I was the Creative Director at Native Digital–a neat little agency in a warehouse with a table tennis table. It took about a year to realise making arrangements and being an expert in technology wasn’t my bag. I’m a copywriter by trade. The skills just didn’t fit. So I left.
I thought my mum would hate me, but she didn’t.
“Oh, Tait, well, sounds like you made a good decision. Do you want lasagna? I can get Tim to drop some off.”
It’s easy to forget how much jobs don’t matter. No one cares what you do. Anyone who does is a doormat.
Now, I’m a writer. Wa-hoo.
It’s the best word I’ve found for what I’m good at. I’m gonna run with it while I can.
Each week, I’ll be splitting my time between copywriting for clients and writing features for magazines. I’ve been making arrangements for a year now (aka, writing emails, quickly) so I think I can do this (aka, making money, quickly).
You know, last Monday I climbed that giant hill of Hobart, Mt. Wellington. Armed with a pair of vans and a backpack containing a mandarine and a half-finished bag of nuts, myself and three others reached the peak. It was -4 and we were wearing tshirts. And that, dear friends, was all the advice I needed to pay rent as a writer.
End note: Native Digital are the very best digital agency in Melbourne. If you’re into start-ups, apps, websites, digital strategies, or making cool stuff, get in touch with email@example.com, and tell him I sent you.
“McPike Mansion is a 135 year-old home (1865) located in Alton, IL. It has not been occupied for over 50 years and is in need of considerable restoration.”
“The mansion featured 11 marble fireplaces and beautifully carved stairway banisters, all of which have been stolen during its abandonment. Intricate carved trim still border the ceiling in one of the front rooms.”
“This Grand Ole House is thought to still house many of the spirits that once lived here. Many Psychics and Mediums have felt the presence of what they believe to be McPike family, servants, as well as some of those who resided in and owned the house since 1936.”
“Stay ahead of the curve!? How the hell does that even happen?”
“I don’t know. I guess you try new things.”
“I try new things all the time. I do.”
“You don’t try new things. You try other people’s new things.”
“Fuck you man.”
“Whatever dude. If anything, get off the stupid curve altogether–stop worrying so much. Make a nest of things that make you feel fuzzy. Curl up in your fuzz. Roll around. Make stupid noises. You’ll create a new curve. That’s how it works.”
However, on September 15, 1869, without any communication with Tchaikovsky, Artôt married a member of her company, the Spanish baritone Mariano Padilla y Ramos.
The general view has been that Tchaikovsky got over the affair fairly quickly. It has, however, been postulated that he coded her name into the Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-flat minor and the tone-poem Fatum.
They met on a handful of later occasions, and in October 1888 he wrote Six French Songs, Op. 65, for her, in response to her request for a single song.
Tchaikovsky later claimed she was the only woman he ever loved.”
- – -
Black cats creep across my path
Until I’m almost mad
I must have ‘roused the devil’s wrath
’cause all my luck is bad
I make a date for golf and you can bet your life it rains
I try to give a party and the guy upstairs complains
I guess I’ll go through life just catchin’ colds and missin’ trains
At first my heart thought you could break this jinx for me
That love would turn the trick to end despair
But know I just can’t fool this head that thinks for me
I’ve mortgaged all my castles in the air
I’ve telegraphed and phoned
I send an ‘airmail special’ too
Your answer was ‘goodbye’
And there was even postage due
I fell in love just once
And then it had to be with you