Tag: freelance life

Entry IV: The Elmployment Tree

My mana—along with most of my confetti—was nearly depleted after accidentally conducting an orchestra instead of, say, conducting business affairs.

The grove was a welcome silence after the chaos I’d just escaped. The orchestra I accidentally conjured had followed me for days, turning every minor decision into a dramatic overture. Ordering soup? Trumpets. Tying my boots? Violins. As much as I liked having my own theme song, things got dicey once they started busking—and one tried to charge me for a crescendo. That’s when I knew the show was over.

What replaced their music was no less magical: reaching into an amber-streaked sky was a towering tree, standing before me. Thankfully, it wasn’t sitting down—that would’ve been weird. Its sprawling branches filtered the light into golden ribbons, and fastened across its ancient trunk were scrolls and notices, bound by ivy and time. They trembled ever so slightly—not from wind, but as though stirred by the tree’s own breath, exhaling secrets inked in sap and memory… or sighing over centuries of unread résumés.

The ink began to swirl across the parchment. A whisper in the wind spoke of forgotten lore. But just before the final rune appeared…

🧙‍♂️ Side Quest: Acquire the Infinite Spellbook

Every good mage needs a grimoire—somewhere to stash half-finished incantations, character scrolls, and a cursed recipe or two.

We use Scrivener, the spellbook of choice for longform storytellers. It organizes chaos, binds scattered parchments, and keeps plot dragons at bay.

If your stories are bursting out of boring old notebooks, maybe it’s time to level up.

✨ Unlock Scrivener →

I had heard whispers of such a place—usually spoken in the hushed tones of folklore and freelance forums. Could this be the fabled Elmployment Tree? A living job board, tended by a whimsical dryad who offered quests in exchange for mana and coin. The kind of place where dreams were hired, not just dreamt.

I approached, expecting ancient insight—or at least a halfway legible font.

Instead, I found its bark plastered with postings—scrolls, flyers, and faded résumés—all layered like sediment in a long-forgotten archive. Each was more cryptic than the last, except for a small wooden sign dangling from a nearby root: “Out to lunch. Be back in 30 minutes.”

One tattered Wand Ad read: “Will pay 5 gold to polish my potion description.”
I reached for the scroll—only to realize, too late, it was the potion instead. In retrospect, that was a poor business move. I lost 2 HP per turn to poison and earned zero gold in return.

I staggered backward, clutching my stomach and my pride. From behind a nearby rock, a figure emerged—casually chewing what might’ve been a toasted lichen sandwich.

“Rookie mistake,” she said, not unkindly.

The dryad snapped her fingers, and a swirl of mint-green light wrapped around me. The nausea faded. My shame did not.

“Thanks,” I muttered, handing over 5 gold.

“Cleansing and sapling fees,” she said with a wink, disappearing just as quickly as she’d arrived—back behind the rock, which I now noticed had a mossy blanket and a cup labeled: “HR’d as a Rock.”

Once the nausea subsided, my staff’s crystal orb began to flicker ominously. Gazing into it, a vision shimmered to life: a talking parchment delivering an important warning.

“Beware of contracts sealed in invisible ink. Some vanish the moment they’re signed.”

That’s when it hit me—bartering spellwork for coin was far harder than casting spells for fun. The stakes were real. The poison, more so.

But I’d come this far, and I wasn’t about to turn back.

I didn’t feel like a seasoned adventurer—not yet. But I was learning new crafts by necessity. I forged a brand sigil. I studied ancient scrolls on affiliate enchantments and recurring incantation subscriptions. I even began to manatize my offerings.

No, the Freelands weren’t exactly shimmering with promise. But compared to the dank dungeons of my former manafacturing job, the path ahead felt lighter. And that, I realized, was worth a few poisoned potions.

I left the Elmployment Tree behind, but not before inscribing my URL into its bark with a magic marker—letting others know I offer free consultations. But first, I had to consult someone myself: The Freelands’ mysterious tea-leaf reader. Perhaps she could offer guidance on navigating this realm—or, at the very least, a warm mug of chai.

As the tree disappeared, sheathed in ivy and a tunic of dusk, wrapped in a whisper, a message reached my ear:
“If it’s clarity you seek, head due east—toward the next steep in the process.”

I couldn’t be sure if it came from the tree… or the last breath of a wandering woodwind, carried off on the wind.

May 7, 2025
Entry II: The Write of Passage

Fortified by conviction—and just a pinch of spite—I creep through the alleys of this villainous village, where every brick seems to whisper, “Clock back in.” It’s a place so emotionally taxing, I was always broke, exhausted, and one microwave burrito away from a full-blown breakdown. But now, my Magic Marker glows faintly in the gloom, flickering with possibility. Walking away was the hardest part—but the road ahead still looks like it was designed by a dungeon manager with a grudge. Still, I’ve crossed the threshold. Their grip is loosening—and clenched in my fist is the key. (And no, it’s not the burrito.)

