Beginning All Over Again

I could try to hide it, but it won’t do any good.  I’ll just come out and say it.

You’re not my first blog.

I know, it may be hard to accept that there have been others.  Quite a few others.  Since I was just a teenager, in fact.  Sometimes more than one at the same time.  But nothing serious; I was young.  Now I’m older and more mature, and I have what it takes to make this work: something to write about and a good deal more spare time than I know what to do with.

I’ve tried reading, knitting, and cooking; I even picked up the old violin a few times.  But there’s just nothing to fill the void quite like attention from anonymous strangers (and my parents and boyfriend, unless they have something better to do or forget that I have this).

In sum: I am one of the many and well-documented scads of recent college graduates attempting to find work during a recession.  The catch (or “hook,” if you will) is that I’m trying to break into the already dying field of book publishing.  I have experience in the field, but so do legions of previously employed editors who are suddenly willing to relocate to my corner of the Midwest.  My dream is to be a freelance editor, and spend my days lounging in the bare minimum attire acceptable to answer the door for delivery persons while bathing in red ink, post-it notes, and that sticky goo for turning pages with a quickness.  I dream big.

I’ve only been out of college for five months, but I’ve already had run-ins with sketchy insurance companies and sketchier fake advertisements.  I’m working part time for a University technical support department, and I’ve started to freelance on the side.

So here I am, with my brand new Chicago Manual of Style and a heart ready to love again.  Will you take me?  I promise I won’t flake out after two months and abandon you.

Probably.

Unless I find a job.

Or something better to do.

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