Hey there, friend. I hope all is well with you. I’m dealing with a little turmoil.
There’s this writing gig, you see – credited, unpaid – about all things ghastly, macabre, peculiar, &c. – things that I cherish. I wrote to inquire exactly what sort of gig it was, as the details were exceedingly sparse. Now I get to submit a writing sample.
That I’m proud of, and that is relatively fit to be seen by strangers*.
I’ve got nothing. I’m torn between knocking something respectable together and submitting that, which is what, intellectually, I ought to do, if I want the job. I’m just nervous about it. I think that this sort of thing might be more what I enjoy reading than what I enjoy writing about. I’m not very confident in my prose, and I don’t know if I could generate entertaining, informative articles about enough spooky or bizarre sorts of things with any regularity.
I only stumble about the sort of oddities that give me delight, that are precisely the sort of oddities that this website writes about, via internet articles. I don’t know where I’d get the material from, without plagiarizing, or being derivative.
On the other hand, it’s right up my alley, and if I play my cards right, it could be a marvelous opportunity. Another step in the right direction, after that wonderful editing gig that I snagged from a fellow on Twitter. Something to stick on the old CV, you know?
And here I am, agonizing in consternation rather than generating something worth reading.
* I don’t really consider this blog seen by strangers, because most of the traffic I get is from people that I know. I assume. Except for that odd hit that I got from Russia yesterday. Alors†.
†HAHAHAHAHA. Oh, lord, I was naive.
I went to do a sample article about the sworn virgins of Albania – women who, for centuries, have sworn off sex in order to take on male gender roles , acceptably, in their society- and it’s a perfect example of what I mean: nearly everything I can find on them has already been codified into neat little articles. There’s nothing for me to say about them that hasn’t been said by better-educated, more entertaining writers. Oi.