This is three days' worth of writing. SO BEHIND!

Word Count: 5348

I Should be at: ~10,000

Verdict: Not good.

**********

Three-twenty that afternoon found a slight frazzled Kat standing outside the office building Jane DiAngelo's email had described. She'd thrown on makeup and pulled up her long, dark hair into something resembling a french twist. Her suit, though she had had to rescue it from the floor, had survived with only a few small wrinkles in the seat, and overall, she was pretty sure she looked about as good as she was going to be able to with such short notice.

Still, she was nervous. This was the only job prospect she'd managed to pin down this week, and even if it did look like it would be only a short-term position, it could sure help to pay the rest for another month or two while she pursued other, more long-term, avenues of employment.

If, that was, she could talk her way into this job. Twenty dollars an hour for a basic writer's gig was nothing to sneeze at, and she was pretty sure the response email address would have been mobbed by respondants every bit as desperate for a paycheck as she was. In short, she needed to distinguish herself.

How she was going to do that, she had no idea. She had to trust herself that she could come up with something on the spot, once she was in there.

And with that thought in mind, she took a deep breath and pushed open the building door.

***************

"Katja, hello!" The cool looking blonde woman did, as she had promised, meet Kat at the door of the office suite. She politely offered a hand, which Kat took and found surprisingly warm. Jane DiAngelo was going to be hard to pin down right off the bat, Kat decided. The woman couldn't be much over thirty, if that, and she looked like a model, with hair so blonde that it was nearly white pulled back into an exacting ballerina's bun that set off high cheekbones and expertly applied makeup.

THIS was the secretary? Kat mentally revised her opinion back toward her potential employer being a womanizer. With a secretary that looked like this, when the chances were that there had been fifty applying for *that* job who were twenty years older and fifty pounds heavier, chances were good that he hadn't concentrated on evaluating her typing skills in the job interview.

"Miss Wrigley?" the model asked softly, looking at cat with mild concern on her face. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Kat belatedly realized that she had been standing there in the office lobbym, staring at the woman. Not the way to make a good impression, she reminded herself. Giving herself a good mental shake, she smiled winningly at Jane. "I'm sorry. I was, uh..." Think fast, Kat! "I was surprised at the size of this place. I was expecting something, you know, smaller." She paused. "Is Mr. Faber the only consultant in this business?"

Jane gave her a quizzical look, clearly not understanding the question. "No, there are a number of competitors in the field -" she began.

"Office," Kat corrected herself hastily. "I meant to ask whether he's the only one working out of this office." **Oh, wonderful,** she thought to herself. **You're here to apply as a writer and the first thing you do is get so flustered that you can't say what you mean on the first try? Yeah, they're just going to beg you to take this job, sure!**

Trying to think of a way to make up for her conversational faux pas, she smiled weakly at Jane and offered the first explanation that came to mind - which happened to be the true one. "I'm sorry. I'm just really nervous. I'd really like to get this job, so I want to ace the interview, and . . ."

Jane smiled. "I know the feeling, believe me. And to answer your question, yes, Mark is the only one here. This is his business, his office. We're a fairly small staff, though, even though the place looks so big. It's mostly me, Mark - Mr. Faber - and two assistants. The assistants are always going nuts asking for help, though, so we may be expanding. That's why we moved into the bigger office here, and -" She stopped there and interrupted herself. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to do that when i try to make people feel more comfortable. Why don't we go into my office and sit down so we can really get started."

"That would be fine, Ms. DiAng-"

"Oh, call me Jane." THe model-esque smiled reappeared, but Kat was starting to think that it really was genuine in spite of its polish. "Would you like something to drink before we get started?"
"Oh, no." Kat shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you. And call me Kat."

"Ok, then, Kat. Let's head in here." Jane gestured toward a plush-looking office off to their right. "Make yourself at home," she added over her shoulder as they made their way into the room. "I know it looks expensive -" She smiled again. "- But nothing's breakable, I promise. I'm such a klutz, I made Mark promise that he wouldn't stock my office with anything I could easily destroy. That's the last thing I need, to trip over my own shoe and fall flat on a Ming vase or something!"

Kat couldn't help herself; she started laughing at the mental image of that happening. "I'm sorry," she managed, regaining control of herself after a few seconds. "It's just . . ."

