The Job Interview

I’ve got an open position. I’ve got numerous applicants.

I haven’t disregarded any of them, because what if one of them is that diamond in the rough? What if the one I cut due to lack of experience, or a poorly put-together resumé is the one I should have run with in the first place?

The applicants are as diverse as they come. Not one can be pigeon-holed. (What does that even mean?) Not one can be ignored. There are some that seem perfect for the job, and I can’t wait to get to know them fast enough. Others have a lot of potential and I would love to see them grow.

So they are all invited to the Interview. I’m pretty sure their palms are sweaty.

Me: Thanks for coming in, Potential Best-Selling Novel Idea #1.

PBSNI#1: Thanks for having me.

Me: First things first, why should I get to know you better?

#1: Well, I’m smart. I’m funny. I’ll make you think. I can inspire, astound, and encourage. I have a very tight resumé. Everything I’ve listed under “Experience” makes sense. I’m complete, from start to finish. There are no holes in my job history, no unexplained three-year period between occupations that make you wonder if I lived in my parents’ basement wearing only my underwear and binging on Bugles.

Me: I love Bugles.

#1: Oh! So do I! They’re not too salty like potato chips, but just perfec–

Me: I don’t like suck-ups.

#1: Then you’ll love me, Sir.

Me: I’m a woman.

#1: I know. I mean, I can tell, you just, I mean, well, I just got nervous, slip of the tongue, that’s all.

Me: You’re sweating. That’s gross. Just relax, and let’s get back on point.

#1: Sorry, Sir.

Me: What makes you think you’re the right fit for this position?

#1: Applicants with my attributes are quite popular these days. I know how you think. The people in your position that you admire so much work with people like me everyday. Admit it, you find yourself thinking about me even when you’re with the others, don’t you?

Me: That’s what she said.

#1: [Silence] It doesn’t feel appropriate to laugh, Sir.

Me: You’re right. Let’s keep it professional. Okay, so I find myself reviewing your resumé in between other interviews. I can’t help thinking that given the chance to work with you, we could really make a great team. But there are a lot of other promising applicants out there. Why should I focus my time and energy on you?

#1: I’m very easy to work with.

Me: That’s true. But will we be able to create something transcendent? I’m looking for an Opus, #1, not a Temp.

#1: Fair enough. I can promise that I will work as hard as you do. And working with me will give you such a great sense of accomplishment. Not just as my boss, but as THE boss. You know what I mean?

Me: I think I do…

#1: Go with your heart, Sir.

Me: Sage advice. Will you make me a million dollars and land me on the New York Times Best-Selling List twelve weeks running?

#1: I don’t think that was in the job description.

Me: You’re right. Haha! April Fool’s! But seriously, see these heels? I call them my “professional” heels as opposed to my “mommy” heels which are really just fuzzy slippers. Well, I’ve had these heels since 2001. I could use a new pair…

#1: They’re very nice.

Me: Now here’s the Big Question: why would anyone else want to read you?

#1: If you genuinely enjoy working with me, then does it matter if no one else wants to read me?

Me: GOOOAAAAAALLLLLLL! Seriously, well done, #1, I’m very impressed with that answer.

#1: I’m blushing. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a few questions about the position you’re offering.

Me: Ask away.

#1: If you offer me this job and I accept, what kind of hours are we looking at?

Me: Well, I’ve only got about two hours a day to offer you. Are you okay with being a part-time worker?

#1: For now, I suppose. What will those two hours entail?

Me: I usually spend my allotted time on Facebook, or blogging, or reading all the other blogs that are wittier than me, or on Twitter.

#1: That sounds absolutely nothing like I anticipated. Do I still get paid?

Me: No. You don’t get paid until you make me some money. I can promise you at least thousand words a day, though.

#1: Done. I’ll start on Monday.

Me: Wait. Did I just hire you?

If I lined up all my plot ideas and fired questions at them like a high-profile job interview, which ones would hold their own? And which ones will go home in an ill-fitted suit they borrowed from their roommate and an empty briefcase because they just wanted to look the part and then spend money they don’t have on a bottle of Crown Royal to ease the pain of rejection?

An Introduction of Sorts

Confession: I wrote a novel.

Confession the Sequel: I hate it.

Wait. Let me start over.

Few things were more satisfying, as a person who writes, than completing this novel. After months of writing during every free moment, and well into the night, I hit a 67k word count, typed up an Epilogue, emailed it to my sisters who served as beta readers, got a notebook full of praise in the form of smiley faces and points of ( v a s t ) improvement back, sat down to revise it, and thought, “Ugh. I’m bored with this.”

On one hand, I love writing. Often I will have a thought or a memory and start composing it in my mind. I think like a writer. Impeccable grammar comes easily to me. I’m good at subject/verb agreement. Once or twice I’ve even felt eloquent. Sometimes I get the notion that I just might get paid for it.

And that’s the other hand.

I don’t write for the craft of it. Well, I do, because I can’t help myself, but then I also really want to make some money doing it. I want someone to decide that my writing is tight enough to pay money just to read what I have to say and how I say it.

That, and I spend entirely too much time and money at Target.

I write.

A lot.

I have a dozen stories in my head that sound good until I start writing one. I get as far as the outline and character descriptions before I decide that it will be crap. I can’t commit myself to any one of them, because then I get bored, and I don’t have patience to see one through to the end. I jump around. I write the same line over and over again. I overuse favorite words. I don’t want to tack my name to something, because what if it’s crap? Then I will be a crappy writer, and all my friends will know it.

I can’t help it. If I don’t try, then I can never say that I failed at being a writer.

Then again, I also won’t be making some bucks.