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In My Words—The Business Insider Article​

Not Just Another Lay-Off

As a writer in the marketing arena, lay-offs are the nature of

the industry beast—when budgets get cut or departments

reorganized, marketing teams and writers are often the first

sacrifice to that ‘beast.’ But I've always managed to slay the

beast quickly with another, better gig. Until a lay-off last June

abandoned me in an alien landscape rife with ageism,

candidate saturation, a strangulated economy, and a

new mercurial rival … AI.
 

But let’s back up and start at the beginning...

In the Beginning, There Was Design
I started life as a graphic designer. My last job in that life I

held for nine years, living paycheck-to-paycheck, before a

nasty company buy-out (by Anheuser-Busch) cleaned house

with a vile and violent broom, sweeping resident employees

to the unemployment office—if they were lucky. Some were

antagonized until they quit.

I was lucky, in the end. But it was an ice-cold shock. After driving the same road, greeting the same face at the front door, and sipping acrid coffee at the same wooden desk for nine years, I felt like someone round-housed me into a frigid glacier lake. I couldn’t breathe.

But I had to work.

Faced with pounding the proverbial pavement, I hunkered down, writing cover letter after cover letter, application after application, eight to ten hours a day. Day after day after day. Job hunting was my job. But it wasn’t paying anything.
Was it time to make a change? When God closes a door, sometimes you have to start looking for open windows—or break one.

I had always wanted to write—just like thousands of other want-to-be writers.

Should I try?

For years, I had devoured writing and grammar books for fun. I couldn’t get enough. Yet, staying current with the latest iterations of Photoshop and design industry trends held the same level of interest as a colonoscopy.

How could I make a living writing, though? How could I become a legitimate writer and not just some hack dabbler-dreamer who thinks she’s a writer because she wants to be a writer?

I didn’t have a writing portfolio. I didn’t have one bloody writing sample I could submit for a job. That had to change. While I continued looking for design jobs, I scraped and scrounged like a stray dog for any teeny, tiny writing gig morsel I could get. I wrote cookbook reviews for Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I penned local political campaign flyers, and had a brief fling writing resumes. Anything that would get me closer to a legit portfolio and writing for a living.

A Contract for the Future
A few months later, my future peeked around the corner. I landed a three-month contract to write a gluten-free guide for beginners. Of course, this was after a vetting process. I first had to write a proposal and a prospective outline and intro for the book. Once the book was published, I was to receive 10 percent of royalties. No advance. No money for my time until the book sold copies.

Ok. Let’s do this.

After I calculated the number of words I’d have to write each day to complete a 130(+)-page manuscript in three months, I busted my hump, researching and writing eight, ten, twelve hours a day. Every day. For three months, this was my job. I did little else but read, write, and walk my dog. And guzzle coffee.

I beat my deadline with a couple of days to spare.

Then came the first round of edits—a valuable learning experience. Working with the editor they assigned me helped put some muscle on my writing skills and better apply all the things I read in all those grammar books.

Once I submitted my changes, I never heard from my editor again. I couldn’t reach anyone at the company. What was going on? After weeks of sleuthing, someone finally answered my calls and told me the company had sold. Uh oh. The new owners were “reevaluating” every book in their pipeline. That’s the last communication I had with anyone there.

My heart was cut out. I couldn’t breathe again. Flopped back into that glacier lake again. All that work. Three months of toiling and isolation for free. No paycheck. No royalties. No way.

Ah, but I still had a manuscript. I now had a 35,991-word writing sample. I wasn’t giving up.

I’m a Writer, Damn It
Weeks later, I used an excerpt from that manuscript to apply for a content writing position with a little dental marketing start-up. They said they loved my writing style. They hired me.

I got a real job. As a real writer. Hot damn.

That book didn’t pay me directly, but it got me my first legitimate writing job that did.

Things went really well for about a year—so well that the owner allowed me to continue working remotely instead of moving across the state after three months to work in their office as originally requested.

But small business budgets aren’t as resilient as those in large corporations. Minor financial hiccups can choke a small company, and the writer is often the first they spit out.

After one year as a full-time writer, my first lay-off crashed into me.

Would I find another writing job? Was this job just a fluke? Was I a one-hit writing wonder?

Was I a One-Hit Writing Wonder?
I guess not.

 

I landed another writing job. I also increased my salary and landed in a new industry: coin minting.
That gig ended when the slippers-in-the-office-wearing CEO got busted for running a Ponzi scheme, and the company went bankrupt, bleeding its assets and employees.

