With the technical and financial assistance of my business-savvy cousin, I’m creating an online business as a writing consultant. Editing, proofreading, revising—all that jazz. This is all geared toward me getting back on my feet, but I’m looking for adjunct readers via my church connections in case I get lucky enough to receive more orders than I can handle. There’s many educated people there.
“Do you think,” asked a retired English teacher and playwright whom I propositioned, “that you’ll get enough business to need helpers?”
“Who in the hell knows? It’s a crap shoot. My cousin stresses being ahead of the game, emphasizing preparedness. We’re both aware that this could go anywhere between nowhere and ‘Holy Shit!’ levels in terms of success.”
Her wife then informally implied that she may be interested in work in that regard. They both concurred that it was a gamble worth taking.
“What I’m sick of is failure at things where there should be a reasonably probable expectation of success. I’m sick of almost getting the attainable girl, or the mediocre job, of losing out in general to people that I’m better than.
“From now on, I’m going for big time failure; I’m all in from here on out. If I fail at this, and the writing, I’m drifting up to NYC to try to make it in stand-up comedy. If I fail at that, I’ll become engaged in some kind of radical politics, become a kook. I just have to figure out what kind of extremist to become. Occupy or Tea Party?”
I am almost certainly the most conservative congregant at the church, so I was being somewhat provocative with that last possibility.
“I’m also not much into the yelling thing, though. I’d probably have to psychologically prime myself by holding a tennis racket.”
“You could shout things like, ‘Stop the racket’!”
“That’s good. I could probably use that as a slogan in a failing bid for Congress as a third party candidate.”
“You’re just shooting for the moon at this point, right?”
“Screw that. I’m shooting for the sun. What does it care if I miss?”