Adventures in Writing: Navigating the Quirky Maze of Creativity

Comedy of Errors in the Pursuit of Art and Employment

Hey, fellow wanderers in the whimsical world of creativity!

Ah, the winding road of creativity—the one paved with dreams, peppered with rejection letters, and occasionally lined with the plucking hair out of your scalp. Buckle up for a tale of my wild journey—from playing waitress in the skies to whipping up gastronomic masterpieces.

Oh, and did I mention my gig as a wordsmith? Yeah, writing is my main squeeze acting as my sidekick, but let’s be real—Batman had it easier than us creative types when it comes to paying the bills.

Dream an Impossible Dream, Artistic Edition

Picture this: a utopian land where artists have their own personal cheerleading squad (maybe Oprah’s reccommended reading lists with pom-poms?). Europe's got it down with artist funds and patrons, ensuring creative souls can follow their dreams without becoming experts in the art of Ramen noodle cuisine.

I’ve been out of grad school for a few years now pondering if I should commit to the professional student trope and sign up for a Ph.D. Why? I just cannot find work that will provide for me and my family. Only yesterday, I was tabulating how and 4 part-time jobs could give me the equivalent of 1 $80,000 per annum job. I interviewed with a data center as lofty security guard-cum-customer service agent. At $20 an hour, I figure it would supplement the part-time job I have selling magazine ads in a senior magazine, alongside a steady, contract gig writing a documentary script, with the proceeds from a steady freelance writing hustle.

No such luck.

Photo by Katrina Wright on Unsplash

My interviewer kept asking me if I could do the job of monitoring CCTV and answering calls from cloud server clients trying to troubleshoot why something is wrong in a data center. Now, I’ve never set foot in a data center but have reported on the industry exclusively for Data Center Knowledge. My work study job in college was troubleshooting problems in all the college campus computer labs. I know how to use power equipment and can replace server parts with ease. Still, my guy didn’t think I was capable. Beats me. You only have to look at my resume to see I am more than capable. In the end, he needs a body but perhaps not mine.

This is where the job hunting part irks me to no end. As a writer, you spend years, honing your craft. You attend workshops, beat back countless others for writing space in esteemed magazines and newspapers with the idea that one day you’ll have a steady gig. Nothing fancy. Just something to give you the life Boomers had.

Each day, I scour Indeed, LinkedIn, Otta, even Craislist looking for work in the arts or marketing. Anyplace really that will use my wordsmith talents. I rarely get to move forward with any job. The ones that seem to be a good fit have me jump through aptitude tests and writing assignments that I have to dedicate a working day to. They never pay for your time. Sometimes I make it all the way to a Zoom interview. It goes well, I swear. They laugh. I highlight ways my writing and SEO knowledge can make their copy meet more eyeballs. I suggest social media strategy. I talk the talk.

I’m lucky if I get a thanks, but no thanks from them.

If our country wants writers or public intellects we need to do something different. Here in the good ol' U.S. of A., we're on our own, armed with nothing but determination, a thesaurus, and maybe a lucky pen. I've often daydreamed about a national artist fund or a universal basic income (UBI), imagining a world where I can write my magnum opus without having to choose between rent and fancy tweed jackets with elbow patches.

Pitching Dreams, Dodging Rejections

Reality check: I spend more time crafting pitch emails than I do crafting my masterpiece. The rejection emails? Oh, they're practically my pen pals now. I've even considered framing a rejection letter or turning them into a quirky art installation—call it "The Rejected Chronicles."

UBI: The Fairy Godmother We Deserve

Enter UBI—the fairy godmother of the creative realm. Wouldn't it be magical to receive a check every month just for being a creative genius? I mean, Cinderella had a talking mouse and a pumpkin chariot. Can't we get a break too?

Hustling: A Symphony of Chaos and Creativity

In the absence of a golden ticket or a UBI magic wand, the hustle becomes a daily opera. Picture me juggling words, pitching stories, and praying my bank account doesn't stage a rebellion. It's like riding a unicycle while playing the accordion—challenging, a bit absurd, and you're not entirely sure why you're doing it.

The American Dream, a Comedy of Degrees

Ever heard the saying that education ruins your ability to work because now you expect to get paid? I heard it last night, dooms-scrolling YouTube shorts. Talk about a nightmare. Frederick Douglass or any notable person you learn about in Black History Month—what my family calls National Watch Black People Get Whipped and Murdered in the Name of Education and Awareness Month—might not have said those exact words, but the sentiment rings true. I embarked on the academic odyssey, thinking a graduate degree in writing would be my golden ticket to financial bliss. Or, at least health insurance and the ability to save for a retirement far, far, far into the future. Instead, I find myself eyeing jobs that require a high school diploma, offering the same salary I made fresh out of culinary school in 2005.

A Culinary Detour and the Wisdom of Cassava

In the grand adventure of life, I took a detour through the culinary arts because being a Delta Flight Attendant wasn’t cool after 9/11. They let me go. There was no reward for flying long haul flights immediately after that murderous day. No loyalty for being cornered in galleys by drunk businessmen who read and re-read that inferable book, “Coffee, Tea, or Me.” Fun fact, that book was written by a man. Flight attendants worldwide have to endure harassment from passengers and pilots alike due to that INCEL wet dream. Delta looked at their books and said we can furlough these flight attendants and later hire younger ones who’ll be excited at the promise of prestige and free stand-by travel. I mean, that’s how they got me.

So I did what anyone with dreams of being an artist would do. I donned my chef's hat with dreams as high as a soufflé. Picture this: an externship with the illustrious French chef Daniel Boulud, heading to France and creating culinary masterpieces that would make even a food critic and the foot Mama puts in ‘it’ weep. Fast forward to today, and I'm contemplating planting cassava and yam in Jamaica, heeding the wisdom of a simpler life.

Mom's Wisdom: To Jamaica or Not to Jamaica?

Could my mother have been onto something? Should I pack my bags, leave the Babylonian chaos and ambition behind, and embrace the tranquility of a Jamaican cassava farm? The allure of simplicity, of earth beneath my fingers and the sweet hum of a laid-back life, tempts me. Maybe mom was right; maybe Babylon doesn't always work out.

At least I can kinda fish!

Sticking It Out: Tenacity Over Talents

But then, there are those few—the writers, the artisans, the creators—who weather the storms, not because of innate talent but because of tenacity. Maybe I should be one of them, crafting words and stories not because the world demands it, but because I demand it of myself.

Conclusion: Tenacity is Key

Frederick Douglass did say, “It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” This captures the idea that education, even in small doses, can empower individuals to expect fair compensation for their work, transforming them from passive recipients to active participants in their own destinies.

Hear that? It's not the echo of regret or the soft rustle of cassava leaves—it's the cacophony of my phone ringing off the hook. Maybe Babylon has its flaws, but as I navigate the comedy of errors in pursuit of art and employment, one thing becomes clear: tenacity trumps talents, and the show must go on.

As we dance through the chaos of creative pursuits and financial acrobatics, let's embrace the absurdity. The rejection letters, the hustle, the self-diagnosed medical melodramas—they're all part of the gig. Maybe one day, a Leonardo Di Vinci-esque patron will emerge, waving a giant check for our artistic endeavors. Until then, let's keep laughing, keep creating, and remember: life's a bit more colorful when you're painting outside the lines.

Until next week,

Selah.