I got a letter from someone in response to “DIY Book” — a young guy who’s making some really lovely little books. He’s talented, and right now the world isn’t exactly heaping rewards on his head, ’cause I gather he’s not so far into the game of “find out who’ll will pay me to be me”.
This reminded me of my early twenties in Toronto, which was a time full of earnestness and art and discovery and… difficulty. Here’s how I described to him the path from there to here:
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For a time in Toronto I sold greeting cards I’d made by hand. I’d left acting some time before and couldn’t stomach any more waitering.
I hand-made the paper for the cards with a blender in the kitchen (I lived with my best friend, who was tolerant of the splashes on the walls). Then I cut out a window and stuck in little cartoons I’d drawn. It was do that or go on welfare, and one visit to that spirit-crushing office with all their humiliating questions was enough to convince me to go it alone and live by my abilities.
That kept me going for a few months until the next thing presented itself — working with computers, since friends had chipped in to buy me one to help me reproduce my cartoons for the cards, and I discovered I had a knack for making computers do stuff.
That led to me doing graphic design, which led to me being able to design my first book and to the multimedia job that transformed into a job as a full-time copywriter.
And here I am, twelve years later, very happy, and making a good living.
So you never know.
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