Recently, I let those in my immediate orbit know that I need some help producing this daily blog. What I told them was that I need assistants. It should’ve been an email, because lo and behold, as I made my walk through the city, I kept noticing fliers lining telephone poles and mailboxes that said I needed “assistance.” While that is certainly true, what I really need are people willing to do a great deal of dirty work. And humming the classic Steely Dan tune of the same name is only the beginning. A mandatory, yes. The end-all-be-all? No.
I want to be able to focus on writing for pleasure. In other words, writing that fails to yield any financial dividends. Because of this reality, the assistant position is unpaid. How could it not be? I’m here for my art and thus you should be there for it too. Or to buy my groceries, take my car in for an oil change, and other miscellaneous chores I dream up after a day of hard work.
There are benefits. Lots of them. Not in the traditional sense, but you’ll have to learn how to drive manual transmission, read a road atlas, and find a clear frequency on an AM radio dial. These are skills that may not help future employment, but my concern is not the future. Why would it be? I need a new turntable, and I need it now.
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