A Year Later, A New Career

Thanksgiving weekend, 2016.

I was reeling from the Presidential election result, and not only because I was worried about the future of the country: I saw the handwriting on the wall that my current career might be over.

There were some ominous signs that things might take a turn for the worse. After 17 years of full-time magazine freelancing and 12 previous years in newspaper and wire service newsrooms, I could see clear signs that my industry was changing. Newspapers were shutting down. Long-time reporters were flooding the freelance market. And there were two other disturbing trends. One was that bloggers, who I call, "self-styled journalists," were trying to fashion themselves as legitimate news reporters, despite not having solid news gathering experience or training. They were muddying the validity of the news cycle. As a result, the industry was taking a serious credibility hit. The other looming issue was that I had spent the election cycle observing Trump and his treatment of the media, starting with Jorge Ramos at that infamous news conference. Here, I thought, was a Captain of Industry, accustomed to having people kowtow to his whims and wishes. Here was a future authoritarian, not a democratic President. Trump was already attacking members in my profession, accusing them of producing stories that were "fake news" (what a laugh). If he consolidated power, as I suspected he would with a GOP-led Congress, the free press could become a vapid memory of bygone days.

And then there were some other practical issues I was facing. As a self-employed freelancer, I heavily relied on the Obamacare subsidies for my health insurance. I also am now over age 50 (gasp!) and worried about being diagnosed with a pre-existing condition. If Republicans made their threat good to sweep away my health care protections, I would be a sitting duck.

What to do?

I spent the month of November and early December 2016 pondering all of this. Then, one Sunday in early December last year, I attended a family dinner. My dilemma became a topic of table discussion.

"I've always thought you'd be a great teacher," someone said.

Everyone around the table nodded.

I thought about that. Throughout my adulthood, I've spent time volunteering as Sunday School teacher, usually with teenagers and young adults. I thought about how I especially loved being around middle schoolers.

"The problem," I told my family, "is that I would need to go back to school to get a teaching certification. At my age? Everyone would laugh."

"Try substitute teaching first," someone said. "See if you like it, and then cross that bridge later."

It was worth a shot. I could keep freelancing while substituting on the side, and if I hated it, I could cross that option off of my list.

I applied to my local school district, which had a shortage on substitute teachers, and I was accepted immediately. On my first day of work in February 2017, I came home completely exhausted -- and completely elated. I'd spent the full day substituting with non-verbal special needs elementary school children. One wanted to just hold my hand and walk in a circle on the playground perimeter during the full 30 minutes of recess. Saying nothing, we walked round and round as his tiny, chubby hand held mine in a tight clasp. I felt like I shouldn't even be paid for the privilege of spending time among such precious and innocent souls.

The next day, I was in an inner-city elementary school, with 33 raucous third graders. I played classical music as they entered and jumped into the teacher's lesson plan. The school principal came into the classroom and sat in the back (not intimidating at all!) and asked me who I was and where I had come from. "This is my second day substituting," I whispered to her. "I don't know what I'm doing." Her jaw dropped. "I thought you were an experienced teacher!" she exclaimed.

Later, one of my trouble makers in the classroom tapped me on the shoulder.

"I heard you tell the principal you were new," she said. Then she smiled broadly. "Guuuuuuuuuurl! You somethin' else!" She laughed as she trotted away back to her desk and started working feverishly on a worksheet I had given them.

That was all it took. I was hooked.

I spent the next four months traveling around the district. I decided to "try out" every age group, every socio-economic variety of school, every intellectual level (gifted versus non-verbal special needs, to "average" kiddo). I was in kindergarten and pre-school classes. I was in special needs rooms. I was at elementary, middle and high school. I was in the richest neighborhoods and the poorest alike.

In addition, I had picked up a part-time job at Junior Achievement, helping 5th graders learn how to run a newspaper in an imaginary town called, "BizTown."

I had a strategy after those first two days: The first part of the winter, I would rely on freelancing for 90 percent of my income and teaching for 10 percent. The second part of the winter, I would go 50-50. And by spring, I would rely on teaching for 90 percent of my income and freelancing for 10 percent. I decided that I would ease into this slowly, to make certain this was the right move for me.

By March, I had achieved the 50-50 ratio, and by May, I was at 90 percent teaching and 10 percent freelancing.

