Life is sweet

I've just handed in the draft I was on deadline for. I've got a spec going that I really like. My bank account has been significantly bolstered this month. Gorgeous blonde phoned to arrange a steamy weekend and I've just cracked open a cold one mid-afternoon.

Does it get any better than this?

Pretty sweet. No wonder writing appeals to so many people.

Now before too many people say 'Fuck off you smug git' let me paint a slightly different picture.

I call it 'What the hell do I do now?' Oil on canvass. Note the brush strokes tinged with a hint of desperation. The artist is clearly staring into that singular inferno known as the valley of commissions.

In a nut shell, I have no idea where my next commission is coming from. That happens on a fairly regular basis. Okay thus far I've survived for 10 years or so, made a good living even, but is this the time when the work suddenly dries up? When those big cheques you were used to disappear leaving you with a mountain of commitment and a teaspoon full of cash?

It can happen. So, so easily. And perversely, it seems the longer you are in this game, the more you think about it. At least until you make the 'A' list where you can actually make 'fuck you' money.

I've heard would be writers say stuff like ''I want to write cos I hate my job and want to be my own boss''

Then seriously, I'd say write novels. That's possibly the nearest you'll get to it. Screenwriters always have bosses. The guys with the power and cash who dictate what gets made. Films and TV are incredibly more expensive than book publishing.

or ' I love the idea of working from home'

Ain't all it's cracked up to be. And I refer to ''I hate my job'' above.

This job, for the VAST majority of writers tends to be feast or famine. If you are someone who wants or needs a regular paycheque then you really should think about doing something else for a living.

Sweetness in life is all relative. Writing has it's great moments. But also involves a lot of self doubt, financial uncertainty and possibly a degree of insanity.

But after all that, what is actually foremost in my mind right now is a promised scenario involving gorgeous blonde and a couple of silk ties. Because to me, for a writer it's not about the money, or success, or fame [fame?] Though I'm not daft enough to crap on how to get there. Deep down, where it really matters, it's about taking the infinite experiences of life and trying to make some sense out of them.

Those may involve silk ties.

Or the death of a loved one.

Or a conversation on a bus.