There came a month for that ugly little dog Winchester where he was particularly down on his luck. Not that he was ever seriously lucky by any means. But in this particular week things really hit the fan, you might say.

Winchester did what he could do for work. Luckily, the base of his commissions came through email without any substantial back and forth with the client. This was of large advantage to Winchester. For then he would not have to reveal his hideous ugliness. He could do remote work from his little 2nd story loft area, deep within the recesses of a nowhere town, where things seldom happen and where there is little likelihood that anyone would find him. For if they would, they would almost certainly retract their proposal for work off observation of Winchester’s most apparent ugliness.

This work came in seasons and would suddenly, for seemingly no reason in all the world, would come to a screeching halt. Then Winchester would be left with the haunting of only his thoughts and prospective opportunities. This nearly drove him mad for weeks on end. He came to this very strange place of an abundance of prospective work floating about in emails, phone calls, messages and what not, but when it came time for actually getting paid, he fell short. This was indeed incredibly frustrating for Winchester, but he had to find a way. For there is always a way.

You see winchester was no stranger to this kind of abuse. While working straight jobs with a 9-5 pattern of hours, he experienced a similar feeling of fatigue and oppression as in freelancing. In the circumstance of working for others he was consistently paid for his labors without a thought, and his mind was at ease in this regard. Although his was paid he felt captured, condemned to the pace of 5 days a week, then two days off + holidays. On the clock sort of obligation. Lethargic mindlessness after every 12:00 lunch, and the come down from the weekend every Monday morning. Winchester knew that this was not the case for every worker, but in his particular case, he could not shake this feeling of entrapment.

On the contrary, while Winchester is now in full control of his source of income and his career path, and his time, he now finds himself in limbo over payment (consistent payment at least). What a predicament I find myself in, he was probably thinking, sitting about in his work loft twiddling his paws. Oh wouldn’t it be dandy to revisit that hourly wage with its hourly security,he¬†fancied for but a moment before he burst forth, BUT NAY! I have seen far too much of the goodness on the flip side of the coin. Even if I am to have 30 bad days where I am scrambling and scraping by, that 1 good day is a powerful reminder to me that something is worthwhile about all this. AND MOREOVER, what an insult to this faith of mine that I might be thwarted by a few dry spells! GOOD SCOTT! I MUST PRESS ON….

So while little was flowing him in terms of ‘work’, Winchester sharpened his dog-like skills as preparation. He would exercise every muscle of his ugly dog body and mind. Reading, studying, researching every facet of his craft to be as a lion in wait for that unsuspecting human who would wave a bone in front of his face again. They would offer this work unknowing that he had been mediating on the chance, and chomping at the bit, truely lying in wait, burdened and fueled further by ever day that passed. That ugly dog Winchester would live to die another day.

OH HOW UNSUSPECTING ARE THE HUMAN COMMISSIONERS! Winchester thought to himself as he sharpened his vision and honed his handy-work . They will come to me with a problem begging to be solved, burned once before by a dog just like myself, or unsatisfied by the unqualified. But I will be ready. With time on my side, a clear mind, and an empty stomach. I’ll have something for them….


Stay vigilant for that opportunity friends.

With love, Creative C*ULT.