...including certain ladies on buses,
Writing is a real job. Really. I know this may come as a shock to you - and I'm very sorry if I've somehow shattered your view of the world - but writing is a real job. And I don't just mean journalism and writing articles for Important Publications. I mean writing fiction. That unholy of unholies. Novels. I see you shuddering already.
But it's true. It's a real job. See these Dictionary.com definitions of the word job
1.a piece of work, especially a specific task done as part of the routine of one's occupation or for an agreed price: She gave him the job of mowing the lawn.2.a post of employment; full-time or part-time position: She was seeking a job as an editor.
No doubt you will have noted the words employment, occupation and price there. As strange as this may sound, being a writer actually fulfills the above criteria. I write books. People will hopefully read those books. It's a job. Honest.
Perhaps you thought a Real Job meant having a secure, stable and certain job. Now I will admit such a job is tempting (though if you can find me any secure, stable and certain jobs in this warm and cuddly economic climate, I'll eat my boot). I like security, stability and certainty. I watch my husband's bank account in awe, marvelling at how, like clockwork, he gets money once a month. Like magic! One of these clockwork magic jobs would be nice, I'm sure.
But on the other hand, I'm happy with writing. Which is a real job, by the way. And here's why:
1. I get to work in my pyjamas. Or in a cocktail dress. Or naked. Or while lying in bed! Imagine that
2. I get to be six years old again and make up stories - only this time no one dares accuse me of being a dreadful little liar
3. I get to drink wine/liqueur/neat vodka while I'm working and people call it artistic, not irresponsible - and no one's going to sack me for doing it either
4. I get to hang out on Twitter and Facebook and this blog and still claim I'm working
5. Did I mention I get to make up stories?
6. And, because this always comes up, yes, I do actually get paid to make up those stories too. Which means I have a real job. And you have to admit it's kind of a cool one too.
So, you know. I work. Like a - gasp - real person. So please don't ever ask me when I'm going to get a real job again. Because I might have to punch you on the nose. Sorry in advance.