Need something written
Is it already written, but wrong
I am the slave and master of words.
My job is to do what I do and hope that you're suitably delighted with my work to tell your friends. They'll come to me and I'll do the same for them, the whole thing will snowball, I'll get a whole bunch of contacts and become very busy. The work will be completed on time, to a high standard, and I won't charge very much.
As my success grows I'll become incredibly famous, inconceivably rich, I'll lose sight of what really matters, start hanging out with the wrong people, spend all my money on narcotic addictions, beg my family to take me in, end up on the street, cry all day and eventually lose my gift for writing. I'll try and save myself by attending alcoholics anonymous and picking up odd jobs.
But I'll be knee-deep in a bottle of scotch in a bar nobody remembers, and my fingers will hold an imaginary pen, writing the love letters I should have posted long ago.
Life will peter out and my only notable achievement will have been to blow my chance of becoming truly, truly great. I'll wait for the sweet release of death and go to that big old typewriter in the sky, jumping on the keys to spell my name in the stars: H-a-r-v-e-y.
Here's to working with you!