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I'm a writer, and for the last year or so I've been making my living by writing. Which is nice; but there's writing and then there's writing, you know? I'm not getting rich, and it's not blowing much air up my skirt, but service journalism is doing more than just keeping me from poverty while I plug away at my fiction; I honestly think it's improved the quality of my prose.
Anyway, it's a good gig, not least because I'm pretty sure I'm otherwise unemployable.
I'm a generalist, which has been both a blessing and acurse. My education has been haphazard, and my knowledge base is broad but not deep—meaning I've never had the concentrated expertise to qualify me for a high-paying specialist job. My employment history, consequently, reads as a record of underachievement.
Also, I've been fired a couple of times.
I have done lots of jobs in industry and academia on account of I am detail-oriented, good with my hands, and half-clever about computers; a miserable year as key operator in a software testing lab—sacked for inability to keep to the 60-hour-a-week schedule—and before that three years as a production assistant and eventually production editor for an e-publishing company.
My longest stint in any job was nine years in academic support services at a college. I lasted that long not because I was particularly good at it, but because of a combination of personal stagnation and the sort of institutional inertia with which any veteran of the academy will be familiar; one bit in the Harry Potter books that rang very true to me is the ghost teacher who died while teaching a class and simply carried on as if nothing had happened, while all the staff simply accommodated the fact that the old boy was deceased. I was still alive but had long since stopped kicking by the time I managed to get my sorry ass fired from that one.
Best thing that ever happend to me, in retrospect. |
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