I will tell you right now that I have no idea what Jude the Obscure is about. Not a clue. And that's not just the fog of time; I literally had no idea what I was talking about even while I was telling my fellow APers how to write about the book should it show up on the big test. Sorry, Mrs. Aycock. But thanks for giving me an "A" on that paper.
I could once bullshit my way through anything. In high school and (to some extent) college, I did it with my writing. I could throw together a paper in a heartbeat, or write an admissions essay without thinking twice, or write an email that got me in or out of trouble with a friend (depending on what I preferred at the time), or maybe even got me out of an assignment or a class.
It seems there's a chance I have, somewhere along the way, lost this gift. Because no matter how many amazingly clever or poignant cover letters I write, I can't find a job. Beyond that, I can't even get someone to acknowledge I exist. I have applied to positions for which I am perfectly qualified, and I have applied to positions that a one-armed monkey could accomplish with his eyes closed. I have poured my heart out about starting my life over, and I have made jokes about attaching résumés written in invisible ink. I have filled out cookie cutter applications for Starbucks, Apple, Target, Barnes and Noble, Netflix, and countless others. I have applied to small companies in this area. I have applied to bigger corporations based in this area.
And still nothing.
I need to work. That much is obvious. And the longer I go without work, the more desperate my situation becomes. But I've proven that I can't just walk in anywhere and get work. The work is not there.
And, maybe not more importantly for my pocketbook, but certainly for my soul, the work I actually want to do is nowhere to be found. Because what I want to do is write. You read my blog; you know I'm a capable writer. Or maybe you just come here to laugh and point at the dumb girl who thinks she could maybe be somebody. But I think I'm a decent writer. And I think I could get paid to do this.
For at least half my life now, I have been convinced that I am supposed to be someone big. Someone important or influential. When I got my position at The Ellen DeGeneres Show, I was certain that was how I was going to become the person I thought I was supposed to be. But then I got fired for reasons still unknown, and I've spent five years wondering exactly how I'm supposed to ever get back to that level again.
What I should have been doing is spending that time writing as much as I could. Granted, I started a blog in 2006, and really got it going in 2007. So I've done some writing. But this is post #633 in almost exactly four years. That's 158 posts a year, which doesn't sound too terrible, except when you take into account that for several months there I was writing at least two posts a day in my effort to cover two MLB teams. Here we are in September 2010, and I've written 37 posts for the year. So you see what I mean.
I don't know what I intended when I started this post, but I think I've just found my point. And that is that I need to write. A lot of words, with a lot of frequency. In an attempt to not go entirely insane, I have to write. I have to do what I know, and I have to believe that it will get me somewhere one day.
I won't publish every little thing I write, but I will share a lot of it with you. In fact, I'll just go ahead and make a promise right now -- you will get at least one post a day for the rest of this month. I'm starting small, so 22 more posts seems like a pretty good beginning.
Tell your friends! I'd like to try to get over that coveted hump of fifteen hits per day. And if any of your friends happen to be publishers, please note the contact info in the sidebar on the right side of the page.