I'm writing this evening from Fayetteville, Arkansas. I came down here to investigate an editing job, but I don't think that job is going to work out. They wanted me to move to Siloam Springs, Arkansas, and I can't do that. There are plenty of reasons that I'm unwilling to relocate, and if you're wondering what those are, just read any of this blog from the past year.
For a few weeks before I travelled to Arkansas, I was pretty convinced that the job was going to happen. I felt certain that I'd hammer out a deal wherein I could work remotely and commute twice a month. The prospect of writing and editing for a good salary thrilled me and I brimmed with optimism. One day I dragged Dave to the brand new Whole Foods. "Look at all the things we're going to be able to eat" I said. "With my new salary we will buy black mushroom Peruvian salt from a barrel and we will eat like kings."
Quitting the nursing track is a big deal, but I was ready to do that. After all, writing for a living has always been my plan A, but I have abandoned my plan A for something more stable and dependable. I want to have children, and one day I'd like to be able to support us entirely on my salary. This was my own mother's goal, despite being happily married to my gainfully employed father. And she was successful. "You never know what's going to happen," my mom would say, "so you should be able to support your family all by yourself. Just in case."
So here I thought I'd finally found a way to write for a good salary. Actually, it was a fantastic salary. My mom bought me a nice new sweater so that I could feel confident. Are you 29 and needing your mom to buy you a nice sweater for a job interview? Because I am.
They were not willing to let me work remotely. The job did not work out. The artisan salt evaporated, so did my optimism, so did my ability to buy a nice sweater for myself.
On Friday afternoon I drove from Siloam Springs into Fayetteville, where I have some very dear friends. As I drove I was forced to think about things I do not relish thinking of. I felt very down. I had that feeling you get when your big break exploded and there's nothing left of it and then you're driving a rental car alone through Arkansas.
But then someone I met through writing this blog, a woman named Nico who looks like a beautiful Sprite, took me out to dinner.
She owns the restaurant. I had never met her before, and she ordered us every single thing on the menu. The plates kept coming all night. I ate a whole plate of meatballs and a tray of cheese and I realized something.
Something that cheered me up immensely.
Then I came up with an idea, and bear with me because it's going to take a few little bit of explanation. It's called the Wilder Coast Make More Mail Initiative. Included in the make more mail initiative is something called Mystery Prize Monday.
I cannot explain it now, because then the post would be too long. I'm going to pick this up on Monday. It will be the inaugural Mystery Prize Monday. I'll see you then, alright? Goodbye.