Jane grinned. "Got you smiling, I see. A smiling interview always goes better, don't you think?"

"Now that you mention it . . . yes," Kat remarked slowly. "Thank you for the joke, then."

"It's what I do. Now, may I ask you a few questions about your qualifications?"

"Of course." Nervous again now, Kat could almost feel the smile slide off her face as she sat up straighter in her chair. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." Jane picked up a copy of Kat's resume that had been sitting in plain sight - not that Kat had seen it - on the corner of the desk. "You have a Masters degree in Linguistics?" the secretary asked, reading. "That sounds complicated! Did you enjoy it?"

The truth was, Kat had hated grad school, and had barely eked out her final thesis. But she'd heard again and again that *that* was not something one wanted to share on a job interview, so she fell back on her usual alibi: "It was stressful, but I enjoyed it. I have such a sense of accomplishment now."

Jane lowered the resume and looked curiously at Kat. "Accomplishment? How so?"

Kat swallowed. No one had every asked her that before. The mostly just accepted the buzzword and nodded. She decided to take a chance. "Grad school and I . . . didn't always get along," she ventured. "I didn't like the poltics that it turned out needed to be played, and I considered cutting my losses and just leaving for the real world a few times."

"But you didn't," Jane pointed out.

"No. I decided that I'd invested enough time and money - and blood and tears - that just to show all of the people who thought I wasn't strong enough for it, I was going to stick it out. So I did, and I did good work, to boot. SO when I say I feel a sense of accomplishment . . . I mean it. I accomplished something that was almost painful to accomplish."

"Is that why you took a degree - two degrees, actually, counting your BA - in linguistics, but now you're applying for jobs as a writer?"

Kat nodded. "I got burned out, I guess. I enjoy linguistics, but after grad school, it was no longer something that I found 'fun.' I've always been a writer, just as a pastime, so I, you know . . . I decided to see if I could make some money this way, doing something I love. I can always fall back on pure linguistics if I get truly desperate."

Jane cocked her head to the side, studying Kat with interest. "How close are you to being 'desperate'? You said you really want to get this job, and I can't help pointing out that while Mark pays well, the position we're talking about here is temporary, and no great shakes."

Wincing, Kat acknowledged the other woman's point. "I'm pretty close. My rent's coming due, and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to find the money in time if I don't get this job." She stopped short there, horrified at what had just come out of her mouth. You shouldn't *ever* talk money at a first interview. "I mean," she backpedaled quickly, desperately, "that's not anyone's responsibility but mine, of course, and I -"

Jane just waved a dismissive hand at her. "Don't worry about it. You're not the only person ever to be in this situation, I promise you, Kat."

Kat just swallowed and nodded.

"Do you have some writing samples?" Jane asked, obviously aware of her sudden discomfort and trying to move the topic along. "I'd like to see what you can do."

"Of course." Kat handed her the folder of print-outs she'd brought along. "I have some fiction excerpts in there, as well as the blurb I wrote about myself for match.com - it seemed appropriate for what I'm applying for here," she added hastily, not wanting the other woman to think she was attempting to get a date out of this. "I wanted to show that I have experience with personals as well as with regular writing."

"Hmm."  Jane's eyes drifted down first one of the pages, then another, then a third. "You are a good writer, Kat," she finally said, setting down the folder. "You have a talent for expressing yourself with humor, especially in your personal blurb. Mark would like that. I don't think he wants stilted prose when he's trying to get a date, even if he's not the one writing it."

She sounded disapproving, Kat realized. "Do you . . . not like this idea?" she asked cautiously. "His hiring someone to do his personal corresponding for him, I mean?"

"No," Jane acknowledged, "I don't. But he has such limited time that it's starting to seem like this may be the only way. He's lonely," she explained, "and he's such a nice man. I *would* like to see him find someone. It's just that having someone else do the finding for him seems very . . . cool to me, and I worry that the women he corresponds with may think the same. But," she added when Kat began to speak, "I think that if you take this position . . . I think you could help. Your writing seems to have a sense of humanity, and once you get to know Mark I think you could represent him very well."

Kat tried not to gape at her. "Are you saying that . . . um, I mean," she backtracked, "who makes the final decision about who to hire for this position?"

