Odd Jobs & the #WritingCommunity

Odd jobs will always be a thing that writers will have to deal with.  Writing doesn't always pay the bills, and friends with ends to lend, ain't always around.  In this new age of self/desktop/immediate publishing, there is still the need for the odd or creative way to gain financial independence.  Some of these odd jobs may include bus driver, campground host, hotel clerk, cutting hair, or substitute teaching.  Whatever you do, it's suggested that you find a job with a high wage, so you can do it part time.

For me, I've found working in education and human services/mental health fields to be rewarding financially.  At times each have not been rewarding emotionally.  In education I deal with youth, it can be hard, they can be lazy, and everyone makes bad decisions.  Mental health has it's moments too; intense situations, arguing patients, issues with family members, etc. etc. etc.

However recently I put out a tweet I didn't expect to get much from.  But there it was, writers from

all over talking about their wonderful and/or horrible side gigs.  I am still amazed, still in awe; to date there have been over 8000 impressions and counting.  Now I'm not sure if that's viral (probably not) but it does make me feel damn good about the wonderful #WritingCommunity on Twitter!!

I mean there were teachers, SPED teacher, professors, field engineers, HVAC technician, legal assistants medical assistants and students of all kind!

One person checked in and said they worked in hell (ha!)  Not really, their hell was a call center; but if it had goats, then it would be a different story.  There was another who said he was a male dancer--I understand, it takes all types. There were even some lobbyist (for non-profits), and sufferers of PTSD and CPTSD. There was even a guy there who like me, who busted out two jobs--think he was a firefighter and doing construction.

Connections are amazing!  They are the beginnings of our stories, or little reminders that we are not alone, or reads that make us chuckle, then get back to the grind.  It is good to know that the community is strong, and though there are obstacles (like hellish jobs) we continue to write.  We continue to imagine, continue to write, continue to connect with each other in weird and wonderful ways. 

So keep banging out those odd jobs, pay the bills, and write till the blood in your veins is nothing more than the word you have left on your paper.  I go by poet402, and I approved this message!

This is father-hood

It is 16 hour days split between two jobs; a classroom full of teens, and a milieu full of crazy--schizophrenic patients to be p.c.  It is a toddler who was a preemie, who you can't say no to, even when she says 'ma-ma' with a French accent repeatedly.  It is 25 minutes in the morning, 50 minutes in the afternoon, and about  40 minutes past 11, smoking wonderful cigarettes behind the drivers seat of a 99 Cadillac, riding.

This is father-hood.

There is no such thing as time off, no such thing as true rest, no such thing as me time.  It's no longer about me.  It's about the girls.  By the time old number 19 rolls in right after 20, there will be three. Two under 2, one over 18 (have no worry that's the beautiful wife), and my old ass, the only man in the house, with locs graying with each giggle, thud and diaper change.

This is father-hood.

The house is constantly rockin',  me up at 6:30 (if lucky), gone by 6:55; Mom coffee at 7:15 (if lucky) then it's toddler time.  PT, OT, up the steps, down the steps, waddle waddle waddle, play-date, lunch time, laundry, and if she's lucky, the toddler naps.  There are texts at lunch, sometimes a call, sometimes face-time on the road to "crazy", but rarely there is time for us.  I miss her, and at times thinks she misses me, when she has the time; we play dominoes sometimes, and other times shadows touch gently behind closed doors.

This is father-hood.

There is Saturday morning when she gets to wake up, and I am there.  The soft da-da wrapped in a toddling French accent is there, bright and early on a day I could sleep in.  But I haven't heard that da-da live in 5 days, so it's like ice cream for my ears.  I am always happy to hear that sound. Usually tired, usually wanting more sleep, or time alone, I am happy to see her face, and have coffee with mom.  Time is like a T-Rex bone, you don't run across that shit every day.  Saturday mornings are good times.

This is father-hood.

It is ensuring the roof, the lights, the heat, the floor, and fluffy blankets (more for comfort than warmth), are there.  It is enjoying smiles other than your own, all under one roof.  It is knowing things could have gone another way; being happy it didn't, even when times are bleak, or when emotions are angry.  It is missing mom and baby's face, as pay days create waves that bring us closer to "forever houses".  It is easy and not, responsibility and being silly, learning for her, mom, and me; it is joy.  It is something I thought I knew but never had a clue.

It is the best position I will ever hold.

This is fatherhood.