It’s ten in the evening and I’m back on this chair, in front of this laptop, struggling to write.
As I think of what to say I am surrounded by a huge pile of books to my left. Books on etiquette, honor, manners, relationships, civility and dream-chasing. I am a teacher, teaching the course “Personality and Customer Relations.” This pile represents all the things that I have chased my life, and now I have been given the dire task of not only communicating to my students what to wear, how to act and how to deal with people, but also to live it. Things like how to properly don a necktie, the difference between an oxford and a winged-tip shoe. The right accessories to wear. The right watch to buy. The five essential types of perfume. The perfect way to introduce yourself. The right way to host a party. The subtle errors that can annoy a customer.
How ironic, considering I was such a slob for the past 22 years of my life.
On the other side of the table is another pile of texts, concerning marketing and hospitality. I, with only six months of experience in an ad agency, had the nerve to tell my employers that I am fit to teach my students the said subject. For the next three days I will do nothing but bury myself in these texts and attempt to read at a rate that I never have my whole life. It will be a crash course on an industry that I have never been a part of.
But I can sleep at night, knowing that what sells a bottle of Coke can also sell a hotel room.
Just a few steps away lies another bookshelf, packed to the brim with books on fiction and literature. I’ve got Fitzgerald, Joyce, Heller, Doctorow, Carey, Hosseini, Rowling, Capote, Malcolm X, Sedaris, Sting, Wolff. Then there’s a daily Write-Brain workbook, which I bought to ease myself out of writer’s block. Then there are two books from the Gotham Writers’ Workshop that I attended. One is a book on writing fiction, the other is a collection of some great short stories. Over the next few months I will be adding more and more titles to this pile as I try to find the author that best reflects the way I want to write. I need thirty pages of solid fiction by November (my portfolio for getting into the NYU Creative Writing program) and I am hoping that these stories will get me started on something.
There’s no money in writing, it’s already made me broke, but it just may be my ticket outta here.
And on the rear corner of my room, another pile of books. This time on photography. Books on Design and Composition. Lens Choice. Landscapes. Lighting. Fashion, Glamour and Portraits. Posing. Digital skin enhancement. Photoshop tricks. Photobooks. Just a few months ago I had discovered the camera and its potential for creating great art, and I exhausted my allowance on these pricey volumes meant to train my eye and create powerful images.
I spend so much time looking at images when in fact, I should be taking them.
God, so many books, so many papers. So many terms, so many definitions. So many techniques, so many tricks. So many punchlines, so many lines per page. So many covers, so many topics to cover.
And I’ve only got one brain, two eyes and a 45-minute long attention span.
