Freelance writing, editing, and proofreading

I’m thankful that I’ve been able to obtain a part-time job at an ad/marketing agency where I can do some freelance editing and proofreading. I charge them $10 more than what I made at my last job right now, but in retrospect, I think I underestimated my value. However, I cut the company some slack because I haven’t been editing or proofreading in quite a while. I figure I’m a good deal considering my kick-butt skills at the rate that I’m charging. (Woo-hoo! Confidence!)

This leaves me with two free days to do some writing. I’ve mentioned in the past that I haven’t done any form of reporting since 2005, which scares me. In the past, I’ve had editors tell me what stories they think are important or relevant to the locals and I just went out, covered the story, wrote up my assignment, turned it in, then basked in the glow of seeing my name glistening in print. Now, it’s up to me to be up on what’s important and relevant to the community that I live in and decide what I think editors will want to publish. It’s a tricky game and I’m bound for rejection. Considering my history of rejection from my peers, I don’t know if I’m particularly apt for constant rejection from editors. I know I’m not supposed to take it personally but I’m Ms. Overly Sensitive. My recent experience with Joe (here and here) from the magazine I interviewed for has actually taught me a lot. It’s been an annoyance to endure but it’s been a valuable lesson. I’m learning not to take his treatment of me personally. Perhaps I read him all wrong and he’s not the jerk that I think he is. Regardless, he at least sent me a copy of the  issue my work was published in — wouldn’t you know — sans that elusive $75 check. I’m particularly angry with him, mainly because I feel like I got played for the fool. Part of me wants to pursue my writing career even more now to show him that he lost out by not hiring me. The other part of me knows that I’m so unmotivated to do anything that I won’t get anywhere with anything. Better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high expectations and be significantly disappointed.

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Social Awkwardness

Being smart hardly puts people in the most popular situation. My geekiness gained me more enemies than friends. (Oddly enough, my rival Danielle turned into one of my good friends shortly after fifth grade.) Another friend I’d had since first grade — a person I’d considered my best friend — spread vicious rumors around school about me and caused me trouble with parents and college guys when I was at 12 years old. The unfolding years became no better as teasing from classmates and soon, teachers, intensified. By high school, I shut myself off from other people and making new friends. I built an armor of self-rejection around myself so the darts of rejection thrown at me could not pierce my skin. I continued to hope that my intelligence would garner social points but I quickly learned that my popularity immensely increased with tests and quizzes and then sharply declined until the next time. My social awkwardness continues to this day — in my head, I overanalyze the implications of a new friendship or conjure reasons why a stranger probably dislikes me. Such is the life of a perfectionistic, socially awkward, depressed person.