My Writer's Life

My best friends were torturedbutterfly and BanjoDan.
They were there every day for me, on just the other side of the screen, sitting and reading my work obsessively. They were more real to me that the mail carrier or the food delivery guy. I hadn't met them either. When doorbell rang, I ask them to leave the packages and groceries outside.
I had arrived as a freelance writer. I posted daily on online writing forums, mostly short quotes, sometimes extended musings. My laptop charger was out of reach or I would have checked how many new comments and favorites my blog received, since falling asleep on the couch last night. Instead, I idly picked off some dry cereal stuck to my sweatpants.
The slack sound of sneakers padding on asphalt, car doors slamming, engines idling, and buses wheezing told me it was 8 am. The middle-school kids across the street were being deposited in school for mind-numbing interactions. Their playground was Prospect Park. It looked pretty from my window.
"Good morning," the cross guard chirped from several stories below to brats of hipsters.
I repeated the pleasantry aloud. The sound of my own voice was hardly recognizable to me.
Coffee. Need it. The warm heavy mug in my hand helped steady my gaze and face the blinking cursor once again.
I found my smart phone in low-power mode in the couch cushions and scanned the screen .and noted the date: June 1.
The last time I had left the house it was Cinco de Mayo.
And it was a disaster. Won't make that mistake again.
Wasted a night on a date secured from the slush pile of losers, OkCupid. Date was on a low carb diet so he skipped the bun when he ordered his bacon wrapped cheese laden hot dog at Houlihans. By cutting out the bread, he was convinced he was getting his weight under control.
When I came home, I wrote about it to my friends online with mixed advice.
That's great grist for a first-person essay! Go for it Andygirl!
Stay focused on your craft; don't distract yourself with nonsense.
I always chose to follow the advice of my online family They know me better than anyone. They never let me down.
This post by a fan, particularly resonated with me:
Life is neither pain nor pleasure; it is serious business, to be entered upon with courage and in a spirit of self-sacrifice.
I was sacrificing for my work. That's what artists do. And staying safe, in my apartment, is all I need.
The alternative was too painful: buying an outfit at Bonwit Teller; tucking the tags in; wearing it to meet my cousin's best friend's sister who is a literary agent, and then returning the outfit to the store. Waiting for the green light from some imprint of an indie publishing company to give me the go ahead.
Waiting and waiting.
"So you write about anybody famous?" my OkCupid date asked. "You know I could get you an interview with Ace Frehley. I met his parents once."
I was just thinking what wealth of literary information I could possibly get from the KISS guitarist, before excusing myself to the bathroom, and slipping out of the restaurant.
When I arrived home, my laptop was open, welcoming me. That's the way it will always be.
Reclusive rhymes with exclusive.
A banal insight. Maybe, but I posted it.








"Days without death make morticians mad,"