"Me," Jane said with a smile, "and I think I've found her. You meet all of Mark's requirements as to age, demeanor, etc, and you meet all of mine about writing ability." Her smile widened. "The job is yours if you want it, Kat."

Her attempt not to gape failed and Kat's mouth fell open. "Really? Are you serious?"

"Very. Can you start tomorrow morning?"

"I . . . I mean yes, of course . . . are you sure? You don't need to interview me any more?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't think I do, no. And quite frankly," she added, "even if you turn out to be a horrible choice, it's a temporary position. You can be gotten rid of," she said with a twinkle in her eyes that somehow negated the possible threat in the words.
Kat couldn't hold back an answering smile. "I appreciate the sentiment - and your point. What time do you want me here tomorrow?"

"How does nine sound?" Jane said. "Mark and I are both here at eight, and the hour in between will give us time to have our morning meeting and set up a game plan before you report for duty - so to speak."

"Nine is fine for me."

"You'll be on the books," Jane added, "as an actual employee - that's the only way Marlk hires his people - so would you mind bringing your Social Security card with you in the morning?"

Kat shook her head. "Not a problem. Thank you so much, Jane."
She waved away the thanks. "Don't thank me yet - you still have to meet Mark tomorrow. I'll give you fair warning now - he can be intimidating, but he's a sweetheart, I promise. So just don't run screaming, and you should be ok."

"How . . . reassuring."

"Isn't it?" Jane stood up and offered her hand to Kat again, signaling an end to the interview. "I'm sorry to rush you out, but I've got a possible client coming in to speak to Mark in about ten minutes, and he wants me to sit in on it."

"No problem. I can find my way out. Thank you again," Kat said, shaking her hand. "I'll look forward to meeting Mr. Faber in the morning."

*********

Five minutes later, Kat swept past the gloomy-looking doorman and out of the building, whistling to herself. She finally had a paying job! Andrea had been right - for twenty bucks an hour, she could tolerate a womanizing, intimidating sort of guy. Hell, for twenty bucks an hour she could tolerate just about anything. This job was going to work out just fine!

CHAPTER THREE

Katja was up with the sun the next morning, staring at her wardrobe and wondering what one wore for one's first day of doing someone else's romantic dirty work for them. Jeans, since it was likely to be dirty work? A flowery dress, the better to play up how much she resembled the "attractive, well-dressed" female her boss had advertised for? A power suit, to make the "I'm here to work, not play" message abundantly clear?

Finally, she decided on the suit. It was decidedly not anything resembling flirty, which she considered to be a plus, but it was her one designer suit, which covered the "well-dressed" requirement, and if she paid attention to her makeup, she could still cover the "attractive" requirement.

Almost back on track

A mad writing spree tonight has just about caught me up to where I should be. Not completely, but enough so it's not a huge problem. So:

Current word count: 2912

I should be at: 3334

Not bad, right? And the story actually seems to be coming together.

Also of possible interest: I'm using three different text editors to manage this year's project.

1) yWriter3, king editor of awesome novel organization, to manage chapters, scenes, characters, and everything else besides the actual typing. Everything gets pasted in here at the end of the day, scene-by-scene

2) Q10, master of full-screen word-processor-emulating anti-distractionness, to do my actual typing (now with bonus clicky typing noises!)

3) Google docs, workhorse of always-there storage, to keep my progress always available, should I be somewhere other than home at a computer and want to do some writing. Everything gets pasted in here, too, but in one big chunk.

And now, for today's progress, read on...

*********

"It's a personal ad," Kat said, sliding the paper back to Andrea. "So what?"

"It's not a personal! It's a job listing! See," she replied, pointing to the second sentence, " 'work will be done in his office.' It's a job. I got it off the GregsList job listings. It's a reputable website."

"It's also a website where people can post things wherever they want. And this sounds a whole lot like a sneaky personal to me," Kat shot back. "If it's just someone to write stuff for him, what does he care if she's twenty or eighty? Or if she's 'attractive'?"

Andrea shrugged. "Twenty dollars an hour, and you don't have to work somewhere creepy, like out of his apartment? It's worth a try."

"No. No way, Dre!" Kat rolled her eyes. "You'd think the least a 'high-powered corporate consultant' could read well enough to comprehend the instructions and put his ad where it's supposed to be so some poor jobless writer doesn't get taken in by it."

