I have to point out that I’m not propositioning anyone here (my wife disapproves of such behaviour), it’s just a title thing. Should I stay, or should I go? This then is the question that’s been plaguing me for the last ten months. Ever since that gilded trumpet sounded, bringing with it the angels from HarperCollins in all their publishing glory. Now, to put this in context I probably have to tell you that my expectations on the old publishing front were modest, to say the least. So when HC came back with their pretty swanky offer it was beyond my wildest dreams. Well, not my WILDEST dreams, those featured a telephone number advance (with international dialling prefix), but way, way, way, way more than I ever thought I’d ever realistically get.
But, dear browser, there is a dark side to this tale of joy: what to do about work. Now you may notice that I don’t mention my job much on this blog malarkey. That’s mostly because we are expressly forbidden from complaining, or criticizing the company in any public, or private, forum. Which is why I don’t tend to talk about my job. Suffice it to say that I don’t enjoy what I do for a living a whole lot. AND, as I’m not a writer yet (as one can’t call oneself that, IMHO, until that first book actually hits the shelf, so until March 17th I’m still a Project Manager.) For them what don’t know; Project Management in the IT industry is not a great deal of fun. In fact IT Manager was recently rated third in the top 100 crap jobs, loosing out only to Toilet Cleaner on a North Sea Ferry and Phone Sex-Line Operator. But it pays the bills.
The longer this year has gone on, the more… inclined I have become to just jack it all in and leave. Give this writering thing a good crack of the whip. It’s not like I like the job after all… And yet… It pays the bills.
Fiona is much more decisive: “S******g them!” she says (with asterisks instead of naughty words as she is a lady and doesn’t mind flouting Rickard’s F*****g Law) “Go write for a living. Look after the cat. Stop being a grumpy b****r and do it!”
But you see: it pays the bills…
Maybe I’ll feel differently after I come back from Norway in March with an actual, genuine, cast in paper and cardboard and some sort of fabricky-leather-ish stuff in a nice dust jacket. Then I shall throw caution to the wind and say, “Look at me! I’m a write-ist!” …
Till then, I suppose: it pays the bills.