I've heard you should write what you know. But why would you do that? Certainly there's a place for such things, but if writers only wrote what they know, it would be a short list indeed. The brilliant thing about writing is anything can happen. None of us design our own circumstances in real life. It would be nice if we could write some notes in the margins of our world. The awkward silences wouldn't exists, the scene would shift before things got weird, the mysterious stranger would enter just as the situation started to unravel. Yes, at this very moment, a tall, dark, terrible handsome man with a voice that could melt steel would waltz into this dull office and sweep me off my feet into a sunset of the Parisian sort.
Instead, I'm sitting here in an office undergoing a big move. Not only is it dull, it's messy. Boxes are everywhere, chairs are scattered, the walls are bare. Writing what I know would not be so compelling. But writing what I imagine, or what could happen, or even what couldn't happen, has possibilities. Oh, but man's reach should exceed his grasp.
What I do know is this: it is insult to injury to sit across the desk from your boss, who has made it apparent over several months that he has no idea what you do, listening to his endorsement that you make too many mistakes. "We've decided to terminate your services."
Fired. I've never been fired. It's insulting. It's surprising. In this case, it's a relief. Some people should never have people working under their authority. Men who make their employees cry, for instance, and prey on compassionate, endlessly patient females. Who point out mistakes in your work without realizing they're pointing to a project you're not on. That was my boss. That was the man who told me I should be more organized and so I was to be fired. What's perhaps most interesting to me is the fact that he had learned several days earlier that he himself was about to be sacked. Misery loves company. I suppose there was a bit of balm for him in firing off anyone who bothered him, most of all the new girl who never cried when you wanted her to, who didn't grovel and turn to mush for fear of your wrath. Yes, show her who's boss. Right before your services are terminated.
In the end, I find almost daily relief in the fact that I never have to see this man again. Noteworthy: His most key employee quit a week after I was fired. I know he can't function, and I feel pity for the poor man who's going to kill himself with a heart attack if a fit of fury doesn't get him first. These are the consequences of his actions setting in-- not the result of his firing me alone, but of his decisions over many years. It's so often easy to miss the fact that we do reap what we sow. I reap, you reap-- sow wisely, sow carefully, and sow far in advance. I'm sure the breakdown of my boss began years ago, and it will probably go on for years more. I do not envy him his life. I've lost my job and now the world sits at my feet, inviting me to come along. He's stuck with himself, and the world isn't that inviting.
So that's what I know. Maybe those who would limit themselves to such things should keep to blogging and blogging alone. A novel based on one episode of being fired is no fun at all until the realm of imagination and possibility join in.
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