Manager On Duty

Now that every person I know reads this blog, my life is a lot more of an open book than it was a year ago. I've never been a secretive kind of guy, really. But when you write about your daily life in a public forum like this, and then actually go around telling people your site address, and even putting a tag on the end of your e-mails with a link, well, you get some readers who know you. And then, everyone you encounter in your daily life has the inside scoop on your life.

I regularly have people ask me about things in my personal life that I don't remember having blogged, which leads to really odd little encounters where they'll say things like "good luck with that interview," and I'll respond "huh?" because I don't remember writing about that interview. Hell, I may not even have that interview...maybe I just needed some shit to write about that night and got carried away.

No, I'm kidding. I don't make stuff up here on the blog, unless I'm pretending to be a celebrity guest blogger or something obvious like that. So you'll know I'm being honest when I say this:

I have joined the ranks of the managed.

That's right - I'm a writer with a manager. Does this make me a professional writer? That's really the thousand-dollar question. As I see it, there are three possible ways to define a professional writer:

(1) Someone with an agent working on their behalf, actively seeking paid assignments
(2) Someone who has sold a piece of writing for a profit at one time
(3) Someone who regularly sells writing for profit

If you use #1 or #2, I suppose in a few days, I will actually technically be a professional writer. (Albeit an underpaid one). If you go by #3, well, then, screw you.

My new manager (wow, that's odd to type) called me early this evening to tell me the news; I was working at the store at the time. I was fairly elated for about an hour.

And then I started to really think about the situation, and went back to my usual non-elated self. Specifically, I thought about how this the first step in the realization of a dream. I've been writing and getting stuff published since I worked on my high school paper at around age 15, and I've loved movies since early childhood. When I was a kid, I used to say I wanted to be a "movie producer," since I didn't really know what anyone did on a movie but knew that the PRODUCER was always the guy whose name appeared before the title.

But now that this pipe dream is actually starting to take shape, I'm thinking about how I might not make it. I probably won't make it. That's not pessimism, it's just reality. Lots of writers have agents, but not a lot of writers make a good living through writing for movies or TV. Very very few do.

And if I don't make it, if I'm still in this apartment in a year working at a video store, having given the screenwriting thing a go and failed to find work...how will that feel? A part of me says I will feel better than I do know. I'll know that I tried my best, the whole thing won't seem intimidating and unknown any more, and I'll still be pretty young. I could always write something new, send it around and try again. Or figure out something else to do with my life that's less competitive, like professional kickboxing or Senator.

But another part of me, the bitter cynical negative (and let's face it, dominant) part tells me this is delusional. I'm already bitter, cynical and negative most of the time right now, so the added humiliaton of having told the world on my blog that I have a manger, only to fail to find any work as a professional writer, not to mention the anxiety and depression, will only enhance my disaffected, pissed-off misanthropy.

But what choice do I have? None. That's life. So, here's hoping I don't make a complete ass of myself out there.