In July, I interviewed for a "paraeducator" special needs position at my son's former middle school. It would involve assisting special needs teachers. I landed the job and started in August with a room of  some non-verbal autistic students and others who were high on the spectrum but verbal. Two weeks later, the school transferred me to work exclusively with two autistic children. I follow them to their classes and assist them so that they can complete work alongside everyone else. It is the most fulfilling thing I've done since I was a cub reporter at my first newspaper at age 23.

And yes, I am still freelancing.

I whittled my freelance client list down to three key clients. I chose them because 1) They pay well, 2) The editors treat me professionally and 3) They pay on time -- a magic combination.

Ironically, 75 percent of my income still comes from my freelance clients. I spend my nights and weekends reporting and writing, although it's about 25 percent of my work time. And 25 percent of my income comes from my new teaching job. I spend 75 percent of my work time with the children.

It doesn't matter. I have achieved a balance in which the writing still supports my cost of living, and I can enter a new field and help make my tiny corner of the world a better place.

Oh. And the teaching job also provides an amazing health insurance package that costs one-fourth of the cost of what I was paying under Obamacare. The benefits are astounding, and I also have the support of a teachers' union, which provides more perks.

After working solo in my home for 17 years full-time, this also has opened my world to a different type of workplace, where the goal is to bring up an educated and kinder generation. The past three months have been nothing short of incredible for me.

So what are my next steps? Originally, I was going to head back to school this fall, but I wanted to see how I would first manage my new full-time job and freelancing. Now that I have a handle on the physical toll (it's exhausting), I will probably hold off until the summer months, when I'm off, to start on my Master's degree. I'd like to get a Master's in learning behavior disabled children and continue working with troubled kids on the middle school level. I intend on continuing to freelance as my income needs demand it, but hopefully will transition eventually into a full-time teaching job after my school work is completed.

Some people might say that after a certain age, life is over. I'd say a new chapter in my life is beginning again. My son, who has Asperger's Syndrome, is also doing exceptionally well in the International Baccalaureate Programme at his high school as a freshman. This is a transitional time for both of us, but very exciting.

My story here isn't to discourage anyone from entering the news media profession. I have had a fulfilling journey as a journalist and later, magazine writer. Writing is still very much a part of my life and my personality. But so is the joy I am deriving from teaching young minds. I look forward to every day with a smile on my face and hope in my heart.

A year does make a big difference.

Huge.

A Blueberry, a Wildcat & a Chocolate Donut Walked into a Coffee Shop ...

So there's this coffee shop down the street from my kid's school bus stop, and the outside is about as non-descript as you can get, with a giant grey and black sign that simply says, "Coffee & Donuts."

I've driven by this place without notice. Even though it's in my "neighborhood shopping center," I have also walked by it numerous times in favor of a Chinese restaurant next door, my hair salon across the parking lot and a pharmacy that I hit for my sundries. 

But last week, I was hard up for something hot after waiting for that school bus with my child, and I decided that rather than drive about 10 minutes to the nearest Starbucks, I'd give this place a shot.

I was not prepared for the glory inside.

It turns out the sad little "Coffee & Donuts" grey sign was camouflage for a place filled with hipsters and urban professionals alike, crouched over Apple laptops and chatting in business suits against a backdrop of sleek tables, a corrugated steel counter, blackboard menus with colorful chalk drawings, mood-boosting music, local beekeeper offerings of products like "Bourbon honey" and even cool T-shirts.

I didn't even mention the coffee, did I?

By the time all was said and done, I'd walked out of that place about $20 poorer, having spent it on the aforementioned Bourbon honey, a giant Chocolate-glazed donut and the only thing I can describe as nectar of the gods -- a "Blueberry Wildcat" -- which was a latte infused with blueberry syrup, espresso, milk -- and melted white chocolate.

OK, so what does this have to do with your freelance writing business? 

Let's break this down:

My discovery of the coffee shop from Nirvana occurred last week.

All weekend, I was being a good girl with my yoga workouts, but I kept thinking about that chocolate-glazed donut and that Blueberry Wildcat thing. (I'm not sure what's in that chocolate glaze, but I think they're putting sour cream in it to give it a good bite. Anyway, I digress ...)

