A Day In the Life of a Writer, i.e. Writer (Finale)

Continued from yesterday’s A Day In the Life of a Writer, i.e. Panhandler.

Now that you’ve patiently (or impatiently) waded through tales of an infatuated ESL student of mine, a tour of slavery on a cold, wet TV set, eight hours of training on how to answer a telephone, and trying to sell my “asse”, you have successfully reached the final installment:

Selena and writer Michael Palin.

Writer.

The first thing I ever wrote (besides diary entries which consisted almost entirely of “my brother is a bumhole!!!” * and “just got free candy, yay!!!”) was a story about a girl my age who encountered the same problems as I did, only she always triumphed. It was written as an ongoing story, and last I saw of it, it was about 60 pages.

The first thing I ever wrote and was paid money for was a radio play a friend and I came up with in seventh grade. Truthfully, we recorded the radio play as an improvisation one day, learned about the contest, and then transcribed it. We won twenty bucks – each. A hefty amount for a 12 year-old kid not receiving an allowance.

And thus began my Life As a Writer. Well, that and twenty years of wandering around the figurative desert, i.e. working jobs just to pay the bills because a number of people I looked up to as a kid assured me that you can’t make money at writing (one of whom told me this in a building full of books for sale).

My first job out of college was as office manager and assistant to the publicist at publishers’ representative Ampersand Inc, and once every couple of weeks or so I would escort an out-of-town author around the city for a day, driving her to interviews, taking her to lunch, getting us lost in the vast downtown parking garages. I listened to every interview they gave and peppered them with my own questions and after two years I realized that all the accumulated wisdom and experience of a writer could be distilled down to one simple tenet: Just Write. Wow, I could’ve saved a gazillion dollars on higher education had I known this nugget of info!

My second post-college job was Editorial Assistant and later Calendar Editor at The Hollywood Reporter, which allowed me to write occasionally – and get published and paid for it, thus officially making me a Professional Writer.

I convinced a Hollywood Literary Manager to take me on as a script reader, and after a couple of years branched out with my own script coverage biz. The first screenplay I analyzed was my own and, sadly, received a mere ‘consider’ – until I randomly sprinkled violence, sex and t-shirt-worthy one-liners throughout. Now it’s a surefire blockbuster in the vein of: Driving Miss Daisy meets Armageddon. What do you think of my logline: When an asteroid the size of Texas is headed for Earth, an old Jewish woman and her African-American chauffeur are sent to nuke the rock from the inside.

I co-wrote and co-produced a short film which won third place at the Akira Kurosawa Short Film Competition. I believe we would have won first place, had it not been for my cameo appearance. We attended the awards ceremony in Japan where we stayed in what can only be described as a suitcase-sized hotel room. The shower heads are ridiculously low.

Bill Murray showers in Lost In Translation

I started writing award-worthy articles such as “Different Sizes of Copy Paper” for websites like eHow, SoYouWanna and LiveStrong. They say write what you know, right? Speaking of which, my expertise quickly branched out to “Ways For Women To Increase Sex Drive”, “Psychological Symptoms of Anxiety”, “Herbs For Memory Loss”, and…I forget what else.

Because I'm clearly so hilarious, I funneled my goofy experiences and knack for self-deprecating humor into slice o' life articles for In The Powder Room. The long list of stories touches on how men can avoid getting that second date, the absurdity of the gynecological exam, and how real women, apparently, change diapers. Which makes me a fantasy, I guess.

Being born with a red pen in my mouth, it was only natural that I started charging for my annoying habit of correcting other people's spelling and grammar. Without payment I am merely irritating; with payment, I am an expert marketing article writer, copy editor and copy writer.

I am a regular contributor to a fabulous organic and natural living magazine called The Garlick Press. I have written two (almost three!) novels, one of which is being read by a literary agent, the other of which is being used to keep my table from slanting. I am a newly commissioned biographer for a fantastic artist, Tom Winkler. And I write two blogs: Love Matters and Occupy Selena. Which brings us full circle. Aaaand scene.

Ok, mom, now you can stop worrying about me. The previous four installments made her question the state of my mental well-being. But I’m not crazy, I’m just a writer.

* For the record, I no longer consider my brother a bumhole; in fact, he’s a very cool and loving brother. 

A Day In the Life of a Writer, i.e. Panhandler (Part 4)

Continued from yesterday’s A Day In the Life of a Writer, i.e. Underpaid Temp.

Clearly attempting to break and enter.

If you accidentally (because what other excuse could there be?) missed my last three blogs, here is the Cliff’s Notes version of my opener: I am a writer, which means that I am a freelance ESL tutor, a film and TV “background artist”, an underpaid office temp, a panhandler and, every once in a while, a writer.

Today’s installment: panhandler.

The other day I was preparing breakfast in my kitchen, waiting for the phone to ring, the check to arrive, the email to tell me I’d gotten the new job—anything. I was desperate. As my thoughts raced, I scrambled up some eggs, shaking the pan back and forth to prevent them from sticking. And then it occurred to me: I was panhandling. Literally. I was handling the pan. <insert comedic drum roll>

The dictionary defines “panhandler” as: one who accosts passers-by on the street and begs from them. Well, I have accosted people on the street asking for something from them, but since I was getting paid by a company, I can’t say I was actually begging. Wait a sec, hold on – the definition doesn’t say specifically that a panhandler must be begging for money. Just begging. All righty then, I fit the bill! (Sometimes I wish I weren’t such a stickler for keeping my word.)

I had a job last year as a petitioner wherein I stood on the street (in front of a store), accosted (to approach, especially with a greeting, question, or remark) passers-by, and begged (for a signature) from them. My logic here is stunning, I know.

Enticing a friend with my "asse".

Interesting bit of trivia: the origin of the word “panhandler” dates back to 1895–1900, so called because an extended arm resembles the handle of a pan.

Well, I can’t say I’ve stood on the street asking for money (except when a 1099 form was involved), but I have “couch-surfed”, accepted financial gifts, and sold as many of my worldly belongings as I could do without during difficult times. My car, unfortunately, was one of them. As you can see in the documented photos here, I had a brief run as a robber attempting B&Es. The key, I found, is not to get photographed while in the midst of a heist. And (note to self) it doesn't count if the door is open and it's a public place. I also tried my hand at enticing members of the opposite sex with my tasty "asse"*. Is it wrong of me to admit that I ate my "asse" before I could sell it?

It's time to bid adieu because at this moment I feel as though I am accosting my readers and begging them to read this particular post.


*get your mind out of the gutter - this is an actual chocolate bar I brought back from Japan called "Asse"!

Stay tuned for Part 5 (and finale) tomorrow: Selena actually writes…