Moving along at a glacial pace, I signed up for a class at NYU. It starts October 5 and covers freelance writing for the novice. It will cover how to translate your interests into story concepts, finding the right market and pitching to a publication. By the end of the five sessions, students are to have a plan and a polished piece.
While I'm not wedded to the idea of being a writer for the rest of my life, I do know that I'll always be a storyteller. It wouldn't hurt to know how to sell an article or a short story; I've dabbled with sending stuff out from time to time, with no success beyond short writeups in Weird NJ. Having deadlines and critiques from the instructor will be really helpful, and I'll also get some input on whether the topic matter I'm interested in is actually marketable.
Who knows? I might turn out to be pretty good at it!
The night after I signed up for the class, I had a dream I was offered two freelance writing jobs. One sounded marginally better than the other in terms of subject matter, but neither was all that thrilling. After I'd weighed them both quickly in my mind, I heard that the worse one paid $60,000, while the better one paid $14,000. Still trying to figure out the significance there.
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