Giving the shabby contents of Kat's apartment a pointed look, Andrea regarded her friend with raised eyebrows. "Maybe it is a personal. Maybe I'm wrong. But do I need to point out that you're getting to the point where you can't really afford to pass up anything that might even resemble a job? Just apply, Kat. See what it's all about. If you're right, then you can come back to me and say 'I told you so' to your heart's content, and if you're wrong, then you can finally start making something that begins to resemble a living wage!"

"With some jerk who can't be bothered to answer his own personals?"
"Honey, he could be 'some jerk who wears his shirts backwards and his pants upside down,' and if he paid twenty bucks an hour I'd still tell you to send your damn resume!"

Kat tried and failed to smother a laugh at that. She'd only known Andrea for a matter of weeks, but she was coming to really appreciate the way this new friend could phrase things just right. Sighing, she nodded reluctantly. "I know I should apply. What's there to lose, right? Except...what if he's a total skeeze? What if his 'office' is, like, his basement?"

"Then you smack him and leave, Kat. I've seen you hold your own with our asshole of a landlord; I have a hard time believing you can't do the same with some swety-palmed guy who can't get a date except to lie about it - IF that's what this guy is."

"Ok, I get the point. You're right, it's not that I'm afraid of him or anything. It's just...have you ever seen the movie Fame?"
"Nope. What's it about?"

"Well, it's about kids at a performing arts high school, but that's not my point. My point is that there's this scene where a girl who wants to be a dancer or model responds to an ad in the paper for a 'photographer,' and she ends up getting there and he's this disgusting guy who makes her pose topless, and she does it because she wants so desperately to break into the industry that she feels like she has to."

"Kat." Andrea shook her head gently and touched her friend's hand. "You're desperate for work, but you're not THAT desperate. You can go to work at McDonalds if it comes down to it. This is just a stop along the way, you know? See if anyone even answers if you send your resume. And if you go to interview and he tries to get you to take your clothes off, you have my permission to brain him with whatever's handy. Or call me and I'll come do it for you!"

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "I don't doubt that you would. Ok, ok. I give in. I'll do it." She paused. "Probably."

"Probably?"

"I need to think about it a little more. But unless I come up with a good reason, I'll apply. You're right, there's no reason not to at least see what happens. Even if the guy IS a sweaty-palmed jerk who needs someone to help him get dates."

"That's the spirit, Kat. Here." Andrea slid the print-out back across the table to her. "Keep this. Call me in the morning and tell me what you decided, ok? And keep me up to date on what happens if you do apply."

"I will." Kat smiled and opened her arms to the other woman. "Thanks, Dre. I know you're trying to help me however you can. I really do appreciate that you keep your eyes open for things like this."
Andrea grinned and accepted the hug readily. "Even if they never seem to pan out, huh? Hey, that's what friends are for. But right now, this friend has to get going - I've got a date tonight and I've got to get ready."

"'Kay. I'll call you in the morning and let you know what I decide, and you can tell me all about the newest Prince Charming you've coralled. Deal?"

"Deal." And with great ceremony, the two women shook hands.

CHAPTER TWO

Kat stared down at the ad Andrea has given her the night before. She'd spent the night thinking it over, and she couldn't come up with a good reason to not apply. So...apply, she would. As Andrea had said, given the current state of Kat's finances, for twenty dollars an hour there were very few things she could justify NOT at least attempting to do.

Resolute now, she downed the last of her coffee and moved to sit in front of her computer. A few clicks called her email program up on the screen, and Kat took one deep break, let it out, and typed in the address the ad had given: seeker@tempmail.com.

And now, to write the actual email.

Maybe she needed another cup of coffee before she could bring herself to do this, she mused, then reprimended herself mentally. No, she'd promised Andrea that she'd call her this morning to tell her her decision, and if she put this off much longer, it wouldn't be morning anymore at all. Hesitantly, she laid her hands on the keyboard, stretching her fingers as if she was about to compose a novel rather than a short, introductory email.

And she wrote.

"To Whom It May Concern:
I would like to express my interest in the writing position that was posted to GregsList website yesterday, November first. The ad did not specify any experience requirements, so allow me to explain mine so that you may decide whether they fit the position you are offering.

