Of course, what'll make you smell REALLY good out of the gates is coming from the Iowa Writing Workshop, or at least having gone to an Ivy League school. Then it hardly even matters what you write, or even if you can write, because your intoxicating aroma will get you clips in no time, and then it becomes a happy kind of self-fulfilling prophecy -- you're a writer because you got published, and you smelled good. But if you're not fortunate enough to be so perfumed, then just write your ass off, and don't stop, and don't ever give up. The only failed writer is one who stops writing.

There's an easy solution to not having clips: write articles on your own, and show up at interviews with them in your hands. Or send them unsolicited to small publications.

Don't ask or expect to be paid for the first few. Most little newspapers and magazines have no money and are desperate for copy. If you give them copy, for free, and it doesn't suck, odds are they'll take it, and you'll have clips, and you'll have met someone who might pay you the next time round, or that you may be able to use as a reference down the road.

And if your initial efforts are rejected, take it in stride, and politely ask why, so you can learn from it. A lot of young journalists think they know everything, but most don't know anything. Your initial job isn't to prove you're a genius, it's to learn, and you do that by being humble.

...why am I underwhelmed by the writing style dispayed in this letter?

I deserve and accept all criticism heaped upon me for criticizing someone's writing style without copy editing my own post.

REMINDS ME that writing can be like humor:

If you have to tell people you're funny (a good writer),

then you aren't.

We have to be able to tell from your joke (writing)

After 20 years of being a writer, I am now in a position where I hire writers. Within the past week I have received over 200 applications for a writing gig my company is offering. Here is how the vast majority of applications seem to read...

Dear Sir or Madam, I saw your ad seeking writers, and I am writing to apply. Your position sounds interesting. I am an experienced writer with exceptional writing skills. My experience includes writing this, writing that, writing more of this, writing more of that, and so on, and so forth...

By now my eyes are glazing over and my head is dropping closer to my keyboard.

I want someone to wake me up! I want a writer to show me they write well BY ACTUALLY WRITING SOMETHING INTERESTING! Many people who think they write well actually write poorly or at least write mediocre stuff that virtually anyone could write. Hey, I write mediocre stuff at times, but I certainly don't do it when I'm applying for a writing gig. So here is my advice to you:

If you don't know the name of the person doing the hiring, go to the website and pick the name of the most senior editorial person or the company owner and address your application to that person.

Don't try to tell someone you are a good writer... show them! Write something interesting. Vary your sentence lengths. Show you have done your homework about the employer and describe what it is about their company that makes you want to work for them. Explain how you can provide the employer with what they are looking for. Show your personality. I have never been disappointed by people I've hired who had no experience but who wrote an engaging cover letter. On the other hand, I have been disappointed more than once by people with years of experience who wrote dull cover letters.

By the way, don't bother lying unless you can also create lots of impressive-looking websites that will back up what you're saying. After all, I'm going to Google anyone I'm seriously interested in working with.

I would have never guessed it a year ago, but I've spent the last nine months researching and writing for a state health department. I do research and analysis on public health issues. My reports are going to the state legislature and governor for review. They will (theoretically) read them and use them to review policy options.

My job title: research investigator. My experience: a bachelor's degree, some academic writing, and an odd assortment of other work.

My point is that you should look in unexpected places. Pay attention to the job duties rather than the title. Few organizations hire "writers" but you could find work in communications, research, writing web content, etc. I've even seen some administrative positions for state agencies that involve report writing. That could be a way to transition into getting paid for writing.

Don't give up hope. Think creatively and build a diverse set of skills. You'll find something where you get to write and get paid.

A Hard Rain's Falling

by Ross

Our lives improve only when we take chances - and the first and most difficult risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves. Walter Anderson

From my earliest memories, I recall the agony of powerful depression. It has raised its ugly head in many forms. At times depression will present as anxiety that cripples me with fear so powerful that I cannot leave the house, or at worst, leave the sanctuary of my bedroom. My depression can take the form of persistent rage or anger, and finally the deadliest of depressions faces is psychological and physical pain - pain that is so humanly intolerable, that many are driven to take their life, simply to stop the pain.

