Career counsel
When people say, I've known since I was five years old that I wanted to be a [your career here], does that necessarily mean it's a good idea to pursue that career as an adult?
Certainly this is no breakthrough in psychiatric analysis, questioning one's_my_career aspirations. But here I am anyway. I did pursue my career aspiration; I did say, in second grade (so I guess I was seven years old, ever the late bloomer), that I wanted to be a proofreader for a living. And I became one, in my first real job out of college.
Did I know what a proofreader was at seven, at that wee, already literately jaded, age? Actually, yeah, kind of: someone who catches other people's mistakes in the safest possible forum, under the sanction of good grammar and style.
But here's the couple of things about that: First, proofreading falls at the bottom of the editorial career spectrum and hence falls at the entry level of salaries. So, as any smart, agile proofreader does, I learned copy editing, then production management, then content management, then developmental editing, all of which I enjoy, am very good at, and can make a decent living at.
And second, also when I was in second grade, I knew I wanted to be a writer. Not just a writer, but the writer who resurrected the Hardy Boys series of mysteries. (Not Nancy Drew; she just didn't have enough character, see enough action for me.)
So here I am. I proofread, edit, and project manage books and journals for a living, and I occasionally write an article or cover an event for a client. Am I doing what I should be doing? Dealing with someone else's writing is very easy for me, and I've been given excellent opportunities to evolve and expand my editorial skills.
On the other hand, while certain types of writing are also easy for me (indulging in this blogging exercise, for example), I have not been handed nor stumbled upon opportunities to be the new Franklin W. Dixon (although I am entertaining the idea of becoming a variant of Carolyn Keene, writing a new Nancy Drew series in which Nancy is middle aged and may or may not be wiser for the passage of years).
And so I want to write, too. I think all the time about possible stories, and I'm really, really good at making notes, doing research, getting excited about a story. And then I lose confidence in it, and there it lies.
My ego knows no bounds when it comes to writing, but if I can't execute, it's only my ego.
I'm thinking more clearly than ever, I believe, before (diet changes_perhaps more on that later), and yet how to do this writing thing to my satisfaction eludes me. So here I have stood, since I was seven years old.
Certainly this is no breakthrough in psychiatric analysis, questioning one's_my_career aspirations. But here I am anyway. I did pursue my career aspiration; I did say, in second grade (so I guess I was seven years old, ever the late bloomer), that I wanted to be a proofreader for a living. And I became one, in my first real job out of college.
Did I know what a proofreader was at seven, at that wee, already literately jaded, age? Actually, yeah, kind of: someone who catches other people's mistakes in the safest possible forum, under the sanction of good grammar and style.
But here's the couple of things about that: First, proofreading falls at the bottom of the editorial career spectrum and hence falls at the entry level of salaries. So, as any smart, agile proofreader does, I learned copy editing, then production management, then content management, then developmental editing, all of which I enjoy, am very good at, and can make a decent living at.
And second, also when I was in second grade, I knew I wanted to be a writer. Not just a writer, but the writer who resurrected the Hardy Boys series of mysteries. (Not Nancy Drew; she just didn't have enough character, see enough action for me.)
So here I am. I proofread, edit, and project manage books and journals for a living, and I occasionally write an article or cover an event for a client. Am I doing what I should be doing? Dealing with someone else's writing is very easy for me, and I've been given excellent opportunities to evolve and expand my editorial skills.
On the other hand, while certain types of writing are also easy for me (indulging in this blogging exercise, for example), I have not been handed nor stumbled upon opportunities to be the new Franklin W. Dixon (although I am entertaining the idea of becoming a variant of Carolyn Keene, writing a new Nancy Drew series in which Nancy is middle aged and may or may not be wiser for the passage of years).
And so I want to write, too. I think all the time about possible stories, and I'm really, really good at making notes, doing research, getting excited about a story. And then I lose confidence in it, and there it lies.
My ego knows no bounds when it comes to writing, but if I can't execute, it's only my ego.
I'm thinking more clearly than ever, I believe, before (diet changes_perhaps more on that later), and yet how to do this writing thing to my satisfaction eludes me. So here I have stood, since I was seven years old.
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