Sunday, July 23, 2006

On the Radio

At a ladies lunch at my aunt's house, I met a woman who DJs a morning news radio show. One thing led to another, the upshot being that she's giving me a tour of her studio to show me that side of the business. I figure it's one more pie in the sky thing for me to eventually get turned down at.

Does the normally upbeat Mama P sound a bit jaded? If so, it's because the ego who lives in the writer side of me is being faced with the realist who lives in her pragmatic side. I had the good fortune to bask in L.A. fantasy land for a long time, but now that I have kids, and my creativity isn't paying for my cappucinos I'm ready for something.


I don't want to be that 40 year old at a cocktail party who recalls the glory days of being yelled at by Roseanne Barr and being locked in a bathroom stall with Brett Butler only to have the 22 year old Yale Graduate, head of the magazine I want to write for, inquire, "Who's Roseanne Barr?"

On the drive home, I spoke to Mama P Light who is raking in the dough on her plus size Ebay biz - a biz that I set up for her step by step (thank you very much.) She's normally pretty reserved, but given she's puking her guts up due to pregnancy #3, she laid it on the line. "Mama P, you need to put the writing dream on the back burner, buy a wholesale lot of something, and make some cash."

This is going along the lines of K's idea: to start a biz.

I'd like to tell these beautiful women that they're both nuts, but it has been a few years since anything remotely encouraging has happened. I might have to suck it up and get successful.

But this is boring talk. Let's get on to something exciting and overly dramatic and helpless.

I have ants.

My house stinks like a rodent died in a possum's belly button.

It has hit 114 degrees in the beautiful San Fernando Valley.

My $175.00 haircut and color transformed me into the mirror image of an Armenian disco singer.

I can't find my bras, Stink has lost every single pair of underware, I'm wearing my husband's shorts since I'm too lazy to break down and buy myself something decent and my kids are still awake at 9pm.

Oh yeah, it's exciting.


bobealia said...

Wow. I don't know what's worse no bra or no exciting writing work. If it makes you feel any better, I don't have a real job, and I'm not even getting any call backs, let alone interviews. Oh, and when I get home from my seasonal camp job (I'm too old for this) my bra is drenched in sweat because there is no air con at camp. So I have a bra, but it's sweaty.
A business might be a good idea, but how about one that involves writing? You could compete with Hallmark, or write Harlequin out of business.

Teri M. said...

Ya know, I swear heat makes everything ten times suckier.

The way I see it, not everyone in the industry can be blind, moronic, brainless, er, morons. Someone has to see how totally marketable your dry (and sometimes not so dry) humor and realistic 21st century mom writing is.

Just sayin'.

Toni said...

Dude - if you want to write, WRITE. Doooooo it. The only way out is through. If selling stuff is your passion, then by all means, go for it somehow. But if writing is The Big Dream, then stop dodging it and get started. It takes a ton of perseverence but I think you've got that. The writing part is a given, you've got that too. Also - radio is dying and pays, well, not at all for horrendous hours. Look into voiceover work or podcasting. Wanna start a funny mom podcast with me? We'd be smashing. Or sound like idiots. And have fun trying! Man I'm bossy tonight. Perhaps a beer will help . . .