Last month, on a plane to Orlando, the man wearing the cowboy hat and boots sitting next to me struck up a conversation.
“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?” he asked with a real twang. (I’m starting to understand this cowboy/uniform fascination – but that’s a different blog entry.)
I paused. I wasn’t traveling for my day job but …
“Business,” I finally said.
“What do you do?”
Another pause. Which answer should I give him? I chose the easy one. That is, the one that would result in fewer questions. “I’m a business consultant but I also write so I’m meeting a group of writers for a writing retreat.”
“What do you write?”
“Romance,” I said. Since he seemed genuinely interested, I launched into a passionate monologue about what I write, when my first book came out, and future pub dates.
After I’d run out of air, he nodded and said, “So writing is your real job.”
My mouth dropped open. Then I grinned. “Yeah. It is.”
I could have kissed him. When’s the last time a stranger’s concluded that writing is your “real” job?