What if You Could Say What You Want in a Cover Letter?

Today was a productive day. I managed to apply for a few new jobs, do laundry, take a walk and enjoy the sunshine. It was a beautiful day today, and I walked the few blocks to the falls from our house. The sound of the water pounding in a plummet over rocks is both beautiful and relaxing.

Who needs the white noise of the city? I’d take my sounds of running water any day! The walk was a much-needed break from the resume and cover letter writing I was doing, which I always find somewhat tedious.

Who loves writing resumes? Definitely NOT this girl…there’s not many people I know who like writing cover letters either. Who likes writing pretty much the same thing over and over but in different, clean and precise words?

During the writing, I was also thinking about how you have to approach different styles of writing with a different mind-set. Well, at least, I do!

While, resume writing this afternoon, I was focused. Like, super focused. Headphones on to drown out the noise, and notebook in front of me, I didn’t leave my desk until I had to switch the laundry over and even then I was thinking about the next paragraph: why am I the best candidate for this job?

The reason might be, because I have a tendency to over-think it. I am a creative writer, I want the words to sound great, to have a flow, but you have to remember: you can’t sacrifice content for creativeness. 

For the cover letter, it is also the same way. It is a business letter to the potential employer, and you are the sales person. Why are you a great person for the job? And no amount of flowery words can cover a lack of experience.

To a person who likes to create characters and disappear into compelling dialogue, resume writing is about as boring as essay writing – and I didn’t much enjoy that, either.

I’ve always wanted to create something different: What would a resume or cover letter look like if we said what we actually wanted?

Like, Dear Ms. Hiring Manager:

I am a great person, a great writer, with a college education and I don’t really care for these cover letter/resume things. They never really say who I am as a person, and you can write the best resume in the world and make yourself look the best – but those people are never as perfect as they claim to be, and honestly, a fake person is not the kind of person you want working for you.

I dislike the fallacy of it all. Everyone brags about being a positive and energetic person, but honestly, there are not many people I know who are positive or energetic without coffee.

You can work at some jobs for a year, others for six months, and some for two years, but the most experience I ever had, was working with great people and for a great team. A job doesn’t really work, unless there are awesome people behind it.

And…how is that going to happen, if everyone basically lies on their resume/cover letters?

Anyway, it would be great to hear back from you. But I don’t expect to. Over 60 people applied for this job (it says so on Indeed) and I’m sure most of them have told you they’ve worked for ten years at the same job and speak french and mandarin, and some of them I’m sure are former beauty pageant winners. (I worked directly with a hiring manager this year, and almost every time, she hired the candidates who were the most attractive.)

My resume is attached for review…or is it? I might have sent you a link to my LinkedIn account instead. It’d be great to hear from you, but I’m not holding my breath over here.

Sincerely,

Amanda

Now, wouldn’t that be awesome?

In this competitive world we live in, there must be some employers out there who want the more creative resumes and cover letters? Honestly, I think everyone could always use a good laugh!

Hope everyone is having a great night! Happy Writing!

Poem: Underneath

Underneath the job title

a bunch of broken people

he’s socially awkward

her husband died

she lost a baby that no one knows about

her marriage is in shambles

he’s got a story to tell

anger and heartbreak, a tiny jail cell

pasts that stay hidden

desires, and oily thoughts

we hide our devastation

a work-place facade

to avoid humiliation

as we trudge a long

head bowed, shattered and bought

Poem: Rainy Afternoon

Been carrying this one around for a few days now – wrote it on Friday, but of course I forgot about it! Hope everyone had a great day today!

Rainy Afternoon

Friday rain and pancakes

squeaky boots and grey sky

one writer’s voice

a door creaks

slowly opens and deep breath

nothing there but a cup of tea,

a much-read book and rumpled covers

the stories we tell

when the day is long

and the leaves are wet

and the road is slippery

when a curtain is ruffled

and the air smells of dirt, and worms and spring time –

are the adventures we dream of

when the day slumbers on

a rainy afternoon

Poem: Ants

Wrote this one while in the shower, haha. And yes, I do have aqua notes for the shower. Because everyone needs a waterproof notepad to write on!

Ants

ants in the tiles

beneath your toes

they crawl between your smile

and shuffle in your nose

next, they’re doing the hula

on your bathroom sponge,

they’re shimmying, they’re shaking

having loads of fun!

It’s Okay to Admit You Need Help

Things have been a little quiet here on the blogging front. Not intentionally. This week I’ve been sick with a lovely head cold and I have some new things going on in my life and thought I would take some time to chat about it.

It’s not easy…admitting that you need help. Help comes in many different forms. Emotional…educational…physical.

You might have heard me mention it a time or two: depression and anxiety.

When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with Seasonal Affective disorder, which is basically depression that one gets based on the lack of sunlight in the winter months. It’s no fun when a chemical in your brain stops working properly and tells you not to be happy anymore.

I’ve…managed with that the last several years. But lately, it seems like the older I get the worse my anxiety is. I have always been a classified “worry-wort,” but there comes a time, where it’s not just worry. Where anxiety becomes something more than just double checking that your doors are locked after you locked them. Twice. And after you already check again for the third time.

The older I get, it seems like the more I don’t function properly. I’ve been debating back and forth why I don’t see myself as “normal” anymore. Why, I think that’s something I ought to be, and why normal isn’t really the same for anyone. What’s normal? And why is it something anyone wants to be, anyway?