Fast forward to this morning. I take my kid to the school bus stop, and I know I have a couple of errands to run after he's safely on his way ... and I'm thinking about breakfast. I'd just thrown on my jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. No makeup. The hair ... well, if you're a woman, you know how important it is to attend to the hair. I hadn't yet. And I was wearing a pair of scuffed up shoes because of mud left behind by a couple of snow storms. 

In short, I was in no condition to walk into that coffee shop to scratch that Blueberry Wildcat itch.

I did my errands and as I was considering going through a drive-thru for a Starbucks, I thought to myself, "No. NO! I am going to get that Blueberry Wildcat, dammit! I want that chocolate donut, dammit! I want to walk into a place with those cool people, makeup or no makeup, dammit!"

And I did. Despite the ease of a drive-thru window, despite the comparable taste of a Starbucks coffee, despite any embarrassment that might hinder my walking into a place without lipstick on my face ... I went BACK to THAT coffee shop.

And yes, this has everything to do with your freelance writing business.

Are you giving your clients the same craving for your writing services that this coffee shop jarred in me for its coffee and donuts? 

If you're not sure, let's check off a few boxes. Ready?

1. When you do your interviews, do you encourage people to send you their own typed answers in an email, or do you take the time to talk to them on the phone, encourage their verbal responses, push them to open up and work out extra gems of information they might otherwise hold back, even though it might add an hour or two to the time to complete the project?

2. When you write up your story lead, do you go for the path of least resistance and regurgitate your story pitch -- or regurgitate the lead the editor gave you on the assignment form? Or do you go through your story notes and ferret out that perfect quote or anecdote to lure the reader into the rest of the copy?

3. When you have a question about your notes, do you take time to contact your source again and ask if they meant to say things the way you are interpreting what they said? Do you go the extra step to ensure that you are accurately quoting them or representing their thoughts?

4. When you have a pile of statistics in front of you, are you diligent to interpret those and present those numbers in the context in which they were collected?

5. When an editor gives you a deadline, do you meet it?

6. When an editor gives you a word count limit, do you work hard to edit down your prose so that you will pack in as much meaning into a tightly-knit sentence? 

7. When an editor has questions, how do you respond?

8. Are you professional when dealing with your sources? Do you answer all of their questions, even after the story has been turned in? Do you respond to every PR professional who contacts you, even if you've already completed the assignment? (For the record, I do. That's another blog entry, but suffice it to say, keep your eye on the big picture for future stories. Kindness and courtesy never hurt anyone.)

9. Do you look beyond the short-term goal of making money and seeing your byline, attacking each story as if it's a service to the public or your audience? 

and

10. Do you see your writing profession and skill as a way to make the world a better place?

How many of those did you check off?

If you got through the list and hit most (if not all) ... then congratulations. You're the coffee shop with the Blueberry Wildcat and Chocolate Glazed Donut and Bourbon Honey.

And guess what ... if you're offering that level of service, even if you're not great at advertising yourself (guess what, my website hasn't been updated in 3 years, but I've been so busy with work, I haven't had time to do it) .... your clients will go out of their way to hit you for work ... each and every time.

Next time you consider taking a shortcut with your writing services, just remember me -- walking into a place without lipstick, hair askew, scuffed shoes and a pale make-up-less face, just so that I could get my fix for perfect food, perfect service ... and a perfect way to start the day.

A Warning for New Freelancers on Making Fast Cash

I'm "one of those people" who gives Twitter a whirl before I move from my pillow, just after the alarm clock starts singing my playlist of the morning. Normally I wouldn't blog about one singular tweet. But this one caught my eye and deserved more than a 140-character response, because I think those of you who are new to freelancing really need to understand this:

YOU CAN'T MAKE MONEY QUICKLY AS A FREELANCE WRITER.

Let me repeat that in case you didn't get it the first time:

YOU CAN'T MAKE MONEY QUICKLY AS A FREELANCE WRITER.

Basically, the person on Twitter proclaimed that she would show you how to make money within two weeks. The tweet contained a link to her book on Amazon, bearing the same words.

Intrigued -- because quite frankly, if this woman had discovered this "secret," maybe she had also discovered the cure for cancer -- I flipped to the "preview" section to scan her introduction. She discussed how she'd show you how to set up your business and move right into making fast cash.

Now maybe there is a new market out there that will pay people quickly, and I just haven't discovered it. Or maybe my circle of clients are the type that stick to the 30-day payment turnaround time. So I offer this caveat before I dive in. Full disclosure. I may not fully know of all of the clients out there, those of whom will pay you within 14 days.

