Advice when applying for non-creative writing jobs

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At my day job this week we’re recruiting a new writer for an online content position. We advertised on SEEK for the first time, and as expected we’ve been inundated by applications.

Part of my job involves sorting through these resumes and removing the applicants who unfortunately don’t seem suited to the role. I’ve been amazed and a little alarmed by the simple instructions applicants have overlooked, while others have really impressed me with their efforts to stand out to our organisation.

Applying for writing jobs is incredibly hard – finding them can be a tricky task in itself – and those hiring can afford to be choosy because these days they’re picking from an ever-expanding pool of professional writing graduates, retrenched journalists and aspiring writers.

There are some common issues I’ve encountered since starting our recruitment process. While much of my advice will seem obvious or irrelevant, I’m hoping the below tips will help you strengthen your application when going for your next paying writing gig.

Advice when applying for non-creative writing jobs

Include a cover letter, even if the ad says nothing about one. We purposefully didn’t spell this out in our ad because we wanted to see how applicants would respond without instruction. It sounds slightly disingenuous, but organisations will do what they can to sort through applicants faster. Your resume demonstrates your education and experience, but it doesn’t elaborate on these points in great depth, and it doesn’t address the organisation personally.

If they ask for writing samples, give them writing samples! Don’t treat this as an optional request. Doing so will probably send your application straight into the no pile, despite your suitability for the role, because it suggests you didn’t read the requirements properly. It’s a writing role, so they want to see examples of your talent. Show yourself off! Don’t be afraid to send essays you’ve written for uni if you haven’t had anything published – but if it’s a 2000 word piece, cut it down to a small blog-sized extract.

Tailor your cover letter to the job you’re applying for. I can’t emphasise this enough. It’s ridiculously easy to spot a generic cover letter, especially when you haven’t addressed the selection criteria, and it’s something I’ve seen a lot over the past few days. There’s nothing wrong with tweaking an existing cover letter, especially if you feel it’s a well-written general template, but it’s vital that you personalise it and show a genuine interest in the organisation. Otherwise, you risk the impression you’re churning out application after application after application – and even if you are, you want to hide this!

Mention your passion and enthusiasm for writing – make your joy for your craft abundantly clear. My boss often sets aside applications that don’t sound passionate enough. This is what you love, and it’s encouraging to hear that.

If it’s a corporate position, play up the non-fiction pieces you’ve written (in that space or otherwise) and play down your creative aspirations. There’s nothing wrong with mentioning creative writing as one of your interests, but talking at great length about your sci-fi novel when you’re applying for a business journalist role indicates that your interests lie elsewhere, and again, it suggests you haven’t read the position description properly, or you’re just looking for a rote job to subsidise your true writing passion. That might be exactly what you’re doing, and there’s nothing wrong with that (we all have to pay the bills), but going off on a tangent like this shows a lack of awareness for the industry you’re trying to enter.

Proofread, proofread, proofread! Don’t send something off in a rush. You might be really excited – you’ve found the perfect job! – but it’s a good idea to let your application sit on your harddrive for a few days. Your attention to grammar and sentence structure is obviously pretty important, and it’s so easy to miss a minor but glaring mistake when you don’t take the time to do a thorough check. If you feel like you’ve reread your cover letter one too many times, pass it on to a friend or a family member for a final once over. Think of it like workshopping your fiction – getting another person’s perspective improves your work for the better, because it’s entirely new to them. Plus they know you so well they’re likely to point out positive traits you’ve forgotten to mention about yourself.

Calling the organisation to ask more about the position shows initiative and you will be remembered for it. You might assume everyone else is doing the same thing and there’s no point bothering, but odds are they’re thinking similarly. I’ve spoken to 2 out of a pool of about 50 applicants so far, and I remember both of their names. If nothing else, it’s a good way to clarify something confusing in the job description.

Don’t contact the organisation through social media channels asking them about their decision. It’s awesome that you’re doing your research and you want to demonstrate that, but Twitter and Facebook can make businesses seem quite light and approachable because that’s the persona they want to cultivate. You’re on the other side now. At the end of the day, it’s a job, and you could be accidentally portraying yourself as someone unprofessional and pushy.

Ricochet – the flashback edition – open for submissions

Submissions Open

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

Think decadence and bright lights; desperation, a world on the cusp of war; Casablanca; the haze of cigarette smoke; one small step for man; James Dean; world peace vs agent orange; mini-skirts and bitchin’ rides; bad hair and garage bands; backyard cricket, daggy jeans; sprinklers whirring all summer long. 

Pick any era and make it your own. 

We’re looking for short fiction (up to 3000 words), flash fiction, memoir, poetry, photography and visual art to fit the theme FLASHBACK.

Feel free to be as creative and experimental as you like!

For the first time, we’ll also be accepting columns and reviews based around the theme. If you’d like to send us commentary, or reviews about films, books or television shows set (but not necessarily written, although that’s fine too) in another time, we would be happy to consider them. If you’re unsure about a topic, feel free to send us a pitch outlining your idea and we will endeavour to get back to you as soon as possible with our feedback. 

