Writing Auditions?
Whoa! I just finished reading a post from Yo Prinzel who has become my personal hero — at least for the day. First, we all know the freelance writing biz is, shall we say, like standing on the shoreline of a great body of water and hoping desperately to get to the other side despite hurricane winds and 30 foot waves. In other words, the journey to find and get work is, interesting.
Now, get this, the woman I mention here came across and applied for a $7000 gig on Elance (I am not a fan). All went well — resume, writing samples, application — and she was in the running along with three other writers — and impressive feat in the stormy seas of Elance.
Now for the clincher: the company rep required that each finalist write a three to five page rewrite — FOR FREE!! My hero withdrew from the running because:
“It isn’t practical for a writer to give every prospective client a free sample. It is cost prohibitive, supplies the potential client with free content that the writer would normally get paid for, and should not be necessary when samples and recommendations are available.”
AND
“Asking for a free sample that will take hours to complete shows a disrespect for the writer’s professional experience, time and talent. If you were really blown away by a writer’s samples and experience, you would have the respect necessary to hire based on that. Since that is not the case, I would guess you haven’t found the right writer yet and I will just take myself out of the running while thanking you for your consideration.”
Now the question becomes, was she stupid to blow this gig off? In my opinion, she did not “blow it off.” She simply took a good look at serious indicators that this gig could be a setup for personal and professional disaster. Reason? If a company exploits the hungry and needy just because they can, what does that portend for how they will treat these same in the future?
Not good, not good at all. Go for good karma, folks and screw the slavery.
Diane Schuler: Now it Makes Sense
The Diance Schuler case — about the young woman who barrelled down the Taconic Highway in Westchester County the wrong way, killing eight including 4 children in her car. This case has riveted me, and I often think about the missing links, the round peg to replace the square one that wouldn’t fit in the hole. For months her husband, Danny, and the charlatan of a lawyer he hired, proclaimed from the mountaintops to all who would (and wouldn’t) listen that Diane Schuler was not a lush, that Diane Schuler drank very rarely, and that Diane Schuler had never, ever, been drunk.
Well, slam, bam, no-thank-you m’am, burst that balloon with a bang. At long last, as I knew would eventually happen, someone has come forth, Diane’s sister-in-law no less, on record with her statement that Diane used pot — every day, and that Diane was a drinker — a heavy one.
And so there went those innocent children on that July day, the lambs to the lion. And there went those good and strong men, smashed by a woman who never saw it coming. Everyone else did.
For me, the sister-in-law’s statement gives resolution to the non-mystery that remained a mystery because no one came forward. But now I feel betrayed — betrayed by Danny who is out to save his body, soul, and more valiantly, the privacy of his survivor son. Mostly, I feel betrayed by Diane, the “amazing” mother, professional woman, and whatever else she was, who drowned her pain, sorrow, and stress in a sea of liquor and a fog of marijuana.
Golden Tunnel
Today the street was lined with walls of leaves, golden in the late afternoon sun. Encased as in a cacoon I am lulled by the illusion of permanent warmth and safety. Soon, though, these piles will be white, and cold, and dangerous.
Staring at the Wall
I am sitting here, staring at the wall, counting ladybugs. It’s that time of year, those few weeks when the sun is warm inside, cool outside, and the throngs of ladybugs somehow find their way into the sunny spots in my house. In fact, there were so many of them the other day that one was swimming around in my wine. I felt sure the poor dear wouldn’t make it, but make it she did, with nary a stagger as she forged her way across the table once rescued.
I am staring at the wall today because I am starting to feel the exiting remnants of the flu that goes oink and I am feeling like I should be doing something only I don’t feel like doing anything other than writing something inane like this.
So I am glad to have these ladybugs for company on this late fall afternoon, and maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like doing something.
Are There Any Decent Clients Out There??
Man oh man. I am just emerging from dealing with what to me was the loser of all clients. In fact, I have even fired the guy, and this is why:
- I am a writer. I am a writer of books. I am a writer of articles. I am also a college professor teaching — WRITING!