That said .... For the uninitiated, let me explain how this works:

First you have to find someone to pay you to write an article for them.

Next, you have to do the research. And then write the article. If you're a crack journalist who has experience turning copy within 2 hours on deadline from assignment to press, that's doable. Actually, it's very easy. But let's face it -- most people do not have daily newspaper or daily wire service experience.

OK. So suppose you are like I was when I first started and you DO have that experience. That's the best-case scenario, right?

You show this editor your advanced reporting and writing techniques, and you flip a story in an astounding 24 hours (for the sake of argument, that would be what it would take to do it quickly, for a major magazine article, and that's pushing it).

You turn in the article .... and your invoice ..... but then it doesn't stop there.

The editor has to go through your copy, which in magazine parlance may not be that very day. They ask you questions about anything that needs clarification. Then they go to production.

Now. This is where the tricky part comes in.

Unless you have done due diligence by RESEARCHING the publication's payment cycle on writersmarket.com, you have no clue as to WHEN you will be paid.

Writersmarket.com is a treasure trove of information for a publication's payment cycle. Every person that I contact for work has already been thoroughly vetted via this website. I have used this site now for 15 years as a freelancer, and this is how it works: It contains an enormous database of practically every publication in the United States and Canada. Those publications list entries about their writers' guidelines, their payment scale AND their payment SCHEDULE.

Although payment amount is important, the thing that will sink or float your freelance business is the rate at which they will turn your invoice.

I refuse to work for anyone who will not pay me in 30 days or less. I have only made one exception to that rule, and that's because I know the editor personally, and her company was just bought out by a larger conglomerate that changed their pay schedule. Based on my long history with her as a writer, I give that publication a pass. But as for new clients, I will not work for them if they say anything like, "Payment on publication."

Let that sink in for a minute.

"Payment on publication."

Suppose you write a story in November. You turn it in within 24 hours and think, "Oh goody. Look how fast I churned that copy. I can make thousands of dollars this year if I keep up this level of productivity!"

Well yes, you will make a lot of money.

The problem is ... when will the money hit your mailbox?

When?

See, as much as this author on Twitter would like to assert that she can teach you to make money in 14 days, what she's NOT saying is that it takes two to tango. You're out there on the dance floor, making killer moves. But your partner is standing on the sidelines wolfing down shots of Bourbon and chatting up that girl with-legs-up-to-here.

And besides the publication's payment schedule, there are other variables.

There have been literally dozens of times when a frenzied editor has either lost my invoice or has been so busy that she has completely forgotten about sending it over to accounting.

There have also been times when accounting will say, "Oh. We lost it because it came in two days before Christmas, and we were at the company party that day."

And there was one time when a publication that normally paid me on time suddenly said, "We changed our policy, and now we're only paying on publication," I said, "When are you going to publish it?" The editor said, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe in six or nine months."

UNACCEPTABLE.

You are RUNNING A BUSINESS. You have to pay your bills, put food on your child's table and clothes on your child's back, and someone says, "We'll pay you when we get around to it?"

No.

(Can you tell I feel strongly about this?)

Anyone -- ANYONE -- who tells you that they can teach you to get paid in 14 days probably also has a wonderful bridge for sale in Brooklyn, super cheap.

There's one other thing I need to say about this, and then I'm off to make my own money:

When I started freelancing in 2001, I already had 12 years of newsroom and AP wire service experience and newspaper editing experience under my belt. I already had interviewed crooked politicians, wise-ass cops, angry housewives at PTA meetings, bank robbers and murderers and even a Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan.

I already had a resume replete with proof that I was able to do the job.

And it has been 15 years since then that I have been working for magazines ranging from jobs for engineers and information technology professionals, to military magazines, to entrepreneurial magazines, to real estate magazines.

Do you understand?

If someone like me still has to hound editors for payment within the U.S.-business-accepted policy of 30 days, a new freelancer cannot expect to push for payment within 14 days.

Maybe it can be done. Maybe I'm too nice. Maybe I've been asking for my honestly hard-earned wage in the wrong way. And if I'm wrong, please feel free to correct me and impart your wisdom as to how to cajole people into quick and easy payment.

But if you go on Twitter and someone says, "I can show you how to make fast cash as a freelance writer!" and you're new to freelancing, please consider my warning.