I have just completed a Masters degree in Linguistics at the University of Illinois. During my time there, I specialized in Discourse Analysis, a subfield of Linguistics which studies the sociological and psychological aspects that affect who can and should say what, when. I believe that my skills in this area may be useful to you in the writing of responses to personal ads; I have, quite literally, a degree in figuring out what to say, when.

I also worked as a Graduate Assistant to a professor during my time at the University. In that capacity, I functioned as an editor of his research papers and journal articles. I am proficient at grammatical and stylistic editing, and as a side effect, have become wuite capable with most of the text-editing software in wide use these days. Also as a result of this position, I am used to working in close partnership with a supervisor, striving to say perfectly whatever he or she needs to say.

I am a linguist by training, but a writer by inclination. I have written fiction for most of my life, and currently have a completed novel that I am considering submitting to publishers.

In short, I am a capable writer and editor of both fiction and nonfiction.

I am attaching me resume to this e-mail so that you can see the rest of my Curricula Vitae, if you are interested. Please let me know if you have any trouble opening the document, or would like further information on any of the publications listed in it.

As to the requirements that your ad did list, I am, indeed, in my late twenties. I am outgoing, although not a social butterfly, and I have been told that I am not bad looking. As to well-dressed, as a fairly poor graduate student, I never had much use for expensive clothes, and my wardrobe tends to be minimalistic, but I believe that I am fairly good at selecting combinations of what I have to put together decent looking outfits.

I hope this email has provided a good introduction to me for you. I can be reached at either this email address, wrigleykat@tmail.com, or at my cell phone number, 212-555-1274. I would appreciate a response to this email just so that I know it reached you in a timely manner.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Katja Wrigley, M.A."

Sighing, Kat sat back and studied what she had written. Had she sounded too conceited discussing how wonderful her linguistic and editing skills were? She sincerely doubted that whoever read her email would care how many papers she had published. All they wanted was some young chick to write cheesy personal notes. Still, the worst that could happen would be that they'd think she was overskilled for the job, and even then maybe they'd pass it on to someone who needed a real writer, one who just happened to be able to analyze discourse on command.

Right, because there were a lot of those jobs lying around.

No, now was not the time to start pitying herself and her fultile job search again. Kat forced her attention back to re-reading the email
Had the snarky tone that had been in he rmind come through in her description of her physical qualities? She'd tried to tone it down, but she'd just never expected that she'd have to describe her jeans and t-shirt wearing self as "well dressed" just to get paying work. How the mighty grad student had fallen, she mused.

After a minute's consideration, she struck the line about requesting a response to her email. Employers today, she'd learned, would do whatever the hell they wanted, whenever the hell they wanted, and the convenience of the poor applicant was just about the last thing on their list. What did they care if she was on the edge of her seat for six months, wondering if they'd received her resume or not?

The rest of the email was about as good as she could get it. Nothing she could say would make her feel less ridiculous for answering it, and nothing she could honestly come up with would make her sound any better

She held her breath for a long second, let it out, and hit the Send button.

************************

Three hours later, just as Kat was finishing up her first read-through of the day's want ads, her computer beeped, informing her that she had a new email message. Assuming it was probably spam or a message from a friend, Kat wandered over to the machine and checked the bolded message.

She blinked.

The subject like was the same as the email she had sent to "seeker" a few hours ago, although the sender address to this email was different. Had someone really answered her application so quickly, or was this some new form of email interception spam?

Only one way to find out, she decided, and opened the email.

"Ms. Wrigley:
Thank you for your response to the job listing posted on GregsList. My name is Jane DiAngelo, and I am the executive secretary to Marcus Faber, the man for whom you would be working. I presented your email to Mr. Faber and we agree that your credentials are impressive and quite suited to the job you applied for. The need to fill this position is immediate, however, and I would need to interview you this afternoon if at all possible, to start tomorrow morning if we decide you will, indeed, fit in this position. I realize this may be inconvenient, and I apologize for the rush, but Mr. Faber needs the help immediately. Please let me know if you are able to interview this afternoon, any time after two, with me at Mr. Faber's office.