- I discovered an individual on LinkedIn who was obviously an ESL (English as a second language).
- I sent the guy a professional email offering my services to improve his image and communications.
- He took me up on it.
- I entered hell.
In all serious, I embarked upon a journey where I edited this guy’s stuff. Much of it was very unclear, but having knowledge in his field, I was able to figure it out. I asked him what kind of tone he wanted: formal or informal. He said informal. I gave him informal. He evidently really wanted formal.
I could go on and on, but the bottom line here is that I got a scathing email over the weekend from — guess who? Client from hell. It was about as unprofessional as it gets. It upset the heck out of me. It said my work was a mess. It didn’t say who, what, when, where and why my work was a mess.
Several rounds of emails later, I finally got the three examples of my “poor work,” work he said was incorrect. (He can’t speak English!!!), and work that was indeed, perfectly correct. In fact, one example was evidently where he made a mistake in downloading my edits from the Track Changes feature of Word, because when I went back to my copy of what I sent, the “error” was indeed not in it.
Now, there is more. During the course of this relationship, he had me download various things on my computer including MyDropbox, Teamviewer, and some other thing from his company. Argh! Ever since I have had these things on my computer, it is been a mess. In fact, I cannot uninstall the programs, also have other very disturbing things going on, and the darn thing is now in for repair.
As you see, I feel the need to regale you with my tale of client woe. But I also write to warn you about the kinds of behaviors out there and to let you know, it’s okay to fire a client.
You know why it’s okay to fire a client? It’s okay because those clients that spew around a lot of negative energy will prey on you and awaken your negative energy. When you are spinning around with negative energy, the “good” stuff is repelled and you are only setting yourself up for attracting more clients that spew negative energy. In the long run, cut the spewers loose, re-engage your positive stuff, and watch the money pour into your coffers.
On The Computer
“He’s on the computer again.”
“All you ever do is spend time on the computer.”
“All the time these kids spend on the computer is a waste.”
Ahem — is it? A waste? Is being “on the computer” a bad thing?
First, let’s get this “on the computer” term straight.
Does it mean playing games?
Does it mean surfing sites aimlessly?
Does it mean IMing with friends?
Does it mean hours spent on Facebook and MySpace?
Does it mean checking out babes and hunks on dating sites?
ANSWER:
It means all of the above and MORE!
Now let’s explore this concept a bit more.
Pen Perfection
I am quirky, and proud of it. One of my quirks, probably more accurate to call it a passion, is pens. I doubt there is anyone out there who is as rabid connoisseur of pens as I am. Seriously — you name the pen, I have a comment. When it comes to my own pen selections, I have been on the never-ending quest for the perfect pen for years. To satisfy me, the feel has to be EXACTLY right! The tip has to come out a certain dsitance from the barrel, the barrel has to be a certain diameter, the ink has to be smooth — no blotches, no skips, and of course — it has to smell! I am nose oriented, because nothing thrills me more than the smell of ink on paper. Then there is the diamter of the nib — I despise anything over 1 mm, and depending on the type of pen — gel, ballpoint, or rollerball — I prefer a .5 or .7.
Notice I did not mention fountain pens? So many people swear by their fountain pens, but I just was never able to go there. Yes, I tried, but either the nib wasn’t right, I got ink all over everything, including myself, or the thing scratached on the paper, which to me is like fingernails on the proverbial blackboard.
Be aware that over the years I have bought and or absconded (doctors’ offices and such) with hundreds of pens. The prices have ranged from $1 to $100. But most have been in that relatively “cheap” range of $6 (package of 4 or 5) to $25.
So now the question becomes: have I found the perfect pen? And the answer is – sort of. Sort of? Well actually, more like the perfect brand within which lies several options that are true winners.
But first, the runner’s up. Before I make the grand pronouncement, I must tell you that I have tried every major brand name pen out there. I won’t list them here because they are indeed lovely pens, they just didn’t make the neurotic Mary Anne cut. So what did make the cut, in Number 3 position: Foray pens! Foray is the house brand for Office Depot and a mighty fine pen they indeed make. My favorite is the retractable, big barrelled black and blue, medium point. I think the medium is actually more like 1mm, a bit beyond my specs and therefore the number 3 slot. But these pens write smooth as silk and feel comfy in the hand.
