Clair
Location: San Francisco/Paris
Work Quest: Freelance or part-time editing or research work. Or, even better, entry-level work for a private investigation firm so I can start earning the 6,000 hours I need to sit for the licensing test.
I'm not so enthused about writing this bio, but I'll try to be brave about it. I'm unenthused because this task is forcing me to make a mental calculation of how long I've been pursuing my "career" and that leads me to thinking about the point at which I had once assumed I would have things more figured out than this--likewise, a long time ago. The math works out this way: 18 years has been spent in pursuit of getting and then, subsequently, keeping the “Job,” all without a master plan or a decent car. Hey pal, times are tough allover – get on with the ingratiating.
So, once upon a time, there was a rookie reporter who at 18 got a job at a brand-new computer weekly named MacWeek . She listened to her elders talk about getting sucked into the trades and never seeing the light of a newsstand publication ever again. And then, overnight, a decade went by and she was still working at a computer trade weekly, albeit a different one and with a better title and at a much higher salary. And then, a fairy godboss appeared and offered her the chance of a lifetime: to be the news editor for a "revolutionary" online news site named CNET News.com-- and by-the-way-did-we-mention? – the surefire chance to get rich.
And so my dreams came true: we launched the site – headline, this, award that, deadline, deadline, deadline – and I made the big bucks and had a baby and quit my job to be a mom and plot my fabulous “Second Career.” At last, I was liberated from the monthly sweating-the-rent routine and free to pursue only work that pleased my fancy (although my childhood dream of becoming either a ballerina and/or Jacques Cousteau was probably still out of reach, what with the thighs and him being dead).
But then, oops, a terrible miscalculation occurred. Something to do with paying taxes on the spread and a mysterious acronym called AMT and other stuff I still don't understand. Long story short, clearly God did not intend me to be rich and so sent the IRS to take back all the money plus $50,000 of home equity loan to boot. And so, here I am, back to my fabulous First Career, seeking work as a freelance editor, writer, or researcher (think here: market intelligence, ghostwriting for graduate students, or working for Rick Bragg, although never for free).
Here's the deal: I really truly am a very good-to-excellent assignment/line editor. I pride myself on having never missed a deadline and being able to adapt to any format: print, online, short, long, news, features, funny, unfunny, inside, outside, upside down. And managing a newsroom full of ornery reporters and more ornery "where's my promotion" dot.com brats has taught me a thing or two about working well with others. (I should add, however, that the online mass extinction experience has forced me to implement a just-say-no-to-middle management policy. I don't really mind firing people provided they deserve it, but layoffs for the sake of making third-quarter numbers? I failed to enjoy it.) But taking raw copy and making it better while making the writer feel that they actually wrote it that way themselves – I'm good at that. And I like doing what I'm good at. Also, checks of various sizes and at regular intervals is a Good Thing.
I really don't believe the fact that so many of the publications I've worked for – MacWeek, NextWorld, SunWorld, the unforgettable Zulu.com – are now defunct should be held against me. After all, InfoWorld and News.Com are still kicking so clearly it's not like I'm a jinx or anything.
Here's the rub(s). That moment of believing that I was rich gave me a taste for career change that I can't quite seem to get over. But never fear, dear reader: I never stop thinking, planning, scheming and my latest, don't-call-it-a-pipedream idea is to earn my license as a private investigator. It would combine the never-to-be-underestimated thrill of knowing stuff before other people do with a flexible schedule and the possibility of running my own business. And, yes, it's true: Whitmer PI would fulfill the teenage fantasy that replaced the ballerina/Cousteau scenario. Let's call it the What Color is Your Backup Parachute? plan.
But unless you want to take a flier on a wannabe PI, then here's the wrap-up: hire me for all your part-time editing and research projects. I'm a good editor; I'm self-reliant; and I take care of the problem if I make the rare mistake. And don't worry, too much, about making me rich again. I'm over it now.
Clair's Tales