Again, I apologize for the inconvenience, and I look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,
Jane DiAngelo"

Kat stared at the screen. Interview this afternoon? Well of course she *could* do it - the whole problem was that she had nothing else formative to do with her day. And it was somewhat reassuring to know that she would be dealing with an executive secretary, as well as with the man himself. Unless the guy had written the email to her, pretending to be his own secretary. This could still be a Fame situation, she reminded herself, and she would be wise to be prepared for anything when she went in.

Which, of course, she would. An immediate job opening paying twenty dollars an hour, in a reputable atmosphere...she could almost get excited about this prospect. She quickly dashed off an email to Jane DiAngelo, assuring the other woman that she would be more than happy to come to the office today to interview, and whatever time after two was most convenient for Ms. DiAngelo would be just perfect for Kat.

And within twenty minutes, she had received another reply. Whoever these character were, she thought to herself with amusement, at least they read their email promptly.

"Ms. Wrigley:

Wonderful! How does three-thirty sound to you? Our office is Suite 7112 on the seventh floor of 367 East Forty-Third Street, right at the corner of Third Avenue. Please tell the security officer on the ground floor that you are coming to see me. He will call up to the office to confirm, then show you onto an elevator. I will meet you when you come in.

I'm looking forward to our meeting,
Jane"

Three thirty was fine, of course, but - suddenly, Kat felt a tide of panic. Were her job interview clothes clean, or had she tossed them on the floor in disgust after her last failed interview?

She made for the bedroom at a mad dash, tossing off her t-shirt as she went.

Not the Most Awesome First Day...

...but I'm just not having a good day overall, so I choose to hope it'll get better as my morale improves.

Nano wordcount: 575

******

This was end of day thirty. Katja Wrigley pushed aside today's newspaper and sighed heavily. Thirty days she'd been job hunting, and thirty days she'd been continually failing. Her masters degree hadn't done her an iota of good. Nobody cared whether the person applying for a writer's job had an advanced degree. Mostly they just cared about whether she had experience in the industry and whether she'd take twenty-five thousand dollars a year.

Kat couldn't fulfill either of those. She was fresh out of grad school, and "I helped edit a journal for my advisor" didn't cut it for the "Experience" section of the application. Not to mention that twenty-five thousand a year wouldn't pay for an apartment and the health insurance she needed, let alone for anything trifling like food.
She was running out of ideas. She'd been working her way through the want ads in every day's paper. She'd put the word out among the few people she knew in New York. She'd even put her resume on every job-hunting website she could think of. And nothing. The few nibbles she'd gotten had turned out to be false leads or no-call-backs.
She'd go through the paper once more. The few months' rent that her mother had been able to help her scrape up was just about used up, and if she didn't come up with something, anything, she was going to be living in a cardboard box before long.

Before she could reach for the paper again, though, she was interrupted by a knock on her door. Sighing, she pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and headed toward her apartment door.

"Kat!" someone was yelling before she even got the chain unlocked. "You've got to see this!"

Kat pulled the door open to find Andrea Barnes, a downstairs neighbor who she'd become friendly with, waving a piece of paper at her. "Come on in," she said absently, turning to head back to the kitchen and waving the woman in. "You want coffee? And what is it I've got to see?"

"This!"

Apparently Andrea didn't want coffee, then. Plopping back down in her chair, Kat raised her eyebrows and asked again, "What?"

"This." Triumphantly, Andrea slapped a sheet of paper down on the table in front of Kat.

She wasn't going to get any explanation out of her friend like this, Kat decided. She turned her attention to this oh-so-important paper and started reading:

Writer Wanted
35 year old corporate consultant is looking to hire a writer to write responses to my personal ads and keep my personal projects up to date. Work will be done from my midtown Manhattan office during regular office hours. Pay is $20 per hour and job starts immediately. Prefer a woman in he rlate 20s or early 30s, well-dressed, attractive, and outgoing, so that she will be on the same wavelength as the women I'm seeking. Contact seeker@tempmail.com for more information or to submit a resume.

"It's a personal ad," Kat said, sliding the paper back to Andrea. "So what?"

"It's not a personal! It's a job listing! See," she replied, pointing to the second sentence, " 'work will be done in his office.' It's a job."

"Sounds a whole lot like a sneaky personal to me," Kat shot back. "If it's just someone to write stuff for him, what does he care if she's twenty or eighty?"