If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There's no use being a damn fool about it. W.C. Fields
|Courtesy of Secret Tenerife|
It feels good to say that.
After months of doing a freelance job that caused me to lose sleep, lose perspective, and forget how to smile, I quit. Resigned. Enough, already.
My inner bitch has left the building...and I am returning to my life.
And I'm returning to blogging - oh, how I've missed it! I've missed reading your posts, and commenting. Rest assured that I've thought of you often, and I hope you'll come back to read what I put out here.
And when one door closes - okay, when I slammed this door closed, another door has opened.
Last week, when I went to the store to purchase comfort food in an attempt to dull the pain of the freelance assignments, I was drawn to, and purchased, a magazine. It is filled with stories that are local to Southeastern Missouri, and its pages feature some amazingly beautiful photography. I visited the magazine's web site, and that's when Esmeralda, my inner Snark Monster, reared her ugly head.
I click the link for Employment, and a single ad appears for a Marketing position...a position that I'm not interested in pursuing (nor do I possess even the minimum qualifications). But I read it anyway, and my inner Grammar Nazi starts to go into full cardiac arrest. Someone was hyphen-resistant, to say the least.
So I do what any sleep-deprived, pissed-at-the-world person would do. I offer my editing skills in a message on the site's 'Contact Us' form.
Totally snarky, inappropriate. My bad.
I get an email response, thanking me for my interest in the magazine. "Feel free to submit your resume. We're always looking for talented people."
A lightbulb goes off in my head. I may have just insulted the very person who wrote that job ad. Yikes. Never mind that I had the audacity to offer my services.
Assuming that the man does NOT want my resume at this point, I send it anyway.
My rationale? I've probably already pissed the guy off - maybe he can print out my resume, find MY errors, and enact some vengence by putting it through the shredder.
More email is exchanged. Funny, sarcastic email - my favorite kind.
And the best part yet? Proving that we ALL need an editor, he informs me that my original comment had a typo in it, too. Ironic, that.
He initially assumed I was "an a-hole hillbilly" (like the NINE people who responded before me) - and I wasn't insulted.
The man Googled me, and I feel slightly violated. He looked at this blog, mentioned the books I've been published in.
I assure him that though I MAY be an a-hole, I ain't no hillbilly. It seemed important for me to be clear on that point.
The takeaway from our correspondence?
I've been offered an opportunity to proofread the next issue of the magazine.
For actual money.
And he wants to meet with me so "we can shoot the breeze".
Far better than shooting the messenger, methinks.