I became a professional writer on accident. At first, I was just spewing drunken stories onto Twitter. When a friend suggested I compile these drunken stories into an extended format, then I started spewing them onto a blog I made up.
I published three blog posts before I was offered a paid writing job. You wanna know what wonderful, insightful shit I wrote in that third post? I bragged about how my friends and I drank all of Dillon Francis’ rider one night and then headed to the old Drai’s Afterhours spot where we blacked out. I detailed how I slipped my business card into Dillon’s shirt pocket at the show (I was very thirsty at age 22) and I posted photos of my shitty Forever 21 outfit to commemorate my look. My content depicted a fucking mess of a lifestyle, but it was written well. And via the power of social media, someone found and read that garbage and decided to offer me a job because of it. Continue reading