(Another list. How productive of me.)
Because my dancing skills aren’t getting any better and my naked body still resembles a stunted prepubescent boy after trying out for the swim team, and because I realize how close we are yet again to splitting a can of refried beans as a meal, I present my latest attempt at getting work: New And Inventive Ways I’m Going To Look For Clients. Another blog post about looking for work on a blog that’s about looking for work. Send your own suggestions. (AinsleyDrew@gmail.com)
1. Bathroom graffiti. “For a good line call…” The only problem with this is that I have a 516 area code. You know who has shared those three illustrious digits? Amy Fischer, Mariah Carey, Billy Joel, and some kid from American Idol. It gets an A+ for visibility here in Portland, but a solid FAIL for everything else. Besides, Portlanders don’t call. They apparently sulk apathetically and then get wired money.
2. Tattoo.* Also a good way to strike up conversation wherever I go, which really isn’t very far. I figure it should be a tattoo of a huge set of testicles on the inside wrist of my dominant hand. I write with balls, get it? Crickets and a cough.
3. My mother. No. Bad idea. I would wind up writing copy for real estate agents, hair salons, and the rest of my family who are mostly employed in jobs they hate. That’s why blogs exist, to distract from that sort of nine-to-five monotony. Well, that and to make people who type fast feel like they’re actually doing something with their lives other than slowly starving and wearing the same clothes from high-school.
4. Pitch to Nick Denton.
Stop laughing, that one was serious.
5. Start a vague blog that applies the same logic as Matthew Barney’s Cremaster series. Basically confuse and destroy. My posts would be anonymous and unsettling. You’d follow but you wouldn’t know why. People would describe it as pretentious and revelatory. I probably still wouldn’t be able to score us any paying work.
6. Reality television. “All right, get this, so these two scrappy kids live in Portland, a real hipster town, real up-and-coming. The kids, they’re like, kind of gay looking…no, no! I’ve got it! One is gay, the girl, yeah, that would be hot with the backstory, some sort of girl-on-girl montage, yeah. And the guy, he’s like, what’s something that’s in? A DJ? Yeah, he’s a DJ. Really humble but still a pretty big name in the DJ world out there. Lots of opportunity for product placement there, Adidas, Nike, all that shit. And celebs too, like Busdriver and some music industry big-wigs. Yeah, so, the DJ and the dyke, they’re writers. They’re trying, struggling, to make ends meet. Maybe they fuck too? When stressed? But they fight like hell and the girl one, she cries a lot. I mean, a lot. Like water works every show. We can even have Tori Amos write the theme song. Or maybe somebody more relevant, like, that screechy one that sounds like a whale, who’s she, Regina so-and-so? Yeah, her. Anyway, lots of yelling, lots of tears, but it’s funny! It’s funny! Like, dark comedy. What do you think? I’m saying it has CW network written all over it…Wait, these kids really exist? Really? Like, there are people that pathetic out there? Eh, fuck it, at least now we don‘t have to pay a writing staff.”
7. Rent parties. These were huge in New York at some point, probably when we were in school. In fact, we probably snuck into rent parties and stole the booze when we were at NYU. Well, we should throw two now, one for our rent (two apartments) and one for work (the office we never go to.) Then we’ll have one for food and then we’re set. Three parties. Now we just need friends who have money, a space, and some stuff that makes people do stuff in this town other than bicycles and drugs. The problem with this is that we likely wouldn’t get any writing out of it. Unless we turned it into…writing parties! Kind of like face painting at a carnival only with ad copy and technical writing! Okay, I know, this one makes no sense.
The truth is, I have no idea how to get clients. I have no idea how to get work, how to convince people they need someone to punch up the copy on their website, that their product could use a push, that their launch requires a press release. The clients we do get are often flaky about money, and are one-time jobs. It sucks. And even though things are going pretty well right now I find myself gripped in the usual glittery glove called fear, and it’s the sort of handshake that keeps this short girl up at night, usually next to a boy who has a knack for unconscious teeth-grinding. (No joke.)
If you have any advice, or job offers, send them my way. AinsleyDrew at gee male dot calm.
* I’m getting a tattoo tomorrow and although it’s writing related, chances are that it likely won’t lead to work unless my tattoo artist is desperate for a new bio or children’s book. “Needles Can Be Fun” or “There’s Ink In My Hurty”? Maybe.