Monday I was checking out at the Wallyworld and chatting with the cashier as I often do, when she says something to the effect of 'that's exactly how I dress on my day off'.
First off, let's be clear. I wear sweatpants to the Wallyworld. I wear sweatpants everywhere for the most part. Unless it's summer, then I'm wearing shorts. It's this writer's standard uniform. I'm all about comfort, baby.
But this isn't a post about the uniform...
I told the woman it wasn't my day off and that I work from home. And that, in fact, I had work to do as soon as I got home. When she asked what I did, I told her...
And then as an afterthought, I told her I also write books.
She got a little excited then, so I rummaged in my purse for a bookmark to hand her. Did the softshoe over the genres I write and encouraged her to check out my work. On the drive home, I thought about all the things I could've told her about my books and my writing. Sure, I didn't have much time because by then she was done ringing up my stuff and someone was behind me in line. But I could've done more.
And then my brain went to the fact that when asked what I do for a living, my first answer was spreadsheets. Yeah, well, spreadsheets does pay better. And right now, I'm devoting more time to working spreadsheets than I am to working on anything even remotely writerly.
In fact, I spend more time whining about not writing than anything remotely writerly. Gotta be loads of fun for my readers. Sorry about that, folks. But it is what it is. Right now, I do spreadsheets. And I also write books.
Or I wrote books. And I will again, if I ever manage to pull my head out of my as... armpit.