It is true that there are a lot of benefits to the writing life.  
There are the hours, of course, that come with a flexible schedule,  
not to mention the clothing choices. For example, right now it is  
10:30 AM, and I am wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, and  
I feel slightly overdressed. There is the allure of feeling like  
you're totally in charge of the work that you are creating (although  
that might just be a fiction, what with editors, and publishing  
houses, and agents trafficking in and molding your word play) and the  
rather selfish thought that you might have something tangible  
existing in this world long after you've exited. And, of course,  
there is the faint glimmer of hope that you might be "The Writer",  
the next someone, and famous and rich and able to afford a sick  
summer cottage on Lake George with a tire swing and one of those  
expensive looking gas grills. But, friends, as you all know, you  
can't have pro's without...um...non-pro's. And there are several non-
pro's in the writing life.

For one, money. I don't so much make any, as I do not make any, and  
I'm actually kind of successful. For two, loneliness. I spend much of  
my day staring, either at my computer, or out the window, or at the  
hippies who are sitting next to me at the coffee shop hand rolling  
clove cigarettes. Spending day after day in the company of your own  
thoughts is (probably) the quickest way to insanity, especially for  
someone whose third grade teacher described as "irritatingly social".  
With that said, every once in awhile, I start to dream about selling  
out. It happens a lot when I'm watching "The Office", and I think about  
how much I want to complain about my job, and be forced to make lunch  
choices from a vending machine or sue someone for wrongful  
termination. Anyway, if I ever do decide to stop "stickin' it to the  
Man" and start joining the Man's Wednesday night cribbage league,  
here are three jobs that I think a writer--like myself-- could  
successfully sell out for.

1. Company spokesperson. Companies have spokespeople, people who  
usually read and write press releases and try and put a good spin on  
terrible, terrible events, or disastrous stock plunges, or the rumor  
that Rosie and Lizzie Hasselbeck aren't "great friends". Modestly  
speaking, I think I would be great at this. I always liked debate,  
even if it meant taking a side of an issue I was opposed to, and I'm  
sure I could find a way to fire myself up about looking on the bright  
side of a tire recall or the seventh straight quarter of plummeting  
Skip-It sales. In fact, I'm ready to do this job right now. Someone  
hire me. I'll be your communications Rumpelstiltskin, spinning straw  
into gold, and--depending on my compensation package-- you won't even  
have to give me your first-born child. Think on it.

2. Corporate Communications Consultant. I kind of made this position  
up, but I'm almost positive it exists. I'd be like the guy who comes  
in when the company sets aside a day for special events, and--instead  
of soliciting trust falls-- makes some neat PowerPoint presentation  
about the endless possibilities of communicating effectively in the  
workplace. I would use a lot of buzzwords, like "synergy" and  
"proactive" and "boo yah" and snap and point a lot, when someone else  
said something I liked. I'd also be frustratingly cheerful, especially  
because I was getting 10 g's a class, and end the day with some sort  
of New Age breathing exercise. Wow, it's kind of scary how well  
thought out that was.

3. Totally Famous Actor. You know when someone says "you should be an  
actor" and you dismiss it by bashfully saying you could never do  
that, but in reality you think you would be really good at it, if  
only--while you were in high school-- your mother didn't crush your  
dreams of being on television by saying that your earlobes were "a  
little big for the camera", which forced you to spend a lot of time  
staring in the mirror at your earlobes, which caused you to stop  
wearing baseball caps, which forced you to shave your head, which  
effectively prevents you from using that cool hair stuff that  
celebrities these days use, which is probably the only reason you  
aren't in Vancouver right now, remaking "House Party 2" with Nick  
Canon? Yeah, me neither.

Feel free to drop your own sell out jobs in the comments. And I know  
it's very annoying to be a Boston sports fan right now with their  
Dutch-Navy-in-the-1600s-like dominance, but if you'll allow me one  
indulgence: Happy Soxtober, baby.

Ain't Nobody Humpin' Around,

Bobby,
Brown