Back-up plan

Even a chipmunk knows that unless your name is Rowling or Grisham or King, writers don’t earn diddly-squat. I’m just being realistic here. Clearly it has nothing to do with talent; it’s simply a matter of supply-and-demand. There are more people out here calling themselves writers than there are people who actually read. It’s true.

So to my practical Taurus nature it makes sense to have a fall-back position if this writing thing tanks.

There’s an inexhaustible list of things for which I have no aptitude and even less interest. But what would I LIKE to do?

I’d love to be Rick Steves’ protégé and follow him around the world researching his travel guide books and videos. Singing back-up with James Taylor would be fabulous. The job of George Clooney’s mistress seems to be taken already.

That seemed to leave floral arranging.

I’ve always loved flowers. How pleasant, I thought, to work with flowers and maybe make a few bucks arranging bouquets and the like. Part-time, you know; maybe during the holidays or on Singles Awareness (a.k.a. Valentine’s) Day .

My community college course in the basics of floral design ends this week. I’ve loved every minute of it. The teacher has a unique approach: After we lay all our materials on the table he simply says, “OK, y’all, be creative!” I’ve discovered, happily, that I have a nugget of talent in this field. Or at least the teacher lets me thinks so.

I preened the first time he told me now beautiful my centerpiece was. Then I realized he was telling EVERYBODY the same thing. Apparently “beautiful” is his euphemism for “how nice that you showed up for class.”

But that’s OK. If my writing career doesn’t pan out, I can always make funeral wreaths.