Page 6 of Joy to Noel
“I guess I’ll start searching for open positions tonight. I’m nervous that more and more places will be going this direction, though. How hard will it be to find a proofreading position?” I wonder aloud. I’ve never really been interested inwritingoriginal content—I likeperfectingcontent. Apparently, the demand for my particular talent is dying out.
Clara makes a disapproving noise. “You didn’t answer my question. I asked what youwantto do?”
I’m silent for a beat, searching my mind for a response other than the big, fat “I don’t know” that’s front and center in my thoughts.
“That’s not the most important question right now,” I redirect. “What Ineedto do is find any reliable position that offers insurance and a steady paycheck and job security.”
Clara is quiet, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad sign for me. I put the call on speaker and sit up to pull my hair back into a ponytail. I stare at my fingernails, painted a shade of plum, except for the middle fingers, which are painted blush pink. I used to follow the trend of painting each ring finger in a complementary color, but after Chad started working at WritInc, I switched to my middle fingers. My tiny form of silent protest while I had to play nice to my superior.
Too bad “playing nice” got me nowhere.
“Mads, you were always so insistent about me chasing my dreams. You constantly pushed me to stop helping everyone else and go after whatIwanted,” Clara begins. I hold my breath. “But have you ever even stopped doing what youshoulddo long enough to figure out what your dream is?”
I huff. “As happy as I am that you’re living your movie-script-writing dream, not everyone has to have a big dream to live. Sometimes it’s okay to put your head down and just clock-in and clock-out of a mundane job. Sometimes the right thing to do is the responsible thing,” I reason.
“But always doing the ‘responsible’ thing doesn’t make you immune from the rug being pulled out from under you,” Clara says, and I canhearthe air quotes in her voice. “Just look at today,” she adds.
I grunt.Since when do I grunt? Why did I just grunt?
“Hit a little close to home?” Clara asks, voice dancing.
“I don’t know the right answer here,” I say. A feeling I strongly dislike.
“Well, it seems like the stars have all aligned to give you a window of freedom to explore the possibility of chasing a dream. Why not try going out on your own with editing and see where it takes you?”
I dismiss the suggestion. “You mean offering independent editing services? That’s so risky. Who’s to say I could ever find enough independent proofreading jobs to make a livable income?”
“Who’s to say you can’t?” Clara counters.
“You know, cost of living in Kansas City isn’t exactly cheap,” I grumble.
Clara gasps. “Come stay in Noel for a little bit while you give it a go!” When I audibly scoff, she doubles down. “I’m serious! The cabins that James rents out for Christmas Fest and the summer float season are sitting empty right now. Maybe he’d let you stay in one for a couple of months while you mine the depths of your soul, searching for your dream.”
I roll my eyes but stifle a smile. “You’ve been writing too many Christmas-miracle movie scripts.”
“I’m serious, Mads,” Clara says. “I’ll talk with James. What would it hurt to come here for a couple of months and see if you can get some traction? Dip your toe in and see if an independent career could be the dream you didn’t know you had?”
When I don’t immediately say no, I’m shocked to realize my subconscious is actually considering this option.This makes no sense, though. Revamping yourrésumé and applying for every open position you can find would be the much more responsible way to approach this setback. Networking to find someone looking for a roommate. Consider moving back home if you can’t find an affordable housing option—that would be responsible.
My mind recoils from the thought.
“No.” I don’t realize I've said the word aloud until Clara tries to argue. “Wait, I wasn’t saying ‘no’ to you. I was saying ‘no’ to my thoughts.”
Because Idon’twant to move back home. If that’s the “responsible” thing to do, then call me irresponsible.
“Okay. Talk to James, and let me know what he says,” I tell Clara, and she squeals. “I’m not saying this is my long-term solution, but I’m willing to give it a brief trial run.”
Chapter four
Madison
March
Isigh heavily.
No, that’s not a strong enough description.
I heave a guttural expulsion of carbon dioxide.