By the time I set foot on the path, a new day had already begun to stretch and yawn—completely unaware of the existential crisis lumbering behind it. Having escaped the company compound, the heavy gate groaned shut behind me—sounding uncannily like my coworkers complaining about overtime… or how long it took to microwave my burrito. For a brief moment, I wondered if I’d made the right choice. Maybe I should’ve gone with the nachos instead? But I remind myself: when one gate closes, another opens—though sometimes it leads straight into a forest with no Wi-Fi. Beneath the pale morning light, I peer into the vast wilderness… and get the uneasy sense it’s sizing me up—and not for a job interview. Cautiously, I step onto the path. Somewhere in the thicket, a low, guttural growl rumbles. Or maybe that was me. Definitely going with the nachos next time.

The ink began to swirl across the parchment. A whisper in the wind spoke of forgotten lore. But just before the final rune appeared…

🧙‍♂️ Side Quest: Acquire the Infinite Spellbook

Every good mage needs a grimoire—somewhere to stash half-finished incantations, character scrolls, and a cursed recipe or two.

We use Scrivener, the spellbook of choice for longform storytellers. It organizes chaos, binds scattered parchments, and keeps plot dragons at bay.

If your stories are bursting out of boring old notebooks, maybe it’s time to level up.

✨ Unlock Scrivener →

That’s when the Fenris—a hulking, monstrous wolf—leaped out and landed on the path with a ground-shaking thud. Why couldn’t today have been Fenris Bueller’s Day Off? A Fenris isn’t your run-of-the-mill, bonnet-wearing grandma wolf. This wolf meant business. It might’ve even been the Wolf of Wall Street. No… this one wore business-casual khakis and a collared dress shirt, and he looked mighty hungry. I’m talking microwave-burrito-and-nachos hungry. My primal instinct was to run—but then I remembered: this is my write of passage. I needn’t be intimidated by big, bad business wolves. I still had my trusty Magic Marker.

And somewhere between checking my emails and scheduling a meeting, a brilliant idea formed. I raised the glowing tip of my Marker, and with a few bold strokes, summoned a glowing ad-scroll into the air:

🌯 Bite Into Boldness: The Burrito That Bites Back (But in a Nice Way) 🌯
Hungry? Hangry? Considering devouring a freelance wizard just to make it through your Monday?
Before you maul, try this magical microwaveable marvel—packed with savory spells, sizzling satisfaction, and 30% less guilt than eating someone’s career pivot.
Pair it with nachos topped with regret-melting cheese and a side of fresh-start salsa.

🔥 Why eat me, when you could eat better? 🔥

The Fenris licked his chops, thick ropes of drool spilling from his snout. At first, I worried the ad-scroll had backfired. Maybe he wasn’t just going to devour the burrito and nachos—maybe I was the dessert. With my newly acquired magical glow, I probably resembled a churro or something.

I braced for the worst. But then, with a low rumble and the faintest smirk, the wolf growled, “If you pair it with a Diet Prebiotic Soda Pup, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’m on one of those keto things. The missus says I’ve been eating one too many little girls in red riding hoods lately.”

I chuckled nervously and nodded, agreeing to his terms—though I made a mental note to never accept a dinner invitation at their place.

Compared to this towering wolf straight out of the pages of Monster.com, I felt small—outmatched, uncertain. Could I really stand my ground, let alone be someone who Dances With Wolves? But somehow, I had held my own with the big dogs. I might’ve even made a new friend… especially after the bellyrubs—mine, not his.

I didn’t have a map, or a job, or even reliable cell service—but I had a way with words. And that, I realized, would be my write of passage.

I guess the wolf was never really about teeth or fur. It was everything I’m afraid of: trying to break into something I’ve never done before, feeling like I don’t belong, wondering if I’m about to get chewed up before I even get started. I didn’t tame it, not exactly. But I didn’t run either. I made my case. I used my words. And maybe—just maybe—that’s how you start to carve a path through a forest like this. It’s uncharted territory—no Google Maps, no well-lit trails. Just a lot of burritos, a lot of doubt, and a whole lot of unknowns. But one thing is certain: you’ll never reach a storybook ending without first staring down a blank page. That’s where you begin. That’s where you find your write of passage.

May 5, 2025

Tag: freelance life

Entry IV: The Elmployment Tree

🧙‍♂️ Side Quest: Acquire the Infinite Spellbook

Entry II: The Write of Passage

🧙‍♂️ Side Quest: Acquire the Infinite Spellbook