I always thought I’d get to a place in my career as a playwright where I could forgo the day job and just live off of my good looks- er- residuals. And there’s plenty of people I know who do that. For some reason that hasn’t been me. I’ve been paid to write, don’t get me wrong. But does it pay the rent? Consistently? Year in year out? No, no it doesn’t.
Lots of times I’ve felt ashamed of my day job (although I pretty much feel ashamed of everything), it’s like you’re 30 ehem ehem years old, how can you call yourself a writer when you still got this mf day job? That’s what my inner self says to my inner self, and then at cocktail parties when someone asks “so Libby, what do you do?” I just cram my mouth full of cocktail weenies and laugh until I choke.
What do I do? I do everything, I write stuff, I produce stuff, I’ve probably even produced your stuff (and if not I probably want to). I take care of my kid, I do a bunch of stuff I will probably never talk about online, and also I work this day job.
The thing is anyone can say they’re a writer, all you have to do is write stuff. Writing stuff can be a job, like people who write tv shows and movies and even Broadway shows and other kinds of advertising copy.
Recently I talked to an artist who I think is just incredible, really talented, really good looking, really kind and generous. He does so much stuff! Amazing stuff! And it turns out he has a day job. He doesn’t like to tell people about it. And I’m okay with that, you don’t have to tell people about your day job if you don’t want to.
But day jobs are not uncommon. So I’m coming out. I Have A Day Job!