This is my friend, Tayler Lynns ‘travel blog’.  She has been (excuse the phrase) on the road for about a month now. She is an awesome lady, writer, friend, human being.  Here’s her last entry, I really enjoyed it. I hope you will too. Follow her. ontenterhooks: I’ve often had trouble answering the question “What do you do?” while on this trip. I got sick of the obligatory: “WellIusedtoliveinHollywodandIhadabandandIwaitedtables. ButnowI’monthissabbaticaladventuretosomehowfindmyself. SoIdon’treallyDOanything” There have been a few times I’ve just told bold faced lies to skirt the issue. Most of the time I just say yes in response to the question. “Oh are you a muscian?” Yep. “Oh are you a student” Mmmhmm. “Are you unemployed?” As a matter of fact, I am. Last night I was sitting outside a bar in New Orleans waiting for a band to start and, I’ll admit, I was texting like crazy. Not because I wanted to (I’m perfectly capable of being places alone without being glued to my phone) but because I was trying to secure a place to stay during the next week. Totally justified. A man came up to me and asked, “Are you a writer?” Not quite catching on to the witty albeit slightly douche-y line yet, I said “You know what? I am.” And he came back with an extremely self congratulatory “Well you must be writing a novel in that phone of yours!!” “No jerk, I’m trying to find a place to sleep next week.” Annnd here comes my story. From LA All You Can Jet  5 weeks No money blahblahblahblahblah. He wasn’t really listening anyway. “So have I ever read anything you’ve written?” he asks “Probably not.” I replied. “I said I was a writer, it doesn’t necessarily imply success.” “Well my Dad is a successful writer” “Awesome, good for him.” I was expressionless. “Yep and you know what he told me? He said ‘Steven, on the cover of my book it says New York Times Bestselling Author,’” At this moment his eyes darted at mine searching for an impressed reaction to which I did not oblige. He continued on: “’But what it does not say is New York Times BEST author.’ So you see, its all about the sales. It doesn’t matter if you’re any good. You don’t sell any books, all you’ve got is a good diary.” FREEZE. This is the part where the world stops (on a really ugly expression from “Steven”) and I talk directly to the audience. I wanted to punch this man in the face and run away crying. I didn’t travel across the country to a tiny bar in the south for this. Here the LA was to stand for Louisiana, not Los Angeles. And what was he trying to accomplish with this line? The only thing he could possibly be proving was that he and his father were selfish and money grubbing and cared nothing about the sanctity of self expression. Abort, abort conversation Tayler. So I decided to stay honest, I stayed true. UNFREEZE. “You know what Steven? At this point, I would honestly be more satisfied with a really well written diary.” PEW! PEW! POW! POW! LIGHTBULBS! HELLO! BREAKTHROUGH! WHAT UP! DING! DING! DING! Steven took the hint as I smiled to myself and started back at my phone. Much to his salvation, it started to rain one of those warm unexpected Southern downpours at the very same moment it could’ve gotten very awkward. “I’m gonna go inside, the bands about to start.” “Yeew should come insiiide with uss babe, yer gunna getwett.” his drunken friend had not picked up on the current demise of our conversation. But I didn’t go inside. I didn’t care about the rain. I just sat on the bench repeating that line in my head. “At this point, I would be more satisfied with a really well written diary.” “At this point, I would be more satisfied with a really well written diary.” “At this point. I would. Be more satisfied. With a really well written diary.” I experimented with different emphasis on different words while getting wetter and wetter with each accented syllable. But it didn’t matter. I was sitting alone on a park bench in New Orleans with a Heineken in my hand (yeah, everyone drinks in the street) in the pouring rain and I finally knew that I was on the right track. A well written diary? Tenterhooks? All I have to do is keep doing what I am doing. Stay true, stay honest. Don’t bother with the money, the sales, the notoriety. It’s not what I want. If all I want is a well written diary, if that will satisfy me, then what is all of this worry with monetary and famed success? So its not about L.A., its not about making a name for myself, its not about bragging rights, and its certainly not about the money. God, all I want to do is travel, and write, and sing and live a comfortable life where I can do all that with people I love and be happy. So I’m shifting my sights and staying true. I’m going to find a place where I can do all of that and achieve a high level of personal success. Will I ever be able to answer the question “What do you do?” I don’t know. And at this point, I don’t care. As long as the answer is not “I work a dead end job and sold my soul for a spot on The New York Times Best Seller list,” I think I’ll be just fine.

