My Dreams Make Me Poor.

I need a job.

This kind of realization is a terrible thing to smack you awake on a Friday morning, but there you go. I need a job. Why do I need a job? Apart from needing money to fund various joint ventures and entrepreneurial undertakings (read: kittens and more kittens), I have this complex about asking my parents for money to fund querying. Granted, I won’t have anything to query for about three months but once that happens Imma need monies.

Oh yeah, also I’m going to SCBWI. I need monies for that.

Also I need food.

So while I’m out trying to find various internships in publishing venues, there’s this annoying part of me that’s all, “You should be getting a REAL JOB. APPLY TO STARBUCKS.” And then my other parts are all like, “BUT I HAVE DREAMS AND I HATE STARBUCKS.”

Honestly, looking at publishing gigs is a compromise for me. I want to write books. And while I like reading slush and doing PR related things and talking to authors and promoting synergy or whatever I do (mostly I feel like I take on the role of intern-mascot but like without wearing a silly outfit…) I’d really rather be writing.

WHAT DOES IT TELL YOU WHEN COMPROMISING BETWEEN SOPHIE WHO WANTS TO HAVE A SUSTAINABLE FUTURE AND SOPHIE WHO WANTS TO FOLLOW HER DREAMS RESULTS IN SOPHIE STILL HAVING NO MONEY?!

It tells me to cry.

Or like, look at more kittens.

YES I’M STILL SUFFERING FROM KITTEN WITHDRAWAL. LEAVE ME ALONE.

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