The Resume on PEDs

Jan 27

The Resume on PEDs

As I send out another batch of resumes and cover letters in the search for a “real job,” I’ve come to realize just how different a writer’s resume is from a standard resume. And I know eventually I’m going to mix up one of the various versions when I send them out in exhaustion. The biggest difference, might be a serious problem. The standard resume is full of standard things. Tangible jobs and employment history that can be traced back via company phone number. They can call an office manager or human resources and be given the standard “Yes, he/she worked here, they had no issues and they worked hard” as well as the rest of the blah blah. It can be easily substantiated in real world comparisons of what you did during that time. The writing resume on the other hand is broken down into the tangible jobs you’ve held, what you’ve had published, and then a mixture of projects still in the works or still at a publisher with a sometime-in-the-future publishing date. Now I would never lie on a resume (only use creative words for job duties) but it seems to me that it’s much easier to commit fraud with a writing resume than it is on a standard. Of course a writer’s work would become evident as soon as they started the work, but it would be easier to embellish in my opinion. So in an already competitive field, how do you stay in the running when it’s so easy to cheat? I’m opening it up to my readers to chime in and I’ll do a follow up article later. Have you run into this problem in your job searching? Do you expect employers to only accept published work as work experience? How about those novels you’ve completed but haven’t gotten published yet due to more editing/revising needed? How do you handle your blogging or other unpaid writing that you participate in? Does it even go on your resume? Have you ever embellished your resume? How do you outline your resume as opposed to your standard...

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How Journalism Made Me a Writer

Jan 20

How Journalism Made Me a Writer

When I was laid off after eight years at my marketing/advertising job at the golf course, I was in a weird situation. I had an abundance of job experience working since I was 14, but a serious lack of a piece of paper. I chose a degree with a focus in journalism because I figured with my experience, I could continue in the marketing/advertising field, go the PR direction or break into journalism. I quickly made it up to editor-in-chief, even though I didn’t want the position, and was asked to fill up the editorial section. It wasn’t the hard news that we always had in class, so it was a nice change to be able to use my own words and give my opinion. It also reignited that flame from when I was a child of creative writing, but I didn’t jump back into it yet. My grandfather was diagnosed with alzheimer’s and I volunteered to help out more while I searched for work. I decided to give the Bleacher Report a try and I think that’s what broke the camel’s back. I have nothing against the Bleacher Report. They offer many people new to writing a way to break into it, see what it’s like to work with editors, get reader feedback and for most, to fail in the industry. For me, it was too restrictive. The titles, the topics… the specific way each article had to be worded, while great from a SEO standpoint, felt like I was rewriting someone else’s ideas down, instead of my own. And when I did write it my way, I had my largest hit count (13,000) while the rest of the pieces done their way reached around 1,000 views. It made the creative flicker want to become a flame and burn down the proverbial forest. I started a novel. Yes, a daunting task for any writer, but I did it anyway. I wasn’t disciplined or structured in my planning or writing schedule, but it hunkered along. About 15,000 words in, Hurricane Sandy came along and destroyed my story location. I had chosen to make it a locally placed story and now it was a mess. So I put the novel...

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The Extremes of Not Making Sense

Jan 06

The Extremes of Not Making Sense

Life has a funny way of messing with your head. Things will happen that will boggle even the sanest of individuals, leaving them bewildered. Now I’m not talking about the mysteries of the pyramids, the question of life outside of earth in the vast universe or even the legend of Bigfoot. I’m talking about members of the opposite sex. This isn’t directed at anyone in particular, just a combination of things I’ve noticed as I’ve been dating more lately and is largely satire and parody 🙂 Why do people say they want a relationship, only to rush sex? As a scorpio, I have a high libido and absolutely love and crave sex, but when you rush sex, it switches the focal aspect of a relationship. Sex because you care about someone, as opposed to sex because you desire someone can be a breaking point. It shifts things from emotional to pleasurable if it’s rushed and while there’s nothing wrong with pleasure, when you kill the emotional aspect, things can never last. And those that say they don’t want a hookup, only to turn things into a hookup… WTF? Why do people jump to conclusions about someone without asking the simple questions? Why is someone that is out of a “real job” labeled content to stay home, instead of possibly having a reason for not working? When I was laid off, I went right back to school. I had worked for 25 years straight before being unemployed for the first time, and after going back to school and getting a degree, I had a grandparent that was sick and devoted most of my time to helping out family to alleviate the pressure some were under doing it all themselves. I never stopped looking for work, I completed a novel and got a short story published. Yes, my living conditions aren’t ideal at the moment, but “at the moment” isn’t permanently. But before I could even explain any of this, I was labeled “content to not look for work.” Overthinking is bad, and if you overthink someone else’s situation without discussing it with them at all, I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t want nor need someone to take...