The deadline is Wednesday July 31st, 2013. Please send your submissions to ricochetmag@hotmail.com.

Visit our submissions page for full details.

Submissions around town: May

Writing

Hello everyone! Long (long) time, no blog.

The good news is, we will be making an exciting announcement later this week regarding Ricochet Magazine.

In the meantime, enjoy a list of the submissions opportunities going around town.

SUBMISSIONS open

Visible Ink are accepting submissions of short fiction, creative non-fiction, poetry, photography, original artwork, comics, graphic fiction and illustrations for their 25th anniversary edition. The theme is EVOLVE.

Offset Arts Journal are accepting prose, poetry, artwork and multimedia submissions around the theme 13.

COMPETITIONS

The prestigious Alan Marshall Short Story Award is open for entries until May 17th. Open First Prize is $3000 for stories up to 2500 words.

The Katherine Susannah Prichard Speculative Fiction Award is open to science fiction, fantasy, horror and mystery speculative fiction entries.

The ABR Elizabeth Jolley Short Story Prize (worth $5000) is accepting entries until May 31st. It will be judged by Tony Birch (academic and author of the 2012 novel Blood), Maria Takolander (poet, critic and a past winner) and Terri-ann White (Director of UWA Publishing).

The Peter Cowan Writers’ Centre Patron’s Prize for Poets competition is open for unthemed and unpublished poems until May 31st.

The Australian Horror Writers Association are after horror stories for their Short Story and Flash Fiction Competition. Entries also close May 31st.

The Shoalhaven Literary Award is open for short stories up to 3,000 words. First prize is $1,000 plus a two week residential at the Arthur Boyd Centre, Bundanon on the Shoalhaven River.

For the romance writers among you, the Some Like it Hot Romantic Fiction Competition is looking for unpublished works of 50,000+ words. First prize is $1,500 and a publishing contract with Steam eReads. Entries close at the end of the month.

MENTORSHIPS and INTERNSHIPS

Meanjin is offering four $3000 New Media Art Mentorships for early career and emerging arts critics.

The ABR Patrons’ Editorial Internship is a PAID internship with the Australian Book Review to help edit and digitise the magazine. The gig is worth $20,000 over eight months.

Entries for the Qantas Spirit of Youth Awards – Written word close in two days. This AMAZING opportunity offers writers aged 30 and under $5,000 in Qantas flights anywhere in the world, a professional mentorship with Lisa Dempster (the Director of the Melbourne Writers Festival) and $5,000 in cash.

Why Failure is Wonderful

This week has been a terrible writing week for me. I missed out on a mentorship opportunity that I desperately wanted, I didn’t get shortlisted for a minor prize, and I’ve had a couple of rejection letters. I did get that sick feeling in my stomach and I wondered if I am wasting my time with this writing business, but then I found an origami butterfly that memoir writer, Wayson Choy gave me when I was at uni, and I remembered why failure is wonderful.

I decided that there are probably some Ricochet readers who have had some rejections and don’t think they’re wonderful, so I thought I’d share an article I wrote not long after the 2009 Brisbane Writers Festival that’s about Wayson Choy, his origami butterflies, and why failure is a wonderful thing.

 

Why Failure is Wonderful

- Meeting Wayson Choy

When I went to the Brisbane Writers Festival in 2009 I was ready to give up writing. The feeling had been coming for a while. The uni year had been flying by, assignments were hard, and more than ever it seemed as though everyone in the course was competing against one another.  But most of all, I was tired of rejection.

 It’s not as though I didn’t expect to experience some failure. Since my first day at QUT I’ve been prepared for it. Tutors talk about rejection letters in classes, writers talk about their failures at book launches and festivals and in magazine interviews. I was warned—I knew rejection letters would come, and they did. Because I was expecting them, every time I found one in the mail box or read a competition announcement that didn’t list my name, I let it hurt, sometimes even had a cry, and then forced myself to move on. But the problem was that I never let myself think about the failures as anything but failures. I didn’t realise that failure can be a wonderful thing and that’s why, by the time I trudged to uni on the Friday of the Writers Festival, I’d given up. 

 Everyone in the class loved Wayson’s session, but I loved it just that little bit more. I loved hearing someone actually stand up and say that they wrote for money and that he wished he could churn out the sort of stuff that sells millions of copies. It was the first time I’d heard a writer talk about how cocky he was when he first started university. But when he started talking about failure, that’s when he got me. At first, I was horrified to hear his story. He told us about the first short story he wrote for a university assignment. He handed it in and was called to see his professor. Thinking that he was going to be praised for his brilliant writing, he swanned into the office feeling very pleased. But the teacher handed him back his story covered in red biro markings and said:

“Do you want to be a writer?”

Wayson told him yes, he wanted to be a writer and the teacher said: “Then learn how to punctuate.”

And he was dismissed.

At first he thought it was a terrible thing that he’d failed the assignment rather than been praised the way he’d expected. But then he bought some punctuation books and realised his teacher was right, he didn’t know how to punctuate.

He moved on to tell a story of how, as a teacher of creative writing, he fails every single one of his students on the first story. And as he hands their piece back to them he smiles and says, “How wonderful, you’ve failed.”

