"Oh, writing," John told him, with something close to a young man's casual dismissiveness. "Fin, I'm a student. Everyone is writing their novel, or some music. Everyone thinks they'd gonna make it - everyone wants to be the hero." He stopped then, the idea of a bunch of deluded wannabes causing him to feel a thrum of nostalgia for his own sharper need for success.
"I just mean that work's work, you know? Gift horse, mouth, don't turn down what's on your plate, all that. You should take it, because the publishing company might go bankrupt and your songs might only be streamed and pay you nothing. Steady work beats being a starving artist, and that's straight from the 'campus rock god.'" Even with all the money he had now, even with all the security, he still remembered the day his dad had walked in the front door and told them he'd been fired, and the messy, tenacious existence his family had fallen into as a result.
John knew how quickly things could end up in the crapper.
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zvi
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Date: 2016-09-28 10:24 pm (UTC)"I just mean that work's work, you know? Gift horse, mouth, don't turn down what's on your plate, all that. You should take it, because the publishing company might go bankrupt and your songs might only be streamed and pay you nothing. Steady work beats being a starving artist, and that's straight from the 'campus rock god.'" Even with all the money he had now, even with all the security, he still remembered the day his dad had walked in the front door and told them he'd been fired, and the messy, tenacious existence his family had fallen into as a result.
John knew how quickly things could end up in the crapper.