, my cousin!)
no. of flowers: 301
no. of lights: 52
casket: cool, just shows face and chest, rest is closed
That's pure genius, right there! I just want to point out that I knew the abbreviation for "number" was "no." before I knew how to spell "facial." What a champ! Later, I count down the number of hours, minutes, and seconds I have until the wake is over. Nobody can say I'm not detail-oriented.

Later in life, I continued writing. It was the awkward years of middle school, around the age of 11, that my friend Gretchen Ziegler and I wrote this dazzling ode to insects:

Raindrops on beetles and bright colored crickets
Mostly they're found in the center of thickets
Hornets and centipedes hid under jugs
These are a few of my favorite bugs

I eat them at midnight; I dip them in coffee
Sometimes I find them in boxes of toffee
Leeches and walking sticks, spiders and slugs,
These are a few of my favorite bugs

When the flea bites, when the bee stings,
When it's hunger I feel
I sim-pl-y crunch on my favorite bugs
'Cuz bugs are my faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaavorite meal!

Please, stop clapping; it's too much.

In college, I continued to write a lot of poetry (mostly embarrassing and unworthy of sharing) in what I called the "Random Books of Pam." So random, in fact, that on one page there is a poem titled "Last Email of Love" and on the next, an "Ode to Food Poisoning." Two words for you: Budding. Author.

Something about being unemployed, though...I don't know if it was the anger, the sadness, the need to get it all out and feel validated, all that time on my hands, or all of these things. I wouldn't have been fulfilled with a report, poem, or ode. This shit needed to be a book.

And whom or what fueled this crazy, crazy idea? Ye Olde Downward-Spiraling Economy. An Economy so bad that it made it impossible to find a job and very possible to write a book. So I, thank you, Economy, for sucking so badly. I only hope more people will make different kinds of lemonade from you, like I did, you nasty little lemon, you.

1 comment:

  1. i heard a joke on NPR today.

    there were 2 brothers, a rich one and a poor one. the rich one lived far away from their hometown, and the poor one lived close by. when their father died, the rich brother decided that he couldn't be bothered to help with the funeral. he called the poor one, and said that he would pay for any costs as long as the poor one would take care of everything.

    the funeral takes place, and the poor brother sends the rich one a huge bill, which he promptly pays. the next month, he sends another, smaller bill. the rich guy pays that one too. the third and fourth months, he pays the same amount. finally, he calls the poor brother to ask about all these bills. the poor brother says, "well, you said to do this right, so i rented dad a tux."

    baaaaaaaahahaha i laughed so hard. npr is amazing.

    so was your spelling of facial! you can't even credit that to typing!