Don't Call Me Shirley

I just shaved my beard. I know that means all of jack squat to you folks, but it means a lot to me. I grow that beard when YOU CAN’T STOP ME. I wore it in China and those were the best times of my life. See that tiny little picture of me over there? That’s me. Hangin’ out a boat in Guilin. Good times.

Shame the hair’s so light it barely shows up on camera. Anyway, because virtually everything I do at the McVeigh agency was remote, I had no need to shave it, and it can’t really be made kempt since it’s long, wiry hair that appears primarily on the throat. Or as I call it, a scraggly hobo chin-fro. Unfortunately, the search for a full time job has not gone well. I know enough supervisors, HR folks, and other people in my position to know that if a big publisher posts one job, they’ll get five hundred applicants within the week. No foolin’. They only want to bring in three for an interview. Only one of those will get the job, and they probably don’t need to search more than five or six to find three appropriately overqualified people. Meaning your chances of even landing an interview are literally something like one in two hundred. And so, although it pains me, I have decided to go to a staffing agency and look for any white collar gig I can find. I know, I know. What happened to all that Messianic, God-Complex, save the world through other people’s words stuff. Well, you can call this pussing out if you want. I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat. I have not yet begun to edit!

If you think I’m being whiny about it, check out this Rejectionist post. Painfully accurate. Also, a picture of a shirtless man. If she was trying to rub my failures and inadequacies in my face, mission accomplished. Women are so shallow. Don't you realize that it's inner "hunkiness" that matters? Oh well. Here’s a true story for you- a few weeks ago I applied to a literary agency for a full time job. Nothing out of the ordinary, you know. Just same old. Virtually none of the jobs I applied to got back to me at all. This one actually sent me a note apologizing that they’d filled it that morning (well holy shit, seeing as how it’d only been posted the day before!). I thought it was hilarious. Most publishers care so little about applicants at this point that salaried jobs are handed to interns, and assistant editors are called “editorial assistants” so they can be paid 10,000 dollars less. Leave it to a literary agent to send every single applicant a rejection letter. I feel special now. Also: Rejected. Remember how I told you guys that sending a query letter is a lot like applying for a job? If this experience has taught me anything, it's that it's way easier to be on the other side of the letter.

On a totally unrelated note: here’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to show alls y’all.
Kindle with “special offers” - Seems like a terrible idea.

Yoho, yoho, a writer’s life for me.

Gender equality amongst dumbasses.

The situation from the front to the back.