And so it went. Each job loss (I was never fired) led to a higher salary—tripling it in four years—and expanded my knowledge with the next position. I forged solid connections and collected many letters of recommendation. One of my former managers liked my work so much that she poached me to work for her at another company.

Over the next eight years, I continued to refine my writing, building a strong and diverse portfolio and a solid professional network. Creeping up on a six-digit salary, I could say I was in the midst of a successful writing career. I knew whatever fate threw at me, however the layoff beast found me—through budget cuts, flawed decision-makers, or thieving CEOs—my weapon, the next job, would arrive quickly.

What’s That Smell?
During the ‘kick-to-the-curb’ meeting with my last manager, I was told the reason for this most recent layoff was “budget cuts.” But my Spidey sense—and leadership’s requests just weeks before to use AI—told me AI commandeered my job.
Whatever the reason, this layoff smells different. It’s a different beast. This beast is lurking in the shadows, and I can’t really see its true form. Does it have claws? One eye or eight? Does it stand on two legs or 100 or maybe it has tentacles? Is it hairy or scaley? Most, importantly, can I slay this one?

About seven months into my forced freedom, I began to wonder if it was something I was doing—or wasn’t doing. Should I revamp my resume for the 1,725,874th time? Did I jinx myself rebuilding my portfolio site? The old one seemed to have always netted me jobs. I thought I was doing all the right things: I created unique, not-cookie-cutter cover letters. I tailored every resume to the specific job. I addressed hiring managers directly. I reached out to my contacts. I went beyond LinkedIn and other job sites, cold-calling (with emails) companies that I wanted to work for. I doused my computer with chicken blood and—just kidding! I have prayed, though.

As of this writing, I’ve been unemployed for 14 months. I’ve sent out more than 250 resumes, just on LinkedIn—a few dozen more via email. I’ve had three interviews. No offers.

It Wasn’t Just Me
When I took a step back from my fevered hunting and looked around, I began to notice other professionals stuck in similar unemployment mud. I saw posts and rants and rampages from professionals, with many more years of experience and far more impressive credentials than I, who found themselves out of work and in an inexplicable suspended state of joblessness.

They questioned, they debated, they were confused. But their stories all echoed mine: thriving in their career until this last lay-off and then … flatline. The hundreds of resumes they sent garnered only a smattering of interviews, a few weak heartbeats. And then flatlined again.

They also seem to be pointing their fingers at the same three culprits, the three new ‘beasts’: the crappy economy, AI, and ageism.

I’ve already taken up much of your time, so I’ll back away from my soapbox and forgo a sermon on these issues. But suffice it to say, I haven’t found a way to fight them directly—so I’m looking at detours, a way to slip past them and get on with prosperity.

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Creating Detours and Breaking Windows

My first detour: Write a book. So far, AI isn’t so snazzy at writing manuscripts. It can be done. Doesn’t mean it should. Ever. But that’s another gripe for another editorial. Maybe, just maybe, I could get lucky and sell a few copies.

Detour number two: Opening an Etsy store. I’ve been doing a bit of wood carving and pottery this past year. I quite enjoy it, and the recipients of said carvings seem to think I could sell more. My shop will offer custom, made-to-order carvings and unique clay fish aquarium décor (with a focus on betas and cichlids). Maybe I’ll sell a few hunks of wood and clay, maybe I won’t. The biggest loss there will be the 17 hours I spent designing the shop logo.

These two detours put fear and determination together in my mental boxing ring. I'm uncomfortable running out into the street, blowing my trumpet, waving my arms, and yelling, "Look at me! Please buy my stuff!" But I will have to do that if I want to succeed. And I could still fall flat on my face. So many people are "selling their wares," I feel like just another noodle in the soup pot.

Then there is my determination to succeed and the thrill of the challenge, of setting out on a new path. Maybe this is God's way of forcing my hand to finish that book … and get more carving tools in my garage.

This all feels very similar to 2013 when I lost my graphic design job of nine years. The year I became a writer. I turned that devastation into desire and fortitude and a new career. Plucking that steady job away from me made room for that career. So perhaps getting off the content writing highway will lead me to yet another new road where treasures await.

I’m not giving up on looking for the steady writing paycheck. But life put up a big beasty roadblock, so I'm making my own detours—maybe breaking a window or two along the way.