Make no mistake, writing is work. Different, of course, than my previous jobs (paying my dues) as a clothing store clerk, dishwasher, wax crew hallway stripper and buffer, wallpaper hanger, paint salesman, short order cook, Wards hardware department manager, and letter forwarder/window clerk. But work nonetheless. In school, I worked night shift to pay expenses, while the rich kids went on dates and played sports. (Rich was defined as having enough money to own a car.) Later, when my peers were getting married and having kids, I was still working late at the post office (required for those without seniority), and then reading and reviewing books before falling asleep, alone. Now, in middle age, I’m “unencumbered” as my insurance salesmen former classmates might put it. No kids, no wife, no time clock job, “no nothing.” Some would call this horror, others humor. Writing both, I call it “life.” It is what it is. One thing is for sure: it lends a perspective outside the box. . . or rather cubicle. For humor, check out my interview with possibly our greatest living humorist: Garrison Keillor. Pages 12-13 at this link. For horror, there is this story, produced by some fellow night owls in England. The photo above was taken years ago for a piece I did for Omni magazine. I was working graveyard shift at the Tucson post office at the time. The piece was humorous, and although the job was anything but (being as repetitive as an infomercial for reverse mortgages or cooking utensils) at least it allowed me to listen to books. They owned my hands, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Still is. (insert laugh track here.)
Miraculous Plot is new to audio here. Postmarked for Death is new to iTunes here.
