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Next on my list is a Pulitzer
By hissychick | March 7, 2008
Remember, dear people inside the computer, how I mentioned in passing that I am a published author? Today is as good a time to share with you the highlights from my career to date.
My first published piece earned me $5, a princely sum when you are eleven years old. I earned this cash via the children’s section of one of Sydney’s Sunday newspapers, for a poem entitled “The Hunt”. The exact words escape me now, but my carefully rhymed piece was about a domestic cat going in for the kill, with the last line revealing that the prey was in fact a hamburger. Brilliant, I know. This was, somewhat unsurprisingly, composed during my Garfield phase*.
It was another thirteen years before I would again unleash my writing talents on an unsuspecting public. This time I was the lead author on a journal paper based on my honours research project, the abstract of which can be found here**. Bet you had no idea that I am a environmental scientist by profession….and even less idea what the deuce I am talking about in my paper. Hell I don’t even remember. Let’s just say I have moved on a long way since I ditched my PhD studies in favour of entering the big, bad world outside of the sheltered haven of academia. Maybe.
I have saved the best until last. If you have stayed with me this far, your boredom is now to be rewarded as I reveal the jewel in the crown, the pinnacle of achievement in my illustrious writing career to date:
My share a secret story was published in Woman’s Day, Australia’s highest selling trashy mag. And I was paid hold hard cash for what was indeed a completely fabricated story (WHAT! Those true confessions aren’t real? Pass me the smelling salts for I shall swoon with the enormity of this revelation).
Pick your collective jaws off the floor, and I shall elaborate.
Back in May 2004, I was joking around with a work colleague about how to earn some money while on maternity leave. My friend was heavy with child and I was heavy of heart, biding my time before I could do a frozen embryo transfer (FET) after my first and failed IVF attempt. My open love of trashy mags and tabloid gossip was a great source of amusement in my work place and somehow my colleague and I decided that we would cash in on my bad habits. All of the confessional pieces in the women’s magazines that I devoured appeared to be fairly formulaic in style and substance and we figured we could make an easy $200.
As work was going through a quiet period we sat down and got to it. I came up with the topic of “My husband doesn’t know that my boobs are fake” and we were off and racing from there. The basic premise of our story is this: Girl hates boobs, has boob job. Girl meets Boy and falls madly in love. Boy rants about how he hates fake boobs. Girl doesn’t tell Boy that he has been enjoying all things silicone. Boy and Girl get married and have a kid. Not long after kid is born girl finds out there is a problem with her boobs and gives up breastfeeding, saying that her milk had dried up. Girl now needs implants removed as they are ‘a ticking time bomb’ but has no idea how to tell her husband the truth.
In other words: a complete crock of shite.
We refined our story, even sent it to our media people for their comments. Happy with the final outcome, we sent it into the magazine and waited.
And waited.
Fast forward to the second half of 2005, when I am on maternity leave with A. I open my latest copy of Woman’s Day and there is our story***. I get in contact with my colleague, who finds our $200 cheque in her mail and promptly sends me my half. Everyone we tell thinks it is absolutely hilarious.
So there you have it. Where to next, I don’t know. Maybe a bodice ripper romance novel, or a series of technical papers on superstring theory. Either way, I don’t think I should give up my day job. Whatever the hell that is. But that is a topic for another blog post and shall be told another day.
The end.
* Which is hilarious, because that bloodnut cat is not in the least bit funny. Although this is somewhat amusing.
**Yeah, yeah, I just revealed my maiden surname. Yay me.
*** After some digging around on the Woman’s Day website I discovered our story. Somewhat bizarrely, it has been rewritten and isn’t half as entertaining as the original. I blame it on the work experience kid (who was probably) involved.
Topics: hello i'm boring, woman of (non)ambition |
Nice.
I, although have occasionally been told I write well, have never bothered to send anything in for publishing.
I once tried sending a story of my late dad though, for free publication contest, but it was not chosen.
oops, boys calling…
Moomykin’s last blog post..More Simple Fun
Posted by: Moomykin on March 7th, 2008 at 10:14 amHa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha *gasping for breath* ha ha ha ha ha! I remember reading that story!!! Oh my lordy!!! I’m seriously peeing my pants here!!!
Will wonders never cease!!!
xx Averil
Posted by: Averil on March 10th, 2008 at 5:00 amGlad to see that I am not alone in my trashy mag habit. Let this also be a cautionary tale as to why the writing of great novels is best left to those with talent and passion:)
Posted by: hissychick on March 10th, 2008 at 9:57 am[…] I have mentioned more than once in passing, I harbour no aspirations to be a writer. There is the matter of a lack of talent, as well as an unwillingness to turn my gaze inwards and […]
Posted by: A threenager of letters at hissychick on April 20th, 2008 at 12:22 pm