I was a fresh-faced college grad working my first job in LA as a Story Executive (a pretty BS title anyways) when the 2007 WGA writer's strike happened. My boss didn't fire me, but let me know he couldn't afford to pay me anymore. I hated the job, hated wearing heels to work every day, hated having to deal with stuffy executives all day, but man, the money was nice. I ended up broke and living on the couch cushions of my friend's dead grandmother's apartment in San Francisco. (She'd been gone a while, it's cool. It wasn't haunted, though we did find some Nazi stuff.)

I worked for Apple for a while and for a small knitting/dye store where I learned tons of stuff about dying and fabric manipulation but would never advance in either company without drinking the koolaid. I convinced myself I was in love with a guy back in Los Angles and moved back down. It didn't hurt that there were zero film industry jobs in the Bay Area and I had made some new contacts in LA.

The very night I moved back, I met his new girlfriend who is now his fiance. After the initial oh-shit-I-fucking-hate-you, we eventually became good friends and it was at her urging that I published my first book. Now, I've published five, and am a steadily working prop master for indie films. I'm not rich, will probably never be, but I love my job and love writing.

Do I wish I had more money? Do I wish I didn't work 12 hour days? Do I wish I could fly back to see my parents more often? Of course. But last week, I had a 15 on 15 Nerf war with my awesome nerdy LA friends. I've had dinner with my greatest childhood hero. And tomorrow I leave for (exotic!) Bakersfield to work on a film with A-list actors. And that's pretty rad.

Life is insanely crazy. I'm never sure if I made all of the right decisions. I think I made the best ones I knew how. And I'm still floundering a bit but man, what a story it will make!