Serious Writing Job?

Right now, writing is something I take pride and pleasure in doing and yet... I want to take it beyond that. I want to have a job in writing but here I am, a one hundred fifty-three year old spirit trapped in the body of a fourteen-year-old. How is anyone to take me seriously?!

Shall I waltz into the building dressed in a tie and skirt and pompously announce to the people working the Human Resource desk, "I am fourteen and I would like to apply for the job as a free-lance writer!"

I imagine things to go very badly. First of all with Human Resource calling the cops about "a lost and deranged young girl in an ill-fitting suit." Hmph.

I decide right now, what the hey!.... Dear goodness gravy. The stupid job application won't allow me to apply unless I'm blinking' EIGHTEEN. WHAT IS IT WITH THIS WORLD AND TIME ERA OF THE NUMBER 18?! I was HALF that age when I began taking care of my younger siblings and doing chores around the house. HALF THAT AGE. AUGH!

I dearly hope my tirade is amusing to you for it is very difficult to type since my "A" key has broken off and all I have to press is a little piece of cold plastic... It doesn't even make a small "click" when I press it.... It's a cold, cold soulless little thing... sitting there... taunting me... mocking me...


However, thankgoodness for backup plans. I do have a story being published right now on a public website. Hurray! If things go well, I will write more.

Ta-ta!