It is unrealistic.

I guess anything is possible, and again, I may need to re-evaluate my payment policies, but I truly believe it is unrealistic.

You can take that to the bank.

Pneumonia, Marie Callender's Pot Pies, Micheal Corleone -- and Why Any of This Matters to Your Freelance Marketing Approach

For the past 2+ weeks, I've been sick with pneumonia, and not the "walking" kind. This is the full-force, 104-temperature-in-the-dead-of-night, rag-doll-weakness, feels-like-a-concrete-slab-is-sitting-on-my-chest-suffocating-me, so-dizzy-that-I-dive-to-the-floor-where-my-dog-rushes-at-me-and-puts-his-nose-on-my-nose kind of pneumonia.

And that has nothing to do with freelance writing ... except that this unexpected battle with illness brought along an incident with my mother ... which, in turn, triggered a spiderweb of thought about marketing my writing business.

But let's dial back a couple of days, to when my mother mercifully drove to my house to do some grocery shopping for me. (I haven't been behind the wheel of a car since my doctor's appointment two weeks ago.)

She magically produced a pen and paper and commanded, "Tell me what you want." (If you've ever watched, "The Gilmore Girls," my mother is the epitome of Emily Gilmore, so just envision Emily Gilmore sitting on the edge of your bed while you hack up half of a lung.)

I went through the basics -- dog food, popcorn for my kid's nightly snacks, orange juice, etc. And then I said, "But I'll tell you what I'm really craving." She looked up from the paper. "I would like a Marie Callender's Chicken Pot Pie, the kind with mushrooms and broccoli."

She didn't write that down. Then in her all-knowing Emily Gilmore voice she said, "I don't see why you'd want Marie Callender's. Wouldn't you rather have Swanson's? Or even the generic Kroger brand?"

"No. But thank you. I would like Marie Callender's."

She stared at me. 

"Write that down."

"Why? Why would you want Marie Callender's, over all of these other chicken pot pies?"

"Why not?"

(cue the theme song from "Gilmore Girls" .... "If you are all alone ... feeling like your mother is crazy...." wait, wrong words, but those should be the lyrics ...)

She put her pencil down. "Because Marie Callender's gravy is thick! It's not nearly as good as Swanson's. And are you sure you want the one with mushrooms? What if I can't find the one with mushrooms? Are carrots and peas acceptable?"

"Yes, Mom, I want Marie Callender's. I like the thick gravy. And I like mushrooms. But if you can't find the one with the mushrooms, carrots and peas are great. Thank you."

She scrunched her nose as if I had just ordered her to buy beets, sardines and liver, and we proceeded with the shopping list.

After she left for the grocery store, I churned about this -- not about my mother pushing back about the pot pies (we have more of these conversations than I can count, and after a while, they're just static noise). 

No -- I thought to myself, "Why did I actually insist on the Marie Callender's brand?"

Because, truth be told, there really wasn't much of a difference between the chicken pot pie brands. In fact, she probably was right. The Swanson's is a good pot pie, and even the Kroger generic brand is pretty decent. There was nothing extra special about the Marie Callender's brand, except for the mushrooms (which I like a lot). But when all was said and done, I knew in my heart of hearts that I didn't actually prefer the taste of one pot pie over the others.

And then in a flash, probably a nano-second, it all clicked together:

I wasn't attached to the Marie Callender's chicken pot pie brand because it was a culinary masterpiece.

I was attached to it because of a memory.

Suddenly, I was back in time at age 23, in 1989, in a little hole-in-the-wall grungy Veterans of Foreign Wars hall in Downingtown, Pennsylvania. I was a cub reporter for a very tiny newspaper (now defunct) called The Coatesville Record. And I had been assigned to do a feature story about a spaghetti fundraising dinner that the World War 2 veterans were holding. (Yes, in those days, there were still World War 2 veterans, who were in their 70s and 80s). 

I was sitting at a long table, surrounded on either elbow and across the table by old guys, all of whom were joking and laughing and making me feel like I'd just discovered a cadre of surrogate Italian grandpas. (Maybe they weren't looking at me like that, but that's how I felt at the time.) I conjured the scene in "The Godfather," where Michael Corleone is watching Clemenza stirring the sauce. Clemenza imparts wisdom about the tomatoes. My group of "Clemenzas" were all very entertaining. I felt warm and happy. Safe. They had thoroughly charmed me like a group of pied pipers.

