I’m pondering my occupational options for 2015.

Writing gigs come and go, faster than incoming corpses in a cemetery. That’s expected, because in the writing world, all things are temporary. With the speed of light and sound, publications are sold, personnel changes made, new visions roll in, and the vision doesn’t include you. It’s the nothing-gold-can-stay philosophy.

Writers are as disposable as a paper plate at a Baptist supper. That’s the philosophy of the marketers and advertising people who manage the publications.

Freelance assignments are like relationships. In the beginning, it’s true love; Finally! a soul mate! Later, the predictable scars reveal themselves, and finding fault with one another, you seek a divorce. Or perhaps, the beloved finds another that’s more to their liking–someone younger and more shapely; more clever and less driven.

To be truthful, that’s the never-ending scenario in our brief, trivial and pitiful time here…we all live the myth; the lie that says there is a destination out there (if we can find it), a comfortable place, a final place, where we can put our feet up, cross our arms and feel secure in the swaddling cocoon of nothing-changes.

It’s an attempt to recreate the womb.