I write, therefore I am ...

On Friday I sold my ten thousand dollar story. That is to say, I have sold ten thousand dollars worth of crap, since April alone!! Yes, it will be a long time before I see said money – first they are sold, then published, then cheques begin to trickle in – but I have grand plans for my money and hope to get it by December, so I can have ten thousand dollars worth of gondola rides, Italian hot chocolate, fromage and baguettes and French champagne. And I may bribe someone to avoid the three hour queue in rain hail and snow for the Eiffel Tower. And I will definitely do four times as much eating as last time, because scrimping on a shoe-string is for losers (insert smiley face).

Kidding. I probably won’t see half of that money until halfway through next year! And scary to think that ten thousand Australian dollars is not half as many Euros!

So, I am starting to make a fair income as a writer. Does this mean I can call myself a writer now? When I list occupation, can I now describe myself as being something more than “teacher” – a conversation starter that usually runs its course like this:

THEM: “Oh so what year levels do you teach?”

ME: “Secondary.”

THEM: “Oh, that must be hard. I could never do that.”

ME: “It’s not so bad.”

THEM: “And what do you teach?”

ME: “English.”

THEM: “Oh I hated English at school.” (subtext: Oh what a boring life you must lead. I need to go now so I can talk to someone who does something more interesting. Like an accountant).

Considering I last had this conversation with my waxist, I’d like to be facetious and say how proud she must be shaping eyebrows for a living. And asking if you want a number one, two or three.

But seriously, if I can call myself a writer, I am sure the conversation would go more like this:

THEM: “So, what do you do?”

ME: “I write crap for a living.”

THEM: “How hysterical! What do you write?”

ME: “Oh, you know – confessions and such. Stories that are meant to be true, but I can tell you for a fact are not.”

THEM: “I’d never have guessed it – I thought every word was true!”

ME: “No – I can assure you I have never actually made my flatmate fat. And I can’t have been a pole dancer to pay for my wedding, as I’m not even married!”

THEM: “You must be extremely clever and deliciously funny to keep writing such stories!”

ME: “Well, I don’t like to brag but – yes. Yes I am.”

THEM: “You know, my brother Franco has a thing for clever, funny women. And he has beach house in Portsea.”

ME: “MTB.”

So you see, life as a writer opens up so many more possibilities for conversation alone!

Next story: I met my ultra-rich husband writing rubbish.

Now I don’t think ANYONE’S going to believe that one!