Who am I/What am I/Where am I

I don't know what kind of writer I want to be, should be, could be. SEO copywriter? No. Marketing copywriter? No. Scriptwriter? No. Advertising copywriter? No. Corporate writer? No.

Where do you go and what do you do if you're a creative writer and you don't have a best selling novel under your belt, but you still want to eat and have a roof over your head? You marinate, meditate, percolate, speculate. And then you get up and do something: write a poem, a blog entry, a shopping list, a to-do list, a note-to-self. 

Since I left the library, I'm kinda lost, in a topsy-turvy way. I like not having to report for "duty" five days a week, but then there's the matter of money. Good ol' money. I didn't save enough for an actual retirement so now where do I go? What do I do? 

Well, I think I might dye my hair. It's kinda light brown/greyish (in photos at least - it doesn't look like that in my bathroom mirror). I might actually start a regular routine of riding the exercise bike I bought a few months back. I might even drink rum for breakfast (oooohhh). 

But, mostly, I'm going to write every day, like those that know everything (unlike me) say you should. Does a blog entry constitute writing every day? I'm really into flash fiction and post-apocalyptic stories. I don't know why I find the end of the world as we know it so fascinating. Maybe because it's happening in real life. Maybe because I'm closer to the end of my story than the beginning or the middle.

I think it all began for me with Jean Hegland's novel "Into the Forest." It was just way too real. Then the big Y2K scare that the world would suddenly go haywire. After that, I got into "The Walking Dead" and "Fear the Walking Dead." And movies like Waterworld, World War Z, A Quiet Place, Bird Box, The Road, The Terminator, Mad Max, and The Book of Eli. And let's not forget such apocalyptic novelists as Dean Koontz, Stephen King, and Margaret Atwood.

And then there's me. Just me. In my own post-apocalyptic life. Wandering around in my tiny house, colliding with my dog who refuses to move (she's a herding dog, bred to stop escaping cattle. Hmmm... maybe she sees me as some type of hybrid cow), playing Solitaire until I win a game, eating chocolate all day, watching crime shows about people who walked out the door and disappeared, and feeding cats, cats, and more cats.

Whoa. Clouds just covered the sun. It went kinda dark here in my living area. Almost post-apocalyptic. Life imitates art...or is it the other way around? Shhhhh. I'm gone.

A Quiet Place