Full time writer it is

I’m happy. Okay, I got some horrible news yesterday, but trying to remain positive.  

I’m terrified.  Free as a bird, yes, but nervous.  Let me tell you why.

Until yesterday I was a medical secretary.  Yours truly has been hiding out in a doctor’s office, pretending to be someone else as most writers – sans the Stephen King types – have to do.  At least part-time jobs anyway.   

Then, WHAM, yesterday afternoon the doctor’s wife takes me outside and I knew it wouldn’t be good.  “Your position is turning in to a full-time one.  The fall gets really busy here.  And we need a full time person.”

“And you’re not offering me that position?”
“No.”  She answered flatly.

“So….you’re firing me?”  I asked.  Thinking of all the times I stayed after work, busting my ass to get them caught up.

“Well…basically, yes.”  She let out a nervous little laugh.

As she stood there looking at me I realized mistakes aside, the medical secretary world wasn’t my gig. But for Pete’s sake, I tried. I typed faster than anyone else, was cheerful on the phone, nice to the patients. I scanned and photocopied as fast as I could. I would stay late to get piles down, get scanning caught up and things in order. All they saw were my mistakes, but if anyone tried hard, I did.

I kind of saw it coming, with each time the token bitch (there’s always one, isn’t there?) would throw me under the bus and say ‘we really need someone full-time’ or ‘of course you get the chart, Wendy!’  It’s like I had a Bull’s Eye for her anger every day on my forehead.  I thought someday I’d be asked to leave. There was a clock ticking, the rotten apple didn’t like me.  I figured what she wants she gets, she had been there 12 years and all.  Yes, mistakes are one thing, but the employee with seniority rules.    

Even as I sit here, I’m still processing how my world changed in an instant yesterday.  Great!  I can write all day!  But, eh, ah, er, how will I pay our bills?  My fiance can’t work right now and my royalties don’t even cover our rent.
Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssshit!
As I bite my fingernails, well a little anyway, I wonder what’s around the corner. Sure if I picked up my book of checks and the apron, I can live DinerGirl while I finish writing it, but it’s so damn unappealing.  I can’t bring myself to waitress again unless we have no food in our cupboard and our rent is late.  Which in four weeks is a distinct possibility.

So let me get back to why I’m happy.  

It’s really very simple.

Once I put my pride aside, they were after all firing me for making too many mistakes, I realized once again: I’m an author.  I’ve been broke before and dammit I can be broke again.  I’ll never starve, I’ll never be homeless.  (I have too many family members in the area! ha!)  

Now I’ve got the time, I can get back to finishing DinerGirl.  Oh, sure, I’ll be a little broke, but not for long.  Things always have a way of turning around.

Change position title to:  Full time writer?
                                     Check.

                                     Full time starving artist (well, not starving yet…)
                                     Check. Check.

                                     Things’ll be turning around soon.
                                     Check. Check. Check.

 

peace out,
me

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