I had a plate of noodles in front of me, when one of the veterans came up behind me and said, "Would you like some gravy on that?"

"Gravy?" I blanched, thinking he was about to dump thick roast beef gravy that you would normally put on mashed potatoes on top of my spaghetti.

The veteran across the table laughed. "That's what old Italian guys call the sauce," he explained. "We call it, 'gravy.'"

"Oh!" I smiled at the man behind my shoulder, who looked like he was about to drop a steaming vat of tomato sauce all over the floor. "Yes, please. I would like some gravy."

He heaped the sauce and a couple of giant meatballs on my plate.

The aroma, the steam, the robust laughter, the camaraderie, the embellished stories, the food that warmed me to the bones as snowflakes fluttered against a window pane, the cigar smoke, the strong handshakes, the direct eye contact -- all of those mosaic pieces that created a backdrop for my story -- it was a blissful memory.

It all came rushing back to me, 27 years later, in a bed where I had languished for two weeks -- that Italian dinner with those World War 2 veterans.

And what did it have to do with Marie Callender's chicken pot pies?

Just this:

I then fast forwarded to about 10 years later. I was living in a different part of Pennsylvania, a single career girl working for The Associated Press, but this memory was in a grocery store. I had pulled in there after a 10-hour day covering politics in the state Capitol, scavenging for a quick frozen food meal to take home and eat on my couch next to my cat. (I know, pathetic.)

That's when I saw the Marie Callender's BOX in the freezer case.

I didn't know anything about Marie Callender. I had no idea who she was (I still don't). But I saw what looked like a pencil drawing of an elderly woman in the top left-hand corner. I saw the name -- Marie Callender. I saw the meal -- a spaghetti dinner, with thick red sauce and big meatballs. My mind clicked: "Italian grandmother. Italian name. Italian cook. Italian meal."

And then my mind went one step further: "Oh. I remember those sweet old guys at the VFW in Downingtown, Pennsylvania! That was such a fun story. Those guys were so amazing!"

I flung open the freezer case and bought not one meal, but eight, to last me through the week of late-night story coverage.

Truth be told, the Marie Callender's meals were not much better than any other freezer meal. But every time I grabbed one of those BOXES, I flashed back to Downingtown, either knowingly or unknowingly, and the way I felt on that day, in that moment, surrounded by those old Italian World War 2 veterans.

As I waited for Emily Gilmore to bring back my Marie Callender's chicken pot pie with mushrooms and broccoli, I realized something else, too:

Marketing my writing services has much less to do with my marketing approach and more to do with the feelings that my editors associate with ME when they see my name, see my photo, see my blog, see my website, see my Twitter account, see my LinkedIn profile, see an email from me or see my name flash up on their cell phone's caller ID. 

How do I make my editors feel?

Do they associate me with a pleasant person? A writer who meets deadlines? A person of integrity who won't fudge details or quotes? A writer whose copy is consistently clean and needs few edits? A person who enthusiastically accepts work without complaining about tight schedules or asking for more time? 

And for those who don't know me yet ... Of course I can't control their own perceptions and how those might affect their initial interactions with me. But I can control my professionalism right out of the gate. How does my professional website look? How many story ideas do I submit when they ask me for one? (I try to average a minimum of 12.) Am I courteous, well-spoken, polite? Do I convey confidence and assurance that if they place trust in me, I will turn in a product that will boost their readership?

The questions are endless, but they are as necessary as asking, "Why do I always go to that particular chicken pot pie, without fail? Why do I always choose that movie theater across town, when another one is closer to my house? Why do I take my dog to that veterinarian instead of the one who I used for five years?"

When you get right down to it, the answer will come down to a feeling that you associate with that person, product or service.

When Emily Gilmore showed up, she had the Marie Callender's chicken pot pie with carrots and peas. (I guess the mushrooms were too much for her to stomach, even though she wasn't the one to be eating it.) 

But as I dug into that steaming hunk of pie crust, chicken chunks -- and that thick gravy -- I thought, "This reminds me of those old Italian guys in Downingtown, Pennsylvania, when I was 23 years old, feeling like Michael Corleone listening to Clemenza's wisdom about the perfect tomato sauce."

And I hope my editors feel the same way about me when my name flashes in front of their eyes.