Sleeping in a Closet to Be a Writer

Paying my writing dues in the days of Elvis

Thomas Plummer
Sep 19 · 1 min read
By Bowie 15 on iStock (image licensed by author)

Sixty hours a week working jobs a sane man wouldn’t attempt.
Three roommates in a one-bedroom basement dump.
Me sleeping in a storeroom behind our only closet.
Rent a hard $30 a month for my windowless dungeon.

Twenty-one years old and thought I knew it all.
Writing for a living on a typewriter from the days of Elvis.
Scribbling my columns by night and finishing school by day.
Making big money and beer was only $3 a pitcher but I was still broke.

Don’t remember sleeping those years.
Every day was a Saturday of cheap beer, bad shots and beautiful women.
First time I ever made money and all of it lasted as long as the shots and girls.
I was a writer gone bad, a regular Henry Miller, and didn’t even know it.

Much older now but maybe not wiser.
Still sit up late nights writing my little stories but drinking better wine.
Glad I lived those days as a struggling writer paying my dues,
I sure as hell wouldn’t want to do it again but I do miss my typewriter.

Blue Insights

All Writers— Be Heard. Sharing emotions — Spark plugs to ignite your virtual humanity.

Thomas Plummer

Written by

A simple life dedicated to leaving the world a little better than I found it. Long career in the business of fitness, writer of books, speaker, personal coach.

Blue Insights

All Writers— Be Heard. Sharing emotions — Spark plugs to ignite your virtual humanity.

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