Money. Yum-Yum.

I'm money hungry. Or maybe I'm just hungry. Oh, hell, at this point, I'm too confused.

This post was prompted by Facebook post by Random House about classic authors who were librarians. I made a comment that if a book store paid enough, I'd love to work in one. This prompted another person (another writer, I presume) to scoff at people who were restricted by the confines of monetary gain; that if you love something enough, you'll do it regardless of pay. Well, here. You check out the thread.

Essentially, I'm a realist. I'm also a mom. You can't tell a mom to "scale it back". Kids are just too damn expensive.

Sure, I'm of the mindset that if you love to write, you will continue to do so regardless of how much you are getting paid. Writing is something you can do anytime, anywhere. Writing is most of what I do in volunteering my spare time. A JOB job, like working for your livelihood type of job isn't something that one can dismiss as being materialistic, especially when you have a family to feed.  I hardly think working in a bookstore qualifies as something that can be "volunteered".

I guess according to some people, I just don't have that "writer" mindset of living in rags and scraping by on pork n' beans. My art should be my entire existence and I should be wrapped inside of it in a cocoon until my wings sprout forth and set me free. 

Yeah, I'm not sure where that metaphor came from either.

I'm not going to apologize for not fitting the role of the stereotypical, getting-ready-to-stick-my-head-in-the-oven writer. As with everything else in life, I'm simply me and that's all I can be.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go dye my hair black, chop it all off, and spike it.