But anyway, I digress. The point…I’ve started going to therapy.

Some people might think, so? I’ve gone to therapy, what’s the big deal? But this is a big deal for me. I’m not used to telling my life problems to people, and it’s not always easy admitting that you need help.

There’s no shame in admitting that you need help, and there’s no shame in getting that help. Depression and anxiety are not easy things, and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

We all react to our life struggles in different ways, and we all have to find our own ways to encounter such challenges. I am not afraid to talk about my depression and anxiety, but I was afraid to get help. And I’m still afraid in some ways…do people look at me differently? Do I look different?

Does anyone judge me? But…I have to press on.

When I started this blog, I wanted to make sure it was a place that I could always come to, to make sure I was still writing. Now, I also want it to be a place where I can talk freely about my problems with depression and anxiety.

It’s something that needs to be talked about, and seeing as writers and creative sorts always seem to be the ones who struggle with depression and anxiety…we should all do a lot of talking about it.

Anyway, I hope you guys are having a great night, and I hope everyone had a great weekend.

Happy writing!

Poem: March’s Last Hurrah

So, we had a bit of a snow storm here in New York this past week. Oy. Thank you, Stella. Like any woman, really. Oh so beautiful, but certainly packs a powerful punch!

crunchy, crunchy

snow bank

liquid white

and falling

 

boots and mittens

sniffley noses

cheeks beet-red

with shoveling

 

kids and sleds

where’s the car?

winter’s last hurrah

…in March.

Poem: Heartbreak Feels

heartbreak

time given

love lost

to move on

without you

 

heartbreak

like the color yellow

sometimes ugly

possible bright days a head

 

heartbreak

feet like lead

days stuck in shadow

heart beats a

heavy, tuneless, solo

 

when it hurts to breathe

when the smell of shampoo

has you sobbing in the grocery store

 

we store our memories

with time and love

and heartbreak

I Want to Live Life, Without Feeling Trapped

Having a case of the Sunday night blues tonight. Happens every night lately before the start of a new week. I love my freedom during the days on weekends. To enjoy the sunshine when I want, to read a book, to bake, to enjoy being human and alive and with others and the people who I love.

This current job I’m at now, while there are some decent people, I feel like everyone is so bored with life there. They are so bored and tired of the next day, of a job that keeps going with no end, of a retirement that is still eight years down the road.

It’s had me thinking a lot about what I want out of life, lately. I don’t want to work in a job where my life is taken from me. I want freedom…I want to travel…I want to live.

People judge millennials because we don’t want to work. But people forget many of us are not working in the job we went to school for. We don’t get money because we are doing what we love. We get money because we work at jobs, (very often) that no one else wants to work at.

I’m no slacker. I’ve worked a myriad of jobs to make money to pay the bills and I’ve been miserable at many of them, but I worked them anyway. Where does it say that we have to be miserable to make money?

People say that you should work hard, stay at a job, get retirement, but the sacrifice of life, freedom, and lack of money just doesn’t seem worth it anymore. Forgive me, but, I am no one else’s money-maker.

I want to live my life, without feeling like I’m trapped in my job. Is that really so much to ask?

Random Flash Fiction: Miss Green

Hmm. Wanted to write some fiction tonight. Sat down and this kind of popped out. Not sure I’ll continue…but hey, it’s something. 

Hope everyone is having a great night, and happy writing!

silhouette-1594698_1920

Miss Green

Her hair was the color of straw; in dreads and pulled up on the top of her head. I loved the way it looked heavy and woolly, like she was carrying some sort of burden that spoke of an adventurous spirit, a need to get a way and explore.

She wore an electric green top, and the jewelry on her nose and ears and hands were a metallic green. She looked like something electric and natural, like a cyborg-computer mixed into the natural environment; something that couldn’t be outdated or out-sourced.

I’d ventured into this club because my friends told me to. Go to The Hollow they told me, you’ll love it. “Eclectic,” another friend had said. “Eccentric,” said another.

I found it to be a place full of oddities – like me. I wasn’t in any position to judge, really. My shy, awkward persona seemed to melt well into the absurd: the guy wearing the golden tights and the black sparkly mask, the woman dressed in garb that looked nineteenth century, and the blonde with the silver bikini and chewbacca tattoo on her stomach. What guy couldn’t resist a woman who had an ode to one of the greatest movies on earth tattooed on her body?

I found Miss Cyborg-Green on the dance floor. She was dancing to a funky beat; something with all drums and a nasal groan. Every one else seemed to be talking or drinking – not the typical mixed drinks and beer, no – mostly ales and wine, and I saw someone drinking coffee.

The lights were dim, but not completely dark. There was an atmosphere of frivolity. If I blinked my eyes, I could lose myself in another world. I felt the magic, the otherness in the air and was certain that Miss Green was a person that I wanted to meet.

Poem: Animal Eyes

I wrote this the other day…was just having some thoughts while at work. Hope everyone is having a great night!

Animal Eyes

her eyes look hungry, frightened

he’s privately amused everyday

she scurries through the door

he moves slow, like a turtle

there’s a deep voice, face like a rock

a mountain of a man

shows no emotion

he treads soft, feet like a fox

she wears her pregnancy

like a fierce tigress

she starts like prey, in the copy room

we wear our faces

like animals do

never hiding

our true nature