Many academics and observers to this destruction believe that we, who battle with this illness, want to die. This line of thinking is incorrect. I am able to make this statement with the authority of one who has attempted to slide into suicide on more than one occasion. The reason that a person battling depression often takes this destructive course is because you just want to stop the pain. You do not want to die, but the question that races through your mind, seemingly on a loop, is; please God, how do I stop the pain?

There are many types of depression, and just as many causes. I trained and practised as an analytical psychotherapist for some years, and last time I looked, there were in excess of three hundred and fifty Depressive disorders. I do not like to pigeonhole people, usually because people just do not fit perfectly into the holes we create for them, however for the purpose of this article; I shall break my rule and label myself as some one who battles with 'major depression'.

I diagnosed myself during my postgraduate training. At the time, I was confused as to how to address this problem, yet the overwhelming feeling was stark white fear. The more I learnt about depression, the greater the fear became. Because I have suffered with this affliction all my life, like most men, I imagined that I would be committing an act of weakness. I believed I would be thought of as mad, or insane in the community.

In the last six months of my course, I was counselling a young man. During the interview, an overpowering thought was ever-present in my mind. I just wanted him to have the courage to jump off his self-protective precipice, into the pain of his life, by acknowledging that right down deep inside, at his core, he felt extremely broken.

After the session, I was strolling through the college grounds, on my way to the on-campus accommodation. The winter greyness of the sky was rolling high above me, pushed along by the cold winter wind. I lifted my woollen scarf, and tied it around my neck. My mind was racing with thoughts of frustration, as I relived the dialogue between myself and the young man I had just left. As a counsellor, I believed that I had failed my client.

An epiphany started to produce an amazing clarity of mind. I crossed my legs and sat slowly on the dewy grass that was still scattered with brown rotting leafs from autumn. The sensation coming up from within me felt as though it was an incoming message. I looked up. My eyes slowly wondered over the skeletal grey branches of the enormous trees that lined my route. Right there and then the message hit with the clarity of a crystal wine glass. Moreover, this instant insight had the subtlety of a four by two across the head.

It was in two parts. Part one was that the guilt I felt as a counsellor was a self-imposed lie, which I had perpetuated within myself to sabotage any chance of recovery from my own depression. This idea seemed contrary to my understanding, yet felt within to be very true. Because I simply could not think through the meaning of this concept, I therefore filed it away in my mind for further examination. Part two yielded far more immediate venom. The tremendous amount of courage that I was expecting from my patient was a character far lacking within myself. It was expected to come without the merest of fear, for the young man. Yet the yardstick with which I had measured him had now been placed against my level of bravery, and I did not meet the measure.

Soon after that day, I told my senior lecturer about my self-diagnosis. To my shock, he agreed that he had thought that I displayed actions consistent with depression. I did not pursue further counselling, but it did come to my understanding that very few people have a negative attitude towards depression, or any mental illness for that matter. However, I should have pursued counselling, at that moment, at any cost. The price I would pay for this inaction would prove to be substantial.

In the years that followed, I found I would use any substance available to dull the pain, be it drugs or alcohol. The swings of mood became violent and unpredictable. Rage, guilt, shame, and deep blackness ruled my life. The situation was quickly becoming very unmanageable. I came to understand that one could not counsel oneself. I still did not have the guts to seek the help of a psychiatrist because I thought that I knew it all, I was the great counsellor. The truth was that I was so fearful of exploring the deep longings and painful yearnings at my core, that I was doing anything at my disposal to avoid cognitive therapy - to slide away the facade that is shown to the world would expose a hideous individual. I had never allowed myself to see behind the mask; therefore, I was not going to allow a stranger to look inside.

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