I’m such a delinquent blogger these days (this freelancing thing is killin’ me) so I thought I’d try to multi-task in this post. Bare with me, folks.
My dream (yes, I’m blushing) is to syndicate my column. (Sometimes I wonder if I’m one of those tone-deaf singers auditioning for American Idol. You know the ones. They’re either dressed in drag or uber androgynous performing some frightening dance moves while they sing on, oblivious. That’s me. Only I’m submitting column queries, in drag, oblivious…)
So anyway, I’ve gotten positive feedback from two papers so far that have yet to give me a definitive answer. Now I’m of the opinion that editors are not the string-‘em-along type. They don’t know me personally so if they didn’t like my stuff they’d probably just say, “We’re not interested,” and get it over with, right? (I know, I’m such a sucker). So I’ve written a couple follow-up emails with no luck. And that’s when I concluded that since I’ll probably get rejected anyway I might as well have fun doing it. I crafted the following email as my last and final attempt to get an answer from these papers.
I’m sure you’ve tired of my endless queries, those relentless emails pleading for your attention. I’m needy that way. But I can’t stop thinking about you and your paper and the wonderful future we could share. I’ve signed my name countless times with your moniker: Shauna B., The Dream-On Daily News Columnist. *sigh* What a combination. So natural. So complete.
But because I haven’t heard back I’m wondering what’s wrong. Perhaps you’re afraid to commit. I know I can be intimidating with my humor and stuff. Or maybe you think I’m high maintenance and will charge a lot of money and tire you with verbose emails like this one. I’m cheap, really. And once you say “yes” I promise to back off and give you your space.
And then the other day I was watching Oprah and she had this expert Guy on who said that when “they” don’t call or email you back it really just means one thing: he’s just not that into you. And it got me thinking: could the same concept apply to a desperate writer and the paper of her affection?
So tell me, are you just not that into me? I can take it, really… (*sob*sob*)
So what do you think? On a scale of 1-10, how stupid am I? (Okay, okay. I take that back. Please don’t be honest. Just flatter me senseless. I’m a little fragile right now. *snort*).