Personal Glimpse

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By Rita Hess

Do you ever wonder who reads your reply to an advertisement for writers? Sometimes it is an editor with hair. Sometimes it is an editor without hair. A few weeks ago it was me, a 40-something freelance writer who started out with long, luxurious locks and ended up bald as a baby's butt.

My saga began when I was asked to find writers for a Web site. "No problem," I thought. "I'll ask Jade to run an ad on Inscriptions." Now, thanks to some of the 400-plus readers who responded, I have no hair. Allow me to address those who contributed to my shiny scalp.

GROUP 1. To the 35 people who sent attachments even though I asked you to paste your bio and clip into the body of an e-mail: If you can't read, why should I believe you can write? This large group caused me to yank out random handfuls of locks. Not to worry. I'll try a stylish zigzag part from now on.

GROUP 2. To the three people who sent me attachments infected with worms and viruses: I promptly pulled out my bangs in your honor and added a headband to hide the damage.

GROUP 3. To the half dozen or so of you who wrote, "I didn't send clips. The best way to see my work is to go to such-and-such search engine and insert my name": Go to such-and-such search engine and insert 'Following Instructions.'

GROUP 4. To the few who said, "Send me your address and I'll send you some clips": Sure, like I'm going to send you my address? Duh. Send me your address and I'll send you a few hairs.

GROUP 5. Speaking of my address, to those who figured out my street name and house number: I am impressed with your research capabilities, but revealing to me that you know where I live is a bit bizarre. I installed a security system and filed your reply in a folder titled Possible Stalkers.

GROUP 6. To those of you who misspelled words in the first two sentences: I removed a nice patch (including some bloody follicles) covering the nape of my neck. Worse yet, the e-mail from SexyHoney@SomeISP.com who is interested in "writhing" for our company is solely responsible for the fleshy patch behind my left ear. If a writer spells 'write' wrong four times, I'm right not to hire the writer. Wright? Er - I mean, right? I purchased a lovely, navy blue beret to get me through the winter season.

GROUP 7. To the dozen people who assumed they would be writing for the Internet Service Provider used in my e-mail address: You were worthy of only a few frantic twists, but the loose strands later fell out. Thanks for your contribution to the overall look. (If I list my e-mail address as Editor@aol.com, would you assume you'd be writing for AOL?)

GROUP 8. To those of you who have published books and written articles for the Washington Post, the New York Times or People Magazine: Congratulations! You may have credentials, but I still want a clip or a link to something you've written. A soft lilac scarf should carry me through spring.

GROUP 9. To the few who sent an e-mail telling me you'd follow with a second e-mail that contained your bio and a third e-mail that contained a clip: You were a minor annoyance. Nonetheless, I snagged the few remaining frizzies on your behalf.

GROUP 10. To the 20-something of you who sent no bio, no resume and no clip, but were nonetheless concise and got right to the point, I'll return the favor here.

* "Sure, I can write. How much can you pay?" Sure, you can write. Can you follow instructions? See Group 1 above.

* "What are your rates?" If you had sent a resume and clip, perhaps you'd know by now.

* "Send me more information and I'll send a resume and clips." As a child, we called this playing Doctor. You-show-me-yours and I'll-show-you-mine.

* "Before I send my resume, can you tell me who you are?" No.

* "I have written poetry and wrote essays. Please respond." That's nice.

* "Please advise how much you pay so I don't waste my time." You just did.

* "Saw your posting. How long of a wait is on the pay?" Forever, in your case.

* "You don't say how much pay. Some publications pay almost nothing." And???

* "Tell me what you pay before I spin my wheels for nothing." Call a tow truck.

As a fellow freelancer, I share your concerns. But the two dozen people who responded without even a decent greeting or closing did not make the cut. I found a quaint little Web site where I can order discount wigs, and I'm now sporting a mane that would make even Farrah Fawcett drool.

On a serious note, the bio's and clips from the other 300 respondents left me feeling both inferior and extremely lucky in the same breath. I marveled at the available talent just waiting to be snatched up by some editor, yet wondered why God had blessed me with the opportunity to judge these people instead of vice versa. It was a learning experience for me, and I hope you benefit from my humorous analysis of your replies.

Please, fellow freelancers, when answering advertisements:

1. Follow instructions.

2. Purchase a good anti-virus program and keep it updated.

3. Address the receiver of your e-mail with respect. A short letter with complete sentences is always appropriate and appreciated.

4. Always check your spelling. Then check it again. Then check it again. Then...

5. Select an 'identity' or screen name that denotes your professionalism.

6. Don't make assumptions.

Kudos to Jade for having amassed such a unique pool of readers at Inscriptions. A handful of superb freelancers now have a decent writing gig and I'm saving a bundle on hair care.

HUMOR/ECLECTICA

OBITUARY: Writer, Rita T.

Rita The Writer died Saturday
Slumped over her keyboard, she passed clean away.
Born with a golden pen in her hand
Destined for greatness, her future was planned.
It seems a great novel simmered within her,
A Pulitzer Prize-winner from a beginner.
Alas, she was sidetracked by a house full of kids
That temporarily put her work on the skids.
She nurtured them, raised them, she emptied her nest;
With the house finally silent, she refused to rest.
You see, Rita got going at age 41,
She sat down to write, thus began Chapter One.
With passion, with fervor, she scribed day and night,
Her character, her plot, her wording just right.
Chapters two, three and four followed quickly and then-
Her husband discovered her dead in the den.
The coroner stated it's unusual indeed
"Too much inspiration, she simply OD'd!"
He explained to her family as they fought back tears
Her talent was bottled up for too many years.
"If she'd started years sooner this creative quest
Using the talent with which she was blessed
Instead, she procrastinated 'til it was too late
Massive rupture of muse thus sealed her fate."
"The worst part," said the minister who delivered the sermon,
"Whodunit is something we'll never determine.
For we not only bury Rita The Writer
We bury the last chapter still deep inside her."

Old Homestead

Tattered blue quilt at the foot of the bed
Kitchen still warm from freshly baked bread.
Lace doilies dress up the old oak buffet
Dotted with photos of folks gone away.
Flour dusted apron draped over a hook
Clock ticking seconds from its mantle nook.
Shutters clang loudly as each windy gust
Belches then blows red prairie dust.
Grandpa sits rocking on the porch in a chair
Smoke from his pipe encircling him there.
He tunes the old radio, closes his eyes,
Remembering silently old days gone by.
Grandma shuffles out to the sagging clothesline
To bring in the wash before dinnertime.
Passing the outhouse, now just a shed
Housing a rake and a shovel instead.
She turns to observe as her red chickens roam
Searching for insects in freshly turned loam.
At home on this farm since they were first wed
A simple, proud life on the old homestead.
Yet Grandma and Grandpa each night before rest
Kneel on the floor by the large cedar chest.
They open the brown leather Book and join hands
To give thanks for another day on the land.
Soft "Amen" whispers are the evening's last sound
In the white frame farmhouse just south of town.
My own prayer, oh Lord, as you watch from above
Please bless the Grandma and Grandpa I love.
Cradle them gently, protect them from harm
Give them strength to endure one more day on the farm.