Finally quit being a lawyer, in pursuit of lifetime dream of freelance writing.

Got fucked over and learned from the experience.

Grew thicker skin and increased ability to deal with really bad people saying really bad things.

Some really fun writing assignments!

Magazines!

Took risks previously unthinkable.

Created and introduced to each other Brooke and Gwen.

Fucking slaved for my career. Damn that hurts so good.

Former dream becomes present nightmare.

Because of big mouth and unpopular opinions, pissed off and alienated people who might otherwise hire me or pay me.

Book proposal and children's book grow moldy on my hard drive, never sent.

Realized that working as a freelance writer is pretty much the same as working as a lawyer, task-wise.

Started to miss dearly the money I used to make.

Web Reviews.

Way New Depression!

The Ugly:

Learned that freelance writing is not a career.
It is a huge festering sore of infection, mucous, obsession and self-destruction with a few dazzling moments and much more despair, self-hate, insecurity and false hopes.

Work is a big party that I am not invited to.

Weekendless, summertime-less, timeless, exchangable days and nights sacrificed to the fucking tease of a muse.

Social life? Is that a new band?

Dirty laundry in every connotation of the term.

Scored much, won little.