In 1993, I was a journalist and a stand-up comedian. Both activities frustrated me.
I did not think I could ever be the kind of journalist I wanted to be – I was too old already; I did not want to leave my home state; all the jobs I really wanted and applied for I did not get; jobs I did not want but needed the money, I got.
Comedy was a release in the beginning, but my biting satire seemed to leave most audiences puzzled.
So I went corporate. Took gigs purely for the money. Wrote stories purely for the money.
One day, this story appeared in The West. I did not enjoy the truth telling out loud. That night I had a corporate gig. It did not go well and I had a panic attack mid routine.
Later, sitting with the disappointed booker, I flipped, said “Forget the money”, got in my car and drove wildly and dangerously the 30kms home.
I am okay now, thank you. I am writing books. The kind of books I always wanted to write. And now I’m writing a non-fiction and behaving like an investigative journalist.
The book will be out in 2023. Wait for it.