I was 27, flat broke, and couldn’t pay my rent the next day.
It’s terrible … I’m utterly insecure in my writing and holding back. Still, it makes me smile because I was trying.
My favorite line of this: “She felt out of place, though she fit perfectly.”
From March 30, 2006
Sony Danger is sinking as a freelance writer.
Jaded by the newspaper world, Danger set out alone to find the great stories. The numerous editors she pitches her ideas to don’t find her ideas magnificent. As a last hope, she tires her hand at screenwriting.
Sitting in the coffeehouse that has become her second home, Danger looks around, contemplating her life.
What the hell am I doing? Who’s going to buy the idea of a struggling writer trying to make ends meat?
Looking at her coffee, she laughs to herself.
That $3 latte probably just put me in the hole. Who pays $3 for coffee, honestly? No wonder I’m broke.
Danger continues typing. She observes her comrades in the coffeehouse. Most are college kids in dark rimmed glasses and dressed retro, like her.
When did retro become the norm? These so-called “non-conformists.” I’d be better off sitting in a chain.
She felt out of place, though she fit perfectly.
What happened to the “Don’t give a shit” attitude I used to have? When did I start caring what people think? Damn newspapers. They ruined me. I feel like I can’t think for myself anymore. I don’t have to write in a homogenous way anymore. That should be the easiest habit to break.
Staring at her laptop,
Danger never broke any laws, (except for drinking underage, speeding and stealing the occasional lipstick).