Stephen King was a janitor.
Ken Kesey worked as an orderly at a mental hospital.
Margaret Atwood worked at a coffee shop.
Langston Hughes bussed tables
James Joyce owned and worked in a cinema
Dostoyevsky was an engineer
Octavia Butler inspected potato chips
Toni Morrison edited textbooks
And yes, Kurt Vonnegut sold cars.
That’s right, we’re talking day jobs. You know, the things that creatives and honestly most human beings complain about on a daily basis. Our day job tends to be seen as an obstacle to what we’re doing. The thing that gets in our fucking way and we just wish it would just go away so we can fully embrace our greatness. Retail, food and bev, insurance, car sales, cleaning, driving, washing dishes, and doing all of the little shit others don’t want to do; day jobs run the gamut throughout all of society.
But they’re just that, right? Day jobs.
Join me as I explore this question and my history with day jobs on a new episode of Confessions of a Working Writer.
Join us for another Confession of a Working Writer
Intro and Outro music courtesy of Georgia Moon (https://www.thegeorgiamoon.com/)
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