Irony

I vowed here to give up acting, right? I read it here. And here. I shared how suddenly I got some offers. Granted, they were for unpaid work. But, still, there they were. But that was gonna be it, right?

And then I checked my email that afternoon.... "Blah blah blah. Hey, will you be one of the actors in the new Christmas Follies?"

And then this week. "Hi, I own a murder mystery company,and would like to bring you on board, if you are interested."

So, here, I publicly declare: I no longer want a million dollars. Nope. I will give up my dream of a million dollars.

Oh, wait. That doesn't work. I have to reluctantly give up something that I care about, like acting, in hopes that the itch of something new, like writing, will be scratched. Remember what this blog is about, remember? "Not Doing It"

I really enjoy writing, and feel great satisfaction when I am writing. I feel this low grade urge ALL THE PHUCKING TIME to dive back into The General's Heir and finish that mutherphucker. I also have this new writing idea about zombies. I know, old hat now, but the itch doesn't care. This idea is simmering just like The General's Heir did. How I want to dig in...

And yet, acting calls, if you can call the clamoring a 'call'. More like a brick of noise to the side of the head. I won't do the follies, I think. One, I don't really want to, even if I love the producer. Two, really, if I am going to get pulled out of my writing from now on, it DAMN well better be for a paycheck. I am a mercenary, if nothing else. Or maybe a whore? Ha! I can see it now....

ME: Sorry, honey, no sex tonight-- I have to write.

HIM: Write? But I just put on the camo briefs you like!

ME: Think of this as my job. Just like the acting gigs.

HIM: Nope.

ME: What?

HIM: You are gonna have to spell it out for me. If I'm not getting any tonight, you have to explain.

ME: Okay, so, when I am sitting at the computer from 8-12 tonight, I am writing my book.

HIM: I thought you were finished with it!

ME: You are right. I am trying to finish the edits!

HIM: How is this like the acting gigs? I haven't seen you depositing any checks.

ME: Think about it like the rehearsals for the acting gigs. The paycheck just comes a little later.

HIM: I can buy that, I guess. But what is your time worth?

ME: Huh?

HIM: So, you have an acting gig. How much do you get paid?

ME: A hundred, I think, usually.

HIM: Huh. And how long are you gone when doing the acting gig?

ME: Oh, the usual? Two hours for the actual gig, but add another two for travel. So, four hours?

Him: So, you get twenty-five an hour for your time. Is that right?

ME: ...Well, I guess... when you put it like that...

HIM: And that doesn't include the rehearsal time, does it?

ME: ...Not as such...

HIM: 'Cause, hell, I have a twenty in my wallet, and we can be done in half an hour.

ME: ...Uh...

HIM: And, I will throw in a big O for you! You cannot get that kind of satisfaction from your paid gigs!

ME: ...But I am an Artist!

HIM: Artists gotta eat. Or, well, you know what I mean.

ME: But-

HIM: And you won't have to travel any farther than upstairs. And when we are done, you can go back downstairs and write!

ME: But I have to be in the right frame of mind, in the zone! I cannot just get on the computer and go through the motions, and fake it....

HIM: Uh-huh? What were you about to say?

ME: ...Um, get upstairs. And I will put on the sexy shoes.

(Apologies to the Hubby. He is incredibly supportive. Oh, and Happy Birthday to me. I am officially old now.)