This is my friend, Tayler Lynns ‘travel blog’.  She has been (excuse the phrase) on the road for about a month now. She is an awesome lady, writer, friend, human being.  Here’s her last entry, I really enjoyed it. I hope you will too. Follow her.

ontenterhooks:

I’ve often had trouble answering the question “What do you do?” while on this trip.

I got sick of the obligatory: “WellIusedtoliveinHollywodandIhadabandandIwaitedtables. ButnowI’monthissabbaticaladventuretosomehowfindmyself. SoIdon’treallyDOanything”

There have been a few times I’ve just told bold faced lies to skirt the issue. Most of the time I just say yes in response to the question.

“Oh are you a muscian?”

Yep.

“Oh are you a student”

Mmmhmm.

“Are you unemployed?”

As a matter of fact, I am.

Last night I was sitting outside a bar in New Orleans waiting for a band to start and, I’ll admit, I was texting like crazy. Not because I wanted to (I’m perfectly capable of being places alone without being glued to my phone) but because I was trying to secure a place to stay during the next week. Totally justified.

A man came up to me and asked, “Are you a writer?”

Not quite catching on to the witty albeit slightly douche-y line yet, I said

“You know what? I am.”

And he came back with an extremely self congratulatory “Well you must be writing a novel in that phone of yours!!”

“No jerk, I’m trying to find a place to sleep next week.”

Annnd here comes my story. From LA All You Can Jet  5 weeks No money blahblahblahblahblah. He wasn’t really listening anyway.

“So have I ever read anything you’ve written?” he asks

“Probably not.” I replied. “I said I was a writer, it doesn’t necessarily imply success.”

“Well my Dad is a successful writer”

“Awesome, good for him.” I was expressionless.

“Yep and you know what he told me? He said ‘Steven, on the cover of my book it says New York Times Bestselling Author,’”

At this moment his eyes darted at mine searching for an impressed reaction to which I did not oblige. He continued on:

“’But what it does not say is New York Times BEST author.’ So you see, its all about the sales. It doesn’t matter if you’re any good. You don’t sell any books, all you’ve got is a good diary.”

FREEZE.

This is the part where the world stops (on a really ugly expression from “Steven”) and I talk directly to the audience.

I wanted to punch this man in the face and run away crying. I didn’t travel across the country to a tiny bar in the south for this. Here the LA was to stand for Louisiana, not Los Angeles. And what was he trying to accomplish with this line? The only thing he could possibly be proving was that he and his father were selfish and money grubbing and cared nothing about the sanctity of self expression. Abort, abort conversation Tayler.

So I decided to stay honest, I stayed true.

UNFREEZE.

“You know what Steven? At this point, I would honestly be more satisfied with a really well written diary.”

PEW! PEW! POW! POW! LIGHTBULBS! HELLO! BREAKTHROUGH! WHAT UP! DING! DING! DING!

Steven took the hint as I smiled to myself and started back at my phone. Much to his salvation, it started to rain one of those warm unexpected Southern downpours at the very same moment it could’ve gotten very awkward.

“I’m gonna go inside, the bands about to start.”

“Yeew should come insiiide with uss babe, yer gunna getwett.” his drunken friend had not picked up on the current demise of our conversation.

But I didn’t go inside. I didn’t care about the rain. I just sat on the bench repeating that line in my head.

“At this point, I would be more satisfied with a really well written diary.”

“At this point, I would be more satisfied with a really well written diary.”

“At this point. I would. Be more satisfied. With a really well written diary.”

I experimented with different emphasis on different words while getting wetter and wetter with each accented syllable.

But it didn’t matter. I was sitting alone on a park bench in New Orleans with a Heineken in my hand (yeah, everyone drinks in the street) in the pouring rain and I finally knew that I was on the right track.

A well written diary? Tenterhooks? All I have to do is keep doing what I am doing. Stay true, stay honest. Don’t bother with the money, the sales, the notoriety. It’s not what I want. If all I want is a well written diary, if that will satisfy me, then what is all of this worry with monetary and famed success?

So its not about L.A., its not about making a name for myself, its not about bragging rights, and its certainly not about the money.

God, all I want to do is travel, and write, and sing and live a comfortable life where I can do all that with people I love and be happy. So I’m shifting my sights and staying true. I’m going to find a place where I can do all of that and achieve a high level of personal success.

Will I ever be able to answer the question “What do you do?” I don’t know. And at this point, I don’t care. As long as the answer is not “I work a dead end job and sold my soul for a spot on The New York Times Best Seller list,”

I think I’ll be just fine.