Day #31 – Struggle Street (and a confession)

Have you survived the whole week, on the edge of your seats in suspense awaiting clarification on the asterix at the foot of the last post? Been furiously refreshing the pitchfever page in your browser in case of any developments? Well, its time to put you out of your misery.

It was indeed a surreal time, this week at the orifice. After months of uncertainty, the company I work for was acquired, which means as a marketing manager, the brand I’d been nurturing and teaching to fly for the past year, is now dead, buried and cremated. A bit like workchoices, except much less likely to be resurrected. It was actually a little emotional to see my baby disappear in such a way. Not to mention the 800 pedometers I have sitting in an office drawer which I now can’t flog. Unless you want me to send you one – no doubt they’ll be worth a fortune on eBay soon.

Conversely, I spent 2 days mid-week on another (freelance consulting) job creating a brand from scratch that exists as a concept (Aboriginal Tourism in Victoria) but not as a brand (with a meaningful position and attributes in consumer’s minds). It has been a strange experience, farewelling one brand and creating another. Of course this couldn’t slip through the pitching cracks, and so Marketing magazine has once again been the recipient of my publishing pleas, a post-mortem on departed brands.

Which brings me to a confession. This has been my only pitch for the week. And why: I’m utterly, irrevocably, unequivocally hopeless at saying no. At a self-development weekend thingy once, this was an actual activity – collect as many no’s as you can in a day. I failed miserably. I need Nike to come up with a counter-campaign for me: Just don’t do it. Apparently this is a sought-after attribute of the successful freelance writer – editors want to know they can throw contributors a last minute brief and rely on them to jump. But it turns out, chronic yes syndrome is not so desirable a trait for the aspiring writer who also has a nine-to-five job and is working on a major freelance consulting gig in her spare time. Who has a social life that can only politely be described as ‘unsustainable’, is away 7 of the next 10 weekends, and has a boyfriend whose culinary repertoire is solely limited to spag bol. Although to be fair, he’s become very good at ordering take away for me since this whole pitching malarkey began.

Needless to say, pitch fever is suffering. There’s no shortage of stimulation (hell, we’re in the midst of one of the closest election battles in history), but I’ve barely 8 consecutive seconds to scratch myself, let alone formulate a well-considered, thoroughly researched, original pitch creation amidst the stimulation. Did Joseph Heller have the start of a dream career in mind when he coined the concept of Catch 22? Can’t afford to leave current job until successful writing career takes off, can’t find the time to launch said career when constantly juggling current one. Can’t convince busy, jaded editors to take a punt on cocky, unknown journalist until have some evidence of written work, can’t provide evidence until someone takes that plunge.

Particularly struggling with where to pitch this week’s story ideas, and subsequently the angle that will make them sing. So I’m going to do what any sensible woman would do when there’s a lot at stake: phone a friend. This is officially a public appeal for inspiration on publciations or hooks for the following stories:

• Graveyard plots – people camped for 4 days for 34 new plots in Melbourne, the most expensive going for $201,000.
• My boy played against all an-gay Rugby team on Saturday – apparently they’re the best in the comp and its been so popular there are now 2 in the league. And surprisingly, no homophobia from other teams.
• According to news last week, dementia is set to surge in the next decades, without the necessary increases in funding. My grandma is rapidly losing the fight, and there’s been so many complicated issues getting her into a home and selling hers.
• This weekend is the last home game of Brett Kirk and Paul Roo’s career with the swans. As a player and coach they’ve redefined football. What have they taught us?
• What are the Germans saying about the Australian Sex Party?

Fear not, there’ll still be 100 in 100 days. I’ve set aside Sunday morning to catch up on my pitches, bitches, so polling for the above closes Saturday night. Unless of course, we have the rabbit in charge of the country and I’m on the first flight to Greece.