A Genius Writer's Random Workplace 소설 & 이야기

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s exactly the way my brain works. Nothing looks like it’s in a place, but everything is in its place. It’s the only way I can really focus.” I almost added that I would go totally and completely bonkers if I had to try work in a space as cold and impersonal as his office, but I didn’t want to push my luck. In my limited experience of the guy, his sense of humor wasn’t awfully well developed. Looking around again, he shook his head. “This is what it looks like if everything is in its place?” He sounded dubious, like there was no way I could’ve been telling the truth. I nodded, because to me, everything was exactly where it should be.

However, I loved writing; it was my passion in life, or at least, was until my life took me down a new path when I turned twenty-five. At the age of twenty-five, I work for an online magazine, Stranger Things, writing about all sorts of things from strange disappearances to the possibility of the existence of aliens. I enjoy the strange and unusual because I, myself, have become the strange and unusual. Plus, working there fosters my creativity and allows me to do a bit of research and investigative work too, which I enjoy the most, because I love learning and exploring. All of these reasons are why this became my perfect career and second home; Katie being my first home.

This was mainly due to the odd hours at which the writer responded to messages, not fitting the routine of a regular nine-to-five worker. Leonard left a concise message for the writer, briefly explaining the situation and inquiring about the possibility of a face-to-face meeting. The writer replied promptly: "Let me finish this game first." It took a considerable amount of time before the writer, having finished the game, finally responded. Unexpectedly, the writer declined Leonard's offer. Michelle: After some thought, I'd rather not have a desk job. ...

He never even spares me a glance or throw in a little attention or affection to my end. I wouldn't blame him though, I had played with his intelligence alongside my family. I cleared my plate and helped Della with the dishes despite her protests, I needed something to do to while away my time in here. Aside from tending to the garden, I basically had no other job to do. It made me feel lazy, and as a writer, I hadn't gotten on any new book yet. The case of writer's block had been affecting me lately. Then, without a word, I climbed the stairs and closed the door to my room. My second sanctuary. My space.

Instead, I entered a dimly lit cave with thick curtains covering most of the wall-size windows and an astronomical number of cable wires flooding the floor. "Watch your step," he warned, leading me to a sofa half-covered by cardboard boxes and something that probably used to be a coffee table but now resembled a stand for an unimaginable amount of paper. "Do you… live here?" I asked, having a hard time moving around in that mess. He smirked. "I work here and trust me when I say that my workplace is perfectly organized. Although it doesn't look that way." "I can imagine," I muttered, reminding myself that I also used to cover my room with all kinds of documents, creating my own special mess,

Cora shrugged. "Me? There's no way I won't need money," I joked and we laughed. I did have a job, I am a writer, and I do all the kinds of writing there is; Ghost writing, content writing, script-writing, and I write personal books, two of which were adapted into live action. Not to brag, but I am a hot cake writer, kinda famous for my works, and works that people didn't even know I wrote; either way, it was bringing me money and hence the reason why Cora would think I didn't need money. Everyone needs money, Femi Otedola does, Jeff Bezos does, Dangote does, hell even Elon Musk still needed money, so who was I not to need money because I was earning a few thousands? Not me!

Noelle was sitting in the garden outside since, after getting married to Ronan, she had tried all of the things she thought she would be good at and could end up as a business for her, but it turned out that she was not really a good businesswoman in the end. She looked down at her laptop that had been taunting her for the past hour with the cursor blinking rapidly in her face. She heard that writers made a bank of money and now she suddenly wanted to be a writer, but she did not even know what she was supposed to write. Her brain was devoid of all emotions.

I'm sluggish to cook in the apartment, and even the apartment is like a rat nest because I'm so lazy to clean and even lazy to call the janitor. I just got a payday, and every month what I do is self-reward. I will eat well so that I can keep my spirit to work. I work in a publishing company, to be more precise I'm an editor, it certainly makes me have to deal with a lot of reading every day, checking a lot of writings. So I have to eat a lot, so I'm not thin.

Alex asks, buttering toast. "Insane," I whisper, licking juice from my thumb. My life is perpetually aroused. But it’s manageable. It’s not the frantic addiction of before. It’s a background hum. A constant reminder that I am alive and connected to everything. I work from the sofa. I don't type. I just look at the screen and think. Words appear. Code compiles. Email to Marcus: Review the new consent clauses in section 4. Reply from Marcus: On it. Also, Lena says hi. She's craving pickles and motor oil.

This was really a challenge for me. Just imagine, I am a scriptwriter, usually only working on scripts according to client requests, starting from concept scripts for television shows, soap operas, advertisements, or sometimes short films. I do my work simply with a laptop, mostly I do it at home, although sometimes I also come to the office to do some training for new writers, but not like this. This makes me have to deal with many people, staff and writers for sure. I also have to organize them so that office activities can run.