Number 2? Another house brand — a theme perhaps? This one is the Staples Xeno and it comes in both retractable and stick; I prefer the stick. I think another 1 mm, but smooth and great smelling!!
And the Grand Prize goes to yet another house brand: Office Max’s Tul brand pens. These are a major wow, in my most humble book. They come in ballpoint, gel, and rollerball, with ultra fine, fine, and medium tips. They come in stick and retractable, and I just plain love them all.
So there you have it. I have come out of the closet about my pen fetish and I hope you enjoy my little piece here if not the recommendations.
Sears: The Icon Falls
Sears sucks. Sears is another of the falling American icons. Sears is falling because it is mired in a cesspool of rigid policies that don’t account for the reality of its defective products purchased in good faith by unfortunate customers.
Here’s my story. (Promise, it’s short). I bought a lawnmower from Sears two years ago. Since then, I have had this lawnmower in for repairs — four times!! Here is the basic problem — it spews, I mean SPEWS blue smoke from both sides of the carburator, it backfires, it leaks oil all over itself, it sputters, it stalls — there’s more, but got the picture?
So, four times, each time pleading for a new mower. No, I was told repeatedly — it must be sent to the repair center, now in PA (used to be one here locally, but you know all about cost-cutting: screw the customer, make the bucks), and not until it was sent in the fifth time would replacement be considered. The warantee on the thing was good for two years – so that was an okay thing. But there was also this thing called winter where the lawnmower was stored away all snuggly in the backyard shed from early November through end of April.
I took it out this year on May 4th, after having put it away for the winter directly from its most recent repair. Unfortunately I never used or tested it before using it for the first time this spring. Ma bad. Guess what? It’s ever WORSE than ever. And guess what, Sears REFUSES to do anything about it. And guess what again? I will NEVER buy another thing from Sears again, and I hope you don’t either!
Major Screw-up
Man oh man, did I screw up. Here’s what I did. I finished calculating all my grades two weeks before the due date. I finished them, submitted them into the campus Banner system, washed my hands, and turned my sights to survival mode. I won’t kid you, this is probably one of the most difficult times of my life. My income level has fallen into three-digit level and I kid you not. I spend my days on the phone with the mortgage company, the electric company, the phone company, and a host of other assorted companies, pleading, begging, and doin g what I have to to keep from becoming homeless. All I can say is thank you to these institutions who are unfailingly willing to bend as far as they possibly can.
In the meantime, my 20-something daughter is teetering on the edge of life — literally. Every day I wake up and say, “Is today the day I’m doing to get the call no mother ever wants to get?”
Back to the grades — every so often a kid comes along who complains about his grades. I had one of those kids this year. The week after I finished and had the whole mess handed in, he contacts me because he thinks he got a B+. Can you believe it??? Even worse, in reality, I gave the kid an A- because though the points indeed added up to a B+, I exerted my professorial liberty because he was a good student. Well, the thing got all out of wehack, miscommunications up the wazoo, I ASS-umed he had gotten the actual grade, he hadn’t, still — complaining about a B+?
He went to the department chair and shared with her a series of communiques we had had, in some of which I was professional, but short. I took the stand that the grades were in and that was that. When I heard he went to the chair, I flipped, and of course, I also was not happy with her handling of it, part of which was my anger-skewed view, part of which was valid. I again communicated via email, professionally, but, shall we say, pointedly.
Now, had this personal crap not been going on, I would have handled this much differently. I would have taken more time with this kid when he contacted me, dealt with his question, made my decision, and moved on. Perhaps he still would have meandered on to the chair, perhaps he wouldn’t have.
Perhaps, perhaps. Maybe, maybe. Whatever, I inserted my personal emotion into a situation where it DID NOT belong. This was wrong. And so I was wrong. Mea culpa.
