Editing and Beyond

"Is editing what you really want to do?" The Contractor asked, echoing Potato's email to me. "I'm not sure you'd be happy with that."

No, it isn't. In the best of all worlds I can sit at my little desk every morning and write to my heart's content. But I do need to finance that desk, and the apartment I'm living in, and my professional experience is, unfortunately, largely editing.

I've lasted five years as a pro at this. I think I'm all right at it. And with that said, I don't mind editing itself. Copy editing gets dreadfully boring and tedious. But basic editing services - giving papers a once-over and the like - I seem to remember enjoying that in college.

I hired Lindz to write some ad copy for me, which she sent via text. Am putting together some beginning rates and using her copy to build myself a little Craig's List ad (to be repaid in lattes, she says; can't argue with that!)

Meanwhile, The Contractor kept trying to think of things I could do besides editing. "You should do something with ships or history," he said.

I cheerfully agreed, then asked where he'd found those mystical jobs. There's the Picton Castle, a square-rigger I might try to join one day if I can ever pay off my college loan. Teaching isn't my thing.

"I need to learn to market myself," I said. "Prostitution, here I come."

"You should go into sales!" he exclaimed, holding the Starbucks door open for me.

"Why would you wish that on me?" I asked, getting in line. "Why? It would eat my soul."

"Yeah, but you'd learn a lot about marketing yourself. I did."

I held back the witty response about him not putting his learnings into practice.

I think sales is a flat veto unless I truly have no other options. I worked retail in high school at Mervyn's; that was bad enough. One of the best parts about the Epic Walkout is that I no longer need to see people every. damn. day. unless I want to. I can spend all doors working and not communicate with a single soul.

Not that I do that, mind. There's IM and text messaging and phone calls. But that's people I want to communicate with - not coworkers who expect me to be all bubbly and smiley and think my Editing Game Face means I'm a sourpuss.

I'm not bubbly. Never was. That's not good when you work for a bunch of valley girl types.

I do kind of hate that editing has turned into my saving grace, but hey, I'll take it.