Getting a Gig

Problem: I Don’t Want to Get Dressed

My Desk — Proof a disordered environment does not influence the orderliness of a writer’s brain. Photo by Author.

When did writing here stop being work? I guess when I stopped getting paid for it. But writing on Medium serves a purpose. It helps to keep my brain cells from grinding to a halt. However, my writerly leanings recently have been directed toward content on YouTube for children and grownups. The ones who are interested in psychic phenomena will just have to wait a little longer.

What has come up in recent days is the idea that I need something to sell. Short of going out and getting a job, I need to get a gig. I’m retired. I’m a retired person who writes. A lot. How best to do that and get some attention? I don’t have the body anymore. That went all shot to hell about 30 years ago. Thirty? More like 40. Okay, it’s shot.

I’ve got writer’s butt. It’s wide. I’ve got a dent in my head from where my headphones rest while I listen to music that helps to lull me into my little writer’s retreat in the Caribbean. You know, the place where a soft breeze ripples the white gauzy curtains. The door is open, and I don’t need to worry about anybody stopping in or ringing the doorbell. I just fill my lungs with the sea breeze and look out at the blue water.