(Seriously, if I wrote this tomorrow, the list would be mostly the same, but
shuffled to account for the phase of the moon, the price of gasoline, and the
quantity and colors of polka dots on my socks.)
- After having children and turning my sewing room into a bedroom, I needed a
creative outlet that was neither potentially harmful to small children (pins,
needles, and shears oh my!), nor loud enough to keep them awake (my serger sounds
something like a swat team helicopter). - Occasionally, one of the voices in my head hacks into my central nervous
system and starts looking for a keyboard. - I had to legitimize my Starbucks habit.
- I'm tired of punching a (computerized) time clock. Does anybody really care
what I work on down to the tenth of an hour? (That's six minutes for all you
non-math types). And the answer is YES. They do. Even if 5.5 of those 6 minutes
are spent in the restroom. - I want windows. Not the computerized kind. I'm talking a pane of
translucent glass through which I can see things that grow and the occasional change
of season. - I have always claimed that my ideal job would pay me to go back to school to
learn a large variety of completely unrelated and barely practical bodies of
knowledge. Stuff like Mesoamerican history, the science of puff pastry, and the
design philosophies of high-end women's shoe companies. Writers call this stuff
research. - And of course, buying romance novels by the baker's dozen is also research.
- I like women. No, not that way. But when having only 4 women in a group of
20 co-workers means you have a more diversified team than any other in the
corporation, you start really missing girl talk. - Sex with hot men. And since they're all make believe, it prevents the
awkward conversations with my husband... - JK Rowling's net worth. Yeah, that kind of success is a pipe dream. But
one that all writers secretly share.
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