He talked about failure and rejection with a smile on his face and I couldn’t understand why. The thought of having a teacher smile as they handed me back an assignment I’d failed was horrible. I kept thinking I’d hate to be in his class. But I realised later it wasn’t complete failure that he was talking about. What he was saying to us was, “you still have things to learn.”      

By failing his students Wayson — in the same way his own professor did — was asking his students if they wanted to be writers. If the student took the criticism as an opportunity to improve their writing, they were answering, “Yes, I want to be a writer.” But those who allowed the failure to defeat them were clearly saying that writing was not for them.

 Later Wayson gave us a test. He handed out sheets of paper and asked us to make a butterfly in two minutes by only tearing and folding. Of course, all our butterflies were monstrosities and at the very end of his session, he showed us up by folding a perfect origami butterfly. While he was folding he talked about a butterfly’s metamorphosis.

 “A butterfly is a universally beautiful thing. But to get that way it goes through metamorphosis. It goes from being a little sluggy thing to a caterpillar and, from that, it sheds its skin a dozen times. Finally, it builds the chrysalis, hibernates and emerges a beautiful butterfly.

“The difference between your butterfly and mine is craft. I know the craft that goes into making one and you do not. It’s no different with writing. Writing has to go through metamorphosis to become something that’s considered universally beautiful.”

All the way home I kept thinking about failure and craft. I might have been studying the craft and expecting failures and rejection letters but I had always looked at the two as completely separate aspects of the writing life. I had never considered what Wayson was really saying was that failure is wonderful because it helps identify weak spots in the craft. He was telling me, if I get back a story covered in red biro, that’s a wonderful thing because now I know what I’m doing wrong. He was asking me if I wanted to be a writer. I realise now this is what other writers and tutors have been saying to me the whole time I’ve been at uni, but it just didn’t click with me until Wayson made me an origami butterfly.  

Since the festival, I have noticed a change in my attitude towards writing. I no longer hand a story to my writing group and hope to be praised. I hand things in and ask them to be brutal; I don’t want any more compliments where they’re not due. I want to be a writer. I want to learn the craft and see a metamorphosis in my writing and I want, more than anything, to experience the failures along the way that will ultimately make me a better writer.

 I don’t think meeting Wayson means rejection will no longer hurt. But now, every time I open one of those letters, I’ll smile and think: “How wonderful, I’ve failed.”  

 

Melanie Saward is a wonderfully failing writer based in Sydney.  She graduated from QUT’s Creative Writing program in 2009. Her stories have been published in the recent 100 Stories for Queensland Anthology, Ricochet Mag and the first issue of Rex, an anthology of writing from QUT.

Wayson Choy  is a Chinese-Canadian writer. You can read more about him and his wonderful books here.

Life After Voiceworks: submitting for the not-so-young emerging writers

Dear fellow under-appreciated emerging writers,

Editors have it in for us don’t they? They all hate us, I bet. They see our name, wonder who the hell we are without an agent or a spot on the front page every second day and they throw our stories in the bin. This post is for you. This post is especially for the emerging writers with submissions so invisible that editors don’t even read them.

You see, if you’re over 25, your date of birth oozes out of your pores, pollutes the page with old and unaccomplished poison and renders the email or postal submission you sent out basically worthless.

I might be exaggerating – a lot.

But perhaps some of these thoughts did creep into my paranoid head somewhere between the first and last beer I had on the night of my 25th birthday, when my last hope for being published was taken from me with a big fat ‘too old’ stamp on my head.

I had to work out what to do when Voiceworks wasn’t available to me anymore. It’s a great journal for young emerging writers. It’s very open to new work, offers great feedback even when rejecting, and for a journal full of young emerging writers, gets a fair bit of attention. And once you turn 25, it’s hard to find somewhere like it to submit.

Thankfully, my initial thoughts were completely paranoid and there are journals out there that do want to see your work, even if you haven’t been published before. Of course, Ricochet is one of those journals. And worth submitting to coming from someone who is going to be in their third issue.

But I don’t think emerging writers should sell themselves short by only sending work to places that explicitly say they’re open to work from unpublished writers. It might not happen often but the heavyweights like Overland and Meanjin do publish work by unknowns if the work is of the quality they’re looking for.

On the flip side of course there’s no shame starting out in the smaller journals. Places like Ricochet, Page Seventeen, Visible Ink, Verity La, and Wet Ink are all looking for newbies to send them fresh words. See these journals as stepping stones toward greater markets. The name you get, the writing experience and the feedback from these editors can give you the experience you need to increase your chances of getting into the bigger places.

Another way I got a leg up was through experimental projects like Chinese Whisperings and Literary Mix Tapes thanks to eMergent Publishing and Jodi Cleghorn. Through an invite and some amazing editorial support, I’ve seen my work develop and I’m proud of these stories even if they didn’t go through the conventional route of the submission rat race.

There are always these kinds of opportunities coming up. It’s through connecting with writers, whether it be at the Emerging Writers’ Festival or on Twitter, that emerging writers can pool together resources and connections to find all those places wanting to read your work, even if you aren’t some big name.