Friday, May 15, 2015

In Your Dreams

by Kelly Baugh

Lately I've been telling a lot of folks the details of my profession. As I said in my last blog, I'm moving. Banks, city utilities, title companies, they all seem to be very interested in the ways my family generates income. Here's a typical conversation:

Banker: What's your husband's profession? 
Me: He's a software developer.
Banker: Good. And what is it that you do?
Me: I'm a writer.
Banker: Wow, really? That sounds ...

It's at this point I wish I could jump into the banker's head and actually live the exotic, glamorous life I know he's picturing.--me, doing one of the following:

Discussing literary authors, in hip, writerly lingo, with fascinating creatives sporting black turtlenecks and silky hair at a beatnik-esque coffee shop. Later that night we'll all be doing readings for a packed-out audience.

Typing on my laptop on the deck of my yacht, harbored in a Mediterranean port, sipping wine. Later that night I'll be heading to shore to ride my Vespa to a party at someone's villa where I'll be signing copies of my best-selling novel.

Cozily holed up in a cottage in the British countryside/mountain top retreat/tropical island, typing my manuscript on a vintage typewriter. Every so often, in a fit of passion, I rip my page into shreds and throw it at my cat/wolf/parrot.

Oh that these were true. I want to crawl up inside of one of these fantasies and never leave (except for the wolf one).

I have to admit, however, the reality is great too, even if I am just sitting at my desk in my pajamas. Or playing my latest plot line in my head while zoning out during a boring meeting. Or getting to hang out with the other amazing writers at NCW. 

It may not be the Mediterranean, but it's a pretty sweet life.


JC Lynne said...

You speak the truth, oh writer!

Patricia Stoltey said...

The trouble with being a writer with a view of the Mediterranean is that you'd never want to stay inside and write. I'm better off hiding upstairs in the bedroom with a view only of the houses across the street.

The other misconception about writers is that they make money. My mother tells me that everyone at her assisted living facility thinks I must be rich. I wish....

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