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Emotions and Writing

Dec 16

Emotions and Writing

I hate feelings. While they can be nice when things go well, they can be utterly debilitating when they don’t. Sometimes I can hide everything completely and don a smile with ease. Other times I feel completely exposed where even if others don’t notice the turmoil in my soul, I get self conscious and think everyone’s looking. Usually after have a down experience, I can turn hard as stone and nothing effects me–nothing bad and unfortunately nothing good. I turn into a block of ice. It’s not depression or being a negative person since I don’t open up often. I’m usually happy, overly positive and maybe too naive most of the time. Maybe it is me becoming more cynical as I grow older, and when I do have good things happen and they go wrong, I adapt to block it out instead of expecting good to come of it. Weirdly enough it’s during that in-between pain and ice, that I tend to do my best writing. My style and words seem to require emotions to reach the level that I’m happy with. It lets me put my soul onto the page in a way that doesn’t seem to happen when everything is at it’s best, or have a wall up. This doesn’t mean I can’t write when happy, but it still comes out differently. Maybe I require pain of some sort to really tap into the pure creativity. Or maybe I still haven’t learned to tap into the happy side of the emotion as well as I have the painful side. Writing is emotions in words. Storytelling requires it in order to get a reader connected to the story. A struggle, a joy, a loss or love. How about you? Does writing make you feel those emotions stronger than others? Does it make you tap into things you are uncomfortable with to bring out your...

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Winter Doldrums

Dec 09

Winter Doldrums

Eight inches of snow blanketed us last night. It was amazing just how beautiful the snow makes everything, but then I think about the 50 (yes 50) car accidents in my town because of it, I think of the irony and how it compares to my writing post Nano. My brain is still in a haze after completing 50k words in 17 days. I still have to do rewrites, not to mention completely rework the ending of my story, but even that car wreck of an idea is surrounded by the serenity that I actually finished a novel. Ok, mostly finished, but don’t ruin my parade! Me, the guy who chose journalism as a major later in life–because writing is what I always felt I should be doing–but found that the politics of those short fact based stories were too predicated on who was telling the facts rather than the truth of them, just randomly chose to do fiction instead. Why? Because if I was going to lie, than at least I could have some fun with it. And that guy, finished a novel. It’s utter crap at this moment, but it’s workable and will be hammered into a masterpiece. Ok, maybe just a hammered version of a masterpiece. Ok, a bludgeoned collection of words that are semi-legible. I’ve got a few projects in the pipe that I’m working on with my writing group (yup, that happened) as well as some leads from the editor of the group that’s publishing my short story in their anthology. So while my brain might be trying to restart after being put through the motions of something done way too fast, the overall outlook on life is surprisingly serene. While it might feel like a depression or lull in my creativity, it’s really just the downtime necessary for those spring-time blooms to look so much more blossomy....

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Reflections

Nov 22

Reflections

In response to @Raishimi’s blog, I had to think and reflect on things that I normally try to avoid. I don’t think I avoid them because they are particularly painful or that they force me to reflect on times that weren’t always the happiest. I think I try to avoid them because they stir up emotions like a feather stirs up dust. The emotions aren’t recalled in a controllable manner. They’re seen in flashbacks, where sometimes I see the good, sometimes the bad and almost always regret. Not regret that they happened, but regret that I didn’t or couldn’t handle them differently. We grow as we get older. Not only in size and scale, but emotionally and in how we handle situations. Rumors about me in the past made me paranoid. They made me look over my shoulder, feel ashamed, and feel self conscious. I was an idiot now that I think back on it. I was insecure in myself, not because of what others said or thought of me, but because of what I thought of myself. I thought I was ugly, unwanted or undesirable. Not because I was any of those things, but because I felt alone. Of course I felt alone because I preferred it that way, but it still didn’t help my psyche that I projected those feeling onto myself. Now when I hear about rumors or my stalker spreading stories, I feel a twinge of anger sprout up, concerned about the lies, but then I just sit back and laugh. I’m glad someone cares enough to spread them. And that people care enough to discuss them. I gave up believing that what others think about me matters. I have a family that cares, and between my writing and few friends that I do have, I have no cares in the world, even if I’m squeezing pennies to live day by day. Happiness doesn’t come with what I have, but how I use and enjoy that which I do. Dreams are always tricky thing. My mind can be demented and so when I’ve spent the day contemplating devious things, I tend to dream about them. Waking up in a cold sweat but not feeling fear,...

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