Five Things I Learnt That One Time When I Was an Unemployed Writer
I’ve Totally Got This Clickbait Thing Down, Everyone
1 — Eighties greats like Toto and A-ha are your friend. That’s right. When you’re pretending to write a query letter for that part-time job to pay the bills, you’re going to need a soundtrack. And not just any soundtrack, my friend. You need the soundtrack of success. Go get that job! Tell your friends all about how you applied for a gig with an international editing and publishing firm. You can spare them the details. Nobody needs to know you’ll be writing legal and regulatory updates for multinational corporations. You are living the dream.
2 — Stock the beer fridge. A light alcoholic beverage will help kickstart the initial job-seeking phase and guide you through the application process. Beer is like a steadfast friend. It gives you the confidence to spout about your greatest achievements. It buoys you when you’re stuck and blows all judgement and self-doubt out of the water. Just stay away from the stronger beverages. You need friends to make you laugh. But you don’t want them to get too intense (you have relationships for that).
3 — While we’re talking about relationships, you can kiss your stable family life good-bye. When you work from home — or, better still, when you write at home all day without getting paid — you have time to reflect. If your significant other also works from home, the effect is doubled. They will trip over you typing on the floor in your pyjamas. They will not admire your efforts to make sweet love to the column heater. They will worry over your inability to sample the outside world, preferring the company of a computer screen. There will be ‘words’ and not all of the written variety. There will be talk of the future. You will turn to existentialism. You will wonder what the hell Sartre was going on about and why Inès didn’t just walk out the fucking door. Then you will realise why. And when you do, salt water will indeed well in your eyes. Thanks a lot, Julian.
4 — Arbitrary point that doesn’t enlighten anyone or mean anything. Mumble mumble. Is it time for more coffee? Mumble.
5— Proofread your fricking work. Then do it again. You were drunk, remember. Who knows what you wrote?
