I have recently embarked on a journey to the outer depths of the writosphere where my hopes and desires lie with the elite ranks of my professional mentors who get to write everyday for a living, and on this quest I have been privy to some of my "less-than-marketable" attributes.
"We here at Toby Airlines would like to welcome you aboard. We are currently flying over the beautiful state of Arizona and out the right hand side of the plane you can see the Grand Canyon. For those of you to be so unfortunate to be on the left hand side of the plane towards the back you can see what appears to be a jaded, sliver tongued word smith who applies far too much sarcasm to his daily angst in written form. We will now begin our decent into truthville so we remind you go ahead and leave those seat trays in the down position in the hopes that when we crash (and we will be crashing) they will provide a quicker end to this humbling madness. Smoke em' if you gottem!"
I have so very recently put the stipulation on myself that I must apply to at least two free lance writing jobs posted on public websites a day Wed-Fri (my writing days). This is not to achieve a dream job at some Gazette somewhere, but merely for exposure in the hopes that some publisher somewhere will read what I have concocted and have their "A HA" moment. The tricky thing about piloting this quest is the fact that I am doing so completely blind and without a net. I don't know if this is how one breaks into a writers guild, or gets discovered but my vessel is fueled by the two largest components of flight....hope and patience.
All I truly know at this point of infancy is that all (not some or most) sites require a writing sample which of course I am going to pull from this here shiny blog pond. Thing is I have been forced to go back to the archives and pull a marketable piece from this very collection. A collection mind you that is full of angst, sarcasm, bitterness, and swear words. None of the least which is marketable.
True the blog was created at first to merely vent the pressures of everyday life working in a restaurant, and double true is the fact that I make no bones about being a huge proponent of "comedy for one", the art of making myself laugh-even if you don't; but here I was so recently being forced to answer internal questions like "am I really that jagged?" and "should I create a literary Toby that is more shiny happy, care bear-esque in the hopes of getting discovered only to hold (then unleash) my wrath in season two of my Comedy Central series that I am bound to get?". I mean here I am as a human practicing the philosophies and teachings of Buddha, privately meditating on human suffering, then turning right around and calling people with celiacs disease a**holes (see the **-already starting to clean it up). Where is the balance here, and what do I stand for?
I will not waver from the structured belief that people on the whole need to learn how to eat out better, and I will not ignore that selected few representatives of our population should be singled out as ruining it for others, but I will try to be more compassionate in the hopes that I may be softer on the pallet if only to show that I truly believe that we are a remarkable race worthy of literary translation. I will just try and represent the other side of the spectrum more completely, even when my explored side of the spectrum piss me off....and they will piss me off......darn it-there I go again.
Maybe I need Prozac!
