by Louis Bertrand Shalako
All Rights Reserved
After dropping out of school in grade ten, I held a number of menial positions. I was a weekend watchman at the local grain elevators, I mopped floors in a local pub, and even delivered tombstones with my uncle. The funny thing was that I tried to go back three or four times, changed schools, the usual thing. On unemployment, there was the chance to go back for 'retraining,' to become a 'retread,' and I eventually got my grade twelve, the 'Level IV Equivalency Certificate' so demanded by the forward-looking employers of the day.
I was twenty the first time I ever injured my back, or felt any real pain. By the time I was about twenty-five, I knew that construction work was not a long term option, although it pays pretty well.
I wasn't a bad carpenter, or a bad welder, or a bad roofer, or a bad drywaller, or a bad high-pressure water blaster.
I went back to college and studied journalism. That was in September of 1983. Journalism is okay, and I did the job for a short while, nothing to brag about or put on a resume. But what I really wanted was for someone to teach me how to write.
Unlike some, I cannot claim that I was three and a half years old, dreaming of better days ahead as I underwent potty training...yearning for my eventual adult liberty and total creative freedom without restraint.
I've been writing for about twenty-six and a half years now. When I sell an e-book, it is such a wonderful feeling, to know that this is a privilege that many seek, and few shall attain.
When I see that thirty-seven cents accruing one sale at a time in my account, no one can take that away from me. I earned that thirty-seven cents.
It was honestly earned. No one is going to take that away from me.