Writing for Dollar$
A while back, before I was married and when I was more heavily involved in writing in my every-day existence, I spoke with a young woman on the phone that was a freelance writer. Freelancing is a nice gig, if you can get it.
Although she was supposed to be interviewing me for a piece in a medical journal, in typical Marilyn fashion, I was doing most of the questioning. Inadvertently, I was getting a lot of useful information out of her that I still believe to be true to this day. One of the things that this young woman said has stuck with me all this time later. Freelancing is what you do when you know someone who knows someone who knows someone else in the business. A-ha! Not an easy chain to link on to, I thought.
The young woman’s name was Alyson and she was Orthodox Jewish. She was recently married and expecting her first child. She was all of 21 years old. If you know me, you know that for whatever reason – alignment of the moons and planets to the sun, or whatever – I tend to be a kind of Jew and gay people magnet. Both naturally gravitate to me because I offer genuine friendship without any hang-ups. As Alyson grew more and more comfortable with me, sharing details of her wedding just a year before, she was amazed at just how much I knew and understood about her culture and customs. “You don’t think we’re freaks for not being in the same room with the men at the wedding,” she asked me, marveled that I was not even a bit phased by it. This discovery of my true understanding led Alyson to become even more forthcoming and granted me a chance to see the business for what it truly is.
Alyson shared more about her life and her freelance job and I was highly impressed that, at her young age, she had already written small pieces for Glamour, Redbook and (much to her shameful embarrassment) Cosmopolitan. “I wouldn’t even let them use my full name or my real last name for that one,” she gushed in a near whisper. “Why?” I inquired. And she went on to say that Cosmo was so sexually explicit and liberated and in her culture no one would understand her lending her writing skills to propagate that in any way.
Shy and not aggressive in any way, Alyson went on to gently pull a few more quotes out of me regarding health care costs and dialysis, which I was an expert on, apparently. It struck me that she was not the kind of person I would peg for a strong willed, go-getter type of reporter. In many ways she was meek and too quick to let something go. In a moment, where I would have questioned further or sought to drag out the truth a bit more, Alyson was content with what you said to her, never questioning or wondering or verifying. I wondered about the extent of her journalistic training and, soon discovered, her degree was in English literature.
Yet here was this young girl, who admittedly became a freelancer so she could stay home and have five kids before age 30, telling me that she got her job because she was a friend of a friend of an editor at a publication who knew a lot of people. Is that the best we can offer our graduates? The hope of knowing people to get to where you want to go regardless of your skills and training (or lack thereof) in the field in which you wish to work? I was crushed. It was the kind of eye-opening moment when you suddenly realize you’re not in Kansas anymore and (shit!), you forgot to get off at the stop where things still made sense. I guess, in hindsight, I should have dug deeper into Alyson and asked her to find me a gig like hers. I guess back then I was still slightly pompous and fully expected to be a world-renowned writer by the time she was through birthing all her children. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have held out much hope, if I had. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl to say: “Sure, jot down these names and numbers and I will let them know you’re forwarding your resume!”
I never got a thank-you note from Alyson, (which I would have sent), or a call back, or a copy of the medical journal where my quotes were to be used. In fact, I never heard from her again. I often wonder if she met her baby quota by 30, and if she did, I’d trade places with her this minute! I wonder how she is doing and if she was able to stay in the bubble in which she lived back then. Every now and then, I will flip through a magazine and see her name (or an alleged named – depending on the level of offensiveness of the publication) and realize that she must still know somebody who knows somebody who matters.
Although she was supposed to be interviewing me for a piece in a medical journal, in typical Marilyn fashion, I was doing most of the questioning. Inadvertently, I was getting a lot of useful information out of her that I still believe to be true to this day. One of the things that this young woman said has stuck with me all this time later. Freelancing is what you do when you know someone who knows someone who knows someone else in the business. A-ha! Not an easy chain to link on to, I thought.
The young woman’s name was Alyson and she was Orthodox Jewish. She was recently married and expecting her first child. She was all of 21 years old. If you know me, you know that for whatever reason – alignment of the moons and planets to the sun, or whatever – I tend to be a kind of Jew and gay people magnet. Both naturally gravitate to me because I offer genuine friendship without any hang-ups. As Alyson grew more and more comfortable with me, sharing details of her wedding just a year before, she was amazed at just how much I knew and understood about her culture and customs. “You don’t think we’re freaks for not being in the same room with the men at the wedding,” she asked me, marveled that I was not even a bit phased by it. This discovery of my true understanding led Alyson to become even more forthcoming and granted me a chance to see the business for what it truly is.
Alyson shared more about her life and her freelance job and I was highly impressed that, at her young age, she had already written small pieces for Glamour, Redbook and (much to her shameful embarrassment) Cosmopolitan. “I wouldn’t even let them use my full name or my real last name for that one,” she gushed in a near whisper. “Why?” I inquired. And she went on to say that Cosmo was so sexually explicit and liberated and in her culture no one would understand her lending her writing skills to propagate that in any way.
Shy and not aggressive in any way, Alyson went on to gently pull a few more quotes out of me regarding health care costs and dialysis, which I was an expert on, apparently. It struck me that she was not the kind of person I would peg for a strong willed, go-getter type of reporter. In many ways she was meek and too quick to let something go. In a moment, where I would have questioned further or sought to drag out the truth a bit more, Alyson was content with what you said to her, never questioning or wondering or verifying. I wondered about the extent of her journalistic training and, soon discovered, her degree was in English literature.
Yet here was this young girl, who admittedly became a freelancer so she could stay home and have five kids before age 30, telling me that she got her job because she was a friend of a friend of an editor at a publication who knew a lot of people. Is that the best we can offer our graduates? The hope of knowing people to get to where you want to go regardless of your skills and training (or lack thereof) in the field in which you wish to work? I was crushed. It was the kind of eye-opening moment when you suddenly realize you’re not in Kansas anymore and (shit!), you forgot to get off at the stop where things still made sense. I guess, in hindsight, I should have dug deeper into Alyson and asked her to find me a gig like hers. I guess back then I was still slightly pompous and fully expected to be a world-renowned writer by the time she was through birthing all her children. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have held out much hope, if I had. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl to say: “Sure, jot down these names and numbers and I will let them know you’re forwarding your resume!”
I never got a thank-you note from Alyson, (which I would have sent), or a call back, or a copy of the medical journal where my quotes were to be used. In fact, I never heard from her again. I often wonder if she met her baby quota by 30, and if she did, I’d trade places with her this minute! I wonder how she is doing and if she was able to stay in the bubble in which she lived back then. Every now and then, I will flip through a magazine and see her name (or an alleged named – depending on the level of offensiveness of the publication) and realize that she must still know somebody who knows somebody who matters.
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