I spotted an opportunity yesterday, a writing job that seems just about perfect. I see these from time to time; the last time I inquired it turned out I’d be writing blog posts and other articles to help an author sell his books. I mean, a job is a job, but it seemed a little dumb and maybe self-defeating. And the recruiter, who wanted me to continue through a long process of application, thought my samples were “light,” even if he thought I wrote in a friendly and accessible style and WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF.
So, no to that, but I need work and in my effort to avoid wearing a red coat and directing people to aisle 8, which is fine and I’d be glad to do it but the pay will be, as pay is for these sorts of things, so depressing that I wonder if I wouldn’t be looking a razor blades in an affectionate way after a couple of weeks.
Anyway. For this new gig, I was looking for samples online I could direct them to, and I found three pieces I wrote 10-12 years ago for the Seattle Times. The rest have disappeared, but I read these three, which was also sort of depressing. I used to really try to write well. I need to try again.
And probably right now, since I need to assemble some materials and write a cover letter, all for something I could do really well and probably won’t even be considered for, given the variables that can’t be ignored: A guy my age who is fishing around for freelance work tells a story about failure and missed chances and probably lack of real talent, although that story has a little more to it. Still, that’s who I am and where I am. I may be imminently qualified for that red coat. I’ll try to stay out of the shaving section.