This week that imminent question of what I am going to do after I graduate has been plaguing my mind. It’s as if my thoughts are scholastically timed, because today in class, the topic became a discussion as we waited for the fire alarm to stop. All us students and our tutor huddled outside a grand new building with ridiculous art-deco design (seriously, what is that entrance about!) But yes, in my undergraduate studies, it was as if I couldn’t care less. I was adamant that some glorious position would appear out of thin air in a very Cinderella and the golden carriage sort of way. Evidently, the chance to fly to New York City and intern at a Brooklyn newspaper did present itself and it was a joyous occasion, but I have a suspecting fear that it’s not going to happen again.
If an internship position did seem to fall in my lap, I’m not sure that I would take it. I have already carried out three different internships. Yes they were all different, varying in position, length and also country, and I learnt numerous amounts, but I need money. There I said it. I cannot go on working for free, especially after I have already spent a year working full-time and know what it is like to earn a salary. Somehow, probably by stupidity on both mine and Mr Allure’s parts, when we were both earning good money, we still ended up being as skint as we are now at the end of every month. My wages have pretty much halved since going freelance and only working two days a week. Again, that has got to be our own stupidity, or glamorous shopping habits. I digress, the point is I want to go straight into a position. What position it may be, I am unsure of as I do not want to work my way up on a magazine anymore.
I somehow survived a day as a work experience girl at More Magazine, last December. There were 6 of us girls huddled, on the floor. ON THE FLOOR, in the corner, attempting to make sense of the returns and send them on their merry way. I say make sense, because each time, it looked like we might be getting somewhere, a dare-I-say snotty fashion assistant would come and lumber us with more. Now if I wanted to work for More Magazine, I would have sucked it up and done what was expected of me and more. And I would have done it with a smile, but I don’t want to work at More. It really isn’t me. To be honest, there probably are only a handful of titles that I could actually see myself working for. But now I have decided that is not the route for me anyway. This week I have been having glorious day dreams were I somehow meet a publisher and we get talking about my idea for a novel, he laps it up and throws me a book deal with a huge advance and I don’t have to actually get a job. I get to do my favourite thing – write. And make money. Maybe this would be the prince part of my Cinderella story.