I have enrolled in this program because I was on the WCSU website looking for a job when I happened upon an advertisement for the program and became very interested. So instead of getting a job, I was thinking about giving the university more money. Huh, I really hadn’t thought about it until now. So I talked to my wife about it and she offered her support in the plan to have me spend a bunch of our money to make me a better fiction writer.
Just like the indy Christian hip hopper Pigeon John says:
That’s my girl outside the lobby
Slinging my product when I’m fulfilling my hobby
What are we men without the love and support of our women?
I work in insurance just so I can tell people not from Connecticut that I live in Connecticut and work at an insurance company. The person from the other forty nine will have the opportunity to nod knowingly, happy in the reinforcement of stereotype.
I have a newborn son who has crack aim with urine or vomit.
I love Jesus like in the commercials for worship music with the ridiculous waving hands, closed eyes, crazy swaying, and the mouthing of sentiment.
I’m also in this program because hotjobs.com says that “Master’s degree holders earn an average of 10,000 more a year more those with only a bachelor’s” I mean, I’m 25 and have at least forty years of toil ahead of me. Without this degree, I could be earning 1,200,000 factoring in a base salary of 30,000 dollars a year or I could be making 1,600,000 during that same period. WCSU should really factor this into its advertising. Think: “TURN 22,000 DOLLARS INTO 400,000 IN ONLY 40 YEARS” Those are numbers we insurance types get all fired up about. But really writing was one of the few things I could occasionally do well and besides, guitar playing, painting, comic book illustrating, and kick boxing, didn’t work out for me. So instead of saving to buy a house, I thought to levy my family under the burden of debt for the hope of one day publishing a novel or I mean 400,000 dollars of future earnings.
Of the last few years I’ve spent a majority of my time in Waterbury, Ct. Where in a ten second span at the Brass City Mall, I’ve seen nymphets make out with each other on the escalator going up next to a group of orthodox Jews waiting in line at the subway while hip hop kids, printed with Ecko and Sean John, talk girls and the feud between 50 Cent and the Game. In the corner of the mall, geeks are playing a Yu-Gi-Oh! card game which has since surpassed Magic the Gathering in popularity among such crowds. While there in the food court, a writer could compile characters for a hundred novels.
Now I live in Torrington, Ct. which is home to a dense population of the mentally handicapped and poor white people who I hope to make proud when they see the inside of my first dust jacket that reads David Hayes resides with his son, and wife in a town in the Litchfield Hills called Torrington.