Two weeks ago, after a particularly brutal day of self-deprecation thanks to the massive dose of artificial hormones racing through my body (and hopefully encouraging my stubborn ovaries to perform as designed), I decided it was high time I attempted to realize my dream of becoming a freelance journalist. Officially. Did I study Journalism in school? Not unless you count my Senior year sojourn on the newspaper staff...in High School! No, I studied several things in college (Microbiology, Elementary Education, Mass Communications, and History to name a few), but Journalism never crossed my mind. (At 18 does ANYONE really know what they want to be when they grow up?)
I love to write. So naturally, and for reasons I blame my Mother for entirely (which is another post for another day), I decided the best course of action was for me to immediately email the editor of a very popular local publication and ask her if their magazine was accepting freelance work. I included a (very) brief general introduction of myself and my education, thanked her for her consideration, and hit send.
O.M.G.
Did I really just have the audacity to presume that, upon reading my two-minute email, she would actually hire me?! (Go ahead and laugh. I did.) After a bout of nervous poo (you know what I’m talking about) – which made me realize how badly I really did want this opportunity, I concluded that stranger things have happened and hoped for the best. Fast-forward to yesterday when I logged-in to my email for the 2000th time to see if there was any reply. Still nothing. So, being the non-confrontational person that I am (really, I’m not!), I shot her another brief email. This time apologizing for being so short in my previous email and asking whether she would like to know more about me and/or possibly see some samples of my writing as she’s considering my request? Ballsy? Yes, but I figured I might as well feign some confidence. I’m sure she had long since dragged my original email directly to the trash icon along with the hundreds of other inquiries she probably gets from (legitimately trained) aspiring journalists. However, I wasn’t going to give up without a response – good OR bad!
And then came the prompt reply, waiting patiently for me in my inbox this morning. “Send me your resume and call me on Monday or Tuesday.” . . . And I thought MY email got the gold star for brevity! I felt a small rush of excitement for the fact that she had even sent a reply, let alone asked for a resume and a phone call (which wasn't an outright "No")! And then reality ...
O.M.G.
I don’t HAVE a resume! I’m a stay-home-mom who cooks decently, cleans obsessively, loves to do anything crafty, and eats chocolate for dinner when my husband is out of town. The last time I needed a resume was over four years ago, and the computer it was on has long since bit the dust. What do I do now?! Clearly I need to send her a resume as soon as possible. I don’t want her realizing that I had offered to send her a resume that didn't actually exist. Cue nervous poo.
It’s been so long! How do I make a resume?! Google it. I managed to find a template for a resume and slowly began piecing together the summary of what I've done over the past 10 years. And guess what? NO WHERE on it will she find that any job I had or Major I studied has any relevance to the position for which I’m inquiring about. What. Was. I. Thinking?! Though tempted to delete her email and never speak of this whole experience again, I’ve decided that I might as well send her what I’ve got and then hit my knees. Because I KNOW it’s going to take some divine intervention for this to have a positive outcome. And *deep breath* I AM going to call her on Monday or Tuesday (who am I kidding?! I'll call her Tuesday…) and see what she has to say – even if it is only to hear her laughing over the phone as she reads through my resume.
Now, on to more pressing matters. I have some missionaries coming over for dinner and I have no idea what to make. Hmm… Think I’m going to go with Chicken Enchiladas (do you think they’ll notice if I use canned chicken?) and a salad. I asked my 4 yr. old Little Dude (LD) what I should make for dessert and he enthusiastically answered, “Hotdogs!”
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