Here’s what I want to do

Day 8. 58 pages, 27,908 words.

I keep seeing stories like this one, about how humanity may or may not be on the verge of becoming an operational interplanetary civilisation if it weren’t for the greedy fucks in power and the stupid fucks who keep them there.

Yeah, why won't you? Good question, actually.

Professor Cox is too nice to actually say it in so many words, but I’m pretty sure that this is what he means.

I do a lot of complaining about how crappy humans are, and how we’re all going to die down here. And yeah, I generally believe that. But stories like this also give me cause for optimism. Unwarranted optimism, maybe, but I get fired up.

So what can I do?

Well, I can write. It’s my gift. And I don’t think it’s unseemly self-flattery to say I have a gift in this regard. It’s the thing I feel I can tell people I do well.

For well over a decade, I have supported myself and my family[1] professionally by my technical writing skill. And for the past couple of years, I’ve been creative writing professionally as well, to reasonable critical response. I’ve also been a social commentator in my own modest way on an assortment of social media platforms.

[1] For a given percentage of “support”, considering Mrs. Hatboy provides additional funds with a teaching salary whenever possible and the government has supported me during times of illness.

If this is starting to sound like a cover letter, there’s a reason for that.

edpool (8)

To whom it may concern…

This may not be all I can do, but it is what I can do best. In a post-scarcity world where people pursue their passions for the pure fulfilment of it, I’d already be there.

I am offering my talent as a writer, and my skill as a technical communicator, free of charge to any person or company aiming to lift the human race off this planet and advance our civilisation.

That’s it, really. That’s all I wanted to say.

For contractual reasons, I can’t take money for doing technical writing work anyway, and I can’t take on work that will interfere with my 7 hours and 36 minutes a day of contract work. However, if SpaceX wants to ask me to spell-check or draft press releases for them, I can fit it into my schedule.

And I will do it free of charge.

I want to help.

Anyone who likes can feel free to add their offering in the comments section here, and share this post to any organisation that might benefit from a bit of volunteer action. This is, after all, what I think the next step of human civilisation amounts to. I’ll do my job for free if you’ll do yours.

I know, it’s hopelessly naïve. I’d sit at a desk and hammer out words even if they weren’t paying me anyway, and a lot of people do far more difficult and dangerous and important work so there has to be some sort of compensation and balance. I don’t pretend to know how a currency-less society would work.

But I’ll do what I can. That’s not necessarily limited to writing and editing, but it’s what I feel is most commodifiable in me.

I mean, if you want someone to stand around and poo out of their stomachs into a bag, forget about it. I’m space-ready. Plus I get along really well with all kinds of aliens.

Call me.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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