Robert Conlin

Follow this author

Whoever thought of the phrase, ‘Jack of all trades, master of none’ must have had me in mind. Either that or I liked it so much, I decided to adopt it as my own. In any event, I’ve worked in more than a few occupations in my lifetime. In fact, I made up a list of all the ones that exceeded three months. Here goes: busboy; waiter; bartender; Navy cook; security guard; bicycle mechanic; overseas tour guide; bank clerk; warehouse worker; brick mason; chimney sweep; auto salesman; oyster farmer; retail store owner; news reporter and editor; magazine publisher. So why not be a book author? It might not be real work, but it still counts as a job! Honestly, it’s been the most satisfying job of all. It’s very gratifying to put your heart and soul into a project for a big chunk of time and eventually end up with something real you can hold in your hands, and glance over at on the shelf. The only material thing that will last when I’m gone are the books I wrote. They might be like the bad penny that gets passed from one temporary owner to another, but they’ll outlast anything else I labored at. Well, the chimneys I helped build all over midcoast Maine might be around as long, provided we got the mortar mix right that day. So I’ll keep writing books: non-fiction reportage; fiction thrillers; ghost-written memoirs. It will never get old, even as I inevitably do. When I’m not writing, I enjoy spending time with my six kids. We camp all over Maine, spend a lot of time on and in the water - fresh and salt - and are always on the lookout for an adventure. I’ll keep playing ice hockey until I can’t lace up my skates. I’ll keep trying to fix up this 200-year-old Maine house. I’ll keep looking for love in all the wrong places. And I’ll keep grumbling about AI. Which, by the way, knows well enough to stay far away from me at my computer. The thought of giving up the job I love to something not even real enough to call a robot makes me want to hurl a brick through the screen.