The Clock Part 1: Horoscopes
Sometimes our worst intentions backfire for the best.
My ultimate childhood dream was to be a writer. However, it took a while to admit that to myself, let alone another person. It was a secret. Not something to share or pursue. In the meantime, my major was left undeclared.
That was until my friends, Lee and Brooke, “caught me in the act” of writing. While I was embarrassed, they encouraged me to write for the student newspaper, The Clock. I appreciated the suggestion, but that was a hard “no” for me.
The college ran a dollar theater on Thursday nights. Since the movies were relatively recent, it was a great deal for a college student.
Brooke and I agreed to catch the movie of the week. When she asked to meet early, I assumed it was to have dinner. After we ate, we still had plenty of time before the movie.
“I have to make a quick stop,” she said.
“Where are we going?” I followed her.
“Round table meeting,” she said.
“For what?”
“Newspaper.”
“I’m not gonna write for the paper, Brooke.”
“I just have to make a quick appearance. It’ll only take a minute,” Brooke assured.
I protested, but she dragged me along, kicking and screaming.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
I sat next to her while she introduced herself.
“Hi, my name is Brooke. I’m the photographer. So, if you have a story and you need an image to go with it, please coordinate with me.”
“Are we done?” I whispered, but Brooke ignored me.
The student to her left went next and continued around the table. The room was full of staff members. Editors. News. Features. Sports. Several new students clamored for a writing assignment.
The last introduction was the student to my right. After he finished, everyone stared at me. Brooke cut in. Surely to clear up any confusion.
“She’s with me,” Brooke began.
‘Thank you.’
“I’d like to introduce Bethany Gates. She has a dream of being a writer and would be a great fit for the horoscope’s column,” Brooke threw me under the bus.
All eyes were on me. Most storytellers enjoy being the center of attention. Me? Not necessarily.
“You bitch,” I muttered under my breath.
“Yep,” Brooke responded with a shiny smile.
Fear paralyzed me. Fear of being seen. Fear of being misunderstood. Fear of failure.
Now, did I simply say “no, thank you,” like a grown-up? Or, throw caution to the wind and face the challenge?
Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay
No! Of course not. Those options were far too sensible and mature. Instead, I went for good ol’ self-sabotage…
“I have no interest in writing for this newspaper. In fact, I don’t think there’s any real talent at this school or this publication…” I spat with a blatant attitude.
GASPS leaked throughout every corner of the room. Everyone mumbled under their breath like British parliament before they pounced. I smirked. Surely, they would kick my butt to the curb and I no longer had to deal with this. Checkmate, Brooke.
Only…Brooke didn’t wince. Not even a little. Quite the opposite. Her shiny smile seemed to grow brighter, under her innocent, sun-kissed blonde curls.
You see, what I didn’t know was the first rule for any writer, regardless of medium or industry—KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE.
I was in the epicenter of rebelling, liberal arts students, determined to give the middle finger. This was a group of people yearning for unique voices that straight up don’t give a F#$%. The crowd erupted with APPLAUSE!
WTF?!?!?
I shot Brooke a nasty look, upon realizing that my sabotaging intention backfired. She giggled her ass off, as she clapped along with the rest. Ah, Brooke…what are friends for?
The meeting concluded and the Editor-in-Chief introduced himself.
“Hi Bethany, I’m Jameson. You’re a great fit for The Clock. We’ll need a first draft for the horoscopes next week,” he said as he shook my hand.
I was speechless. What the hell did I know about astrology? Even worse, I suddenly had a deadline and “the clock” was ticking…
Stay tuned for the next installment, “The Clock Part 2: A Goddess is Born”
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