New York: Daily Life as a Writer

New York: Daily Life as a Writer

by Matthew Henderson

In the cold Portland winter, it is easy to get your glasses fogged up when its sitting right next to the heater. But then you dont notice it till you put it on and you end up typing "ransom" instead of "rain". I have a typewriter but I dont like to use it during winters, because, well I think you got the idea. The snow outside seems to be falling slower and slower as time moves on, like it wants me to slow down and relax. But I can't. Not if I have to turn in this column by tomorrow. I continue my column on the bad weather conditions in hot places. My cat, Noah, is roaming around my computer, wanting to be loved.

I actually do think he knows how stressed I am right now. He probably just wants to annoy me for his pleasure. He sure is an evil cat. Always scratching up the windows and making things drop from the countertops. Even though we are the only ones that live in this big apartment, we still feel cluttered because of all the shit I have lying around. I really should start cleaning some of it up. Now the phone is ringing. What else could bother me at this time?

"Henry Jenkins." I greet into the phone.

"Hey, Henry! Its me, your boss. Just wanted to know how that column is going!" Its Ira, my too jumpy, too perky boss at the Portland Daily. She is always above the weather and brings sun into the office. Some of the coworkers like her, but some like me think she is a bitch.

"Uh, yeah its coming along well Ira. Like I told you, it will be ready tomorrow." I say with a frown. She replies loudly, too loud for me to understand and she hangs up. I think it had something to do with a surprise. I return to writing the column. My column was pretty popular, considering how much rain this city gets. Everybody wants to know when the sun is coming back. But I also write some short stories, that nobody knows about. I usually just keep to myself most of the time. Its only because I dont know if I am good enough to make a book.

After about 2 hours of writing, I start to become tired. Its only around 9:00, so maybe I could watch some TV. What to choose, what to choose? I settle on a documentary on psycic children to help me fall asleep, yet, I am still wide awake. I turn off the special and tread myself to my room, just so that I dont trip on the pile of 400 already read books. I am a total geek when it comes to reading. I love to write, read, all of it. I start thinking about a lot of things while I am lying in bed. Why is my favorite color green? Why wont my boss just shut her mouth? Wait, I know the answer to that one. I remember about a year ago, one of my coworkers caught Ira having sex with John in her office. She didnt know that everyone found out about it, but when she did, she became very worried. Since then, she's been trying to get us to forget about it. So she became a loud bitch. \

I might sound a little grumpy, but its very true. I feel my eyes start to close ever so slowly. Then, I am asleep.

The morning is always a drag. The papergirl that walks straight into the apartment, with an attitude might I add, comes in, pounds on our doors and yells for the paper. Everyone in the building calls her "PaperBitch", even though she is only 14. And, she also comes real early in the morning. I dont even need to use my alarm clock in the morning because of her. She is the reason I woke up this morning.

"PAPER! OPEN YOUR FUCKING DOOR! PAAAAAYYYPERRRR!" she screams through thd halls. I open my door to find her right in front of it.

"If you want a paper, that will be two bucks." I just noticed that she is chewing gum today. This is different. I pay her the two bucks and she continues to scream through the halls. Many of my neighbors complain about her to the landlord, but the landlord is too afraid of her dad, a pro wresler. We all know its fake, but you always want to be careful.

The Portland Daily always makes the largest type of newspaper, with huge headlines and small words to read. I see something about legalized marijuana. I think Delanie did that one. She is a really good writer. And, so I''ve heard, a great sex partner. My coworker, Lawrence, said that they fucked before, and it felt like he was doing it for the first time. I'm not going to go too deep into detail, but I think he has a sick, and horny mind.

I turn a few pages and I see my weather column. I can already thouroghly remember what I wrote, but I want to make sure the Editor put it in the paper correctly. I see a few spelling errors and to some people, that isnt really a problem. But for me is like breaking down the building of reputation. I hate the Editor. She looks almost a 100 years old and moves as slow as a turtle swimming in caramel. I hope she retires soon, because if this keeps going on, I might get fired. The morning goes on like every morning. I read the paper while drinking coffee, or at least until Noah knocks it off the table. Then I get ready for another day in the wreckage of a workplace.

The first thing that I see when I walk into the office is Ira is packing up her things.

"Hiya Henry! How was your morning?" she asks.

"Same old same old." I reply. She gives me a nervous laugh, like she is trying to hide something. She has been like this for the past couple of weeks, and some of us are getting worried as to what happened to her perkyness. I make my way to my cubicle. Its very plain, it has some pictures of my family on one wall, and an empty calendar on another. My computer has to be the oldest of its kind, with thick keyboards and all white. All of the sudden, Ira walks in and asks me to come to her office.

When I walk in, I no longer see the huge pink decorations on the wall, her desk looks naked without all of the post its on it. But that wasnt the only thing naked in the room. Suddenly, Ira throws herself at me, crying and laughing at the same time.

"Oh Henry! Please give me pleaure! I just got fired and.. I wanted to fuck with you! Ohhh plea-"

"No! Get off of me!" I inturrupt her, pushing her off my body and sitting her in a chair.

"I do not want to have sex with you okay? Can you please just tell me why you got fired?" My expressions make me feel confused yet concerned.

"Well, you know how I was supposed to edit the-the-the umm, Sewage article right? Well, the big boss di-did-didnt like it so he-he fired me! What am I going to do? I have nowhere to go!" She starts to cry and bawl and mumble words that nobody would be able to understand. I help her back into her clothes and walk her to the bathroom. I tell her to wash up and meet me in my office.

'Why would she get fired? I thought her article was great!' I think in my head the possibilties on why she got fired.

CURRENTLY IN PROGRESS)