Post by James on Oct 5, 2008 1:15:07 GMT -7
by Heath Alexander.
Personally I never really thought, ‘I’m going to work for the Daily Prophet.’ It wasn’t on the top of my Things I think I might want to be list and I wasn’t even planning to pursue the reporter’s life. I enjoyed reading the paper, sure, and every now and then I’d wish I could submit a story about something that happened, give my view of the incident, but it never really shouted “JOB” at me before.
I’m an artist. I like to draw, paint, sculpt even, and my heart was so much into these things that my ability as a writer, even that submerged NEED to write was buried. The unknown world of breaking news and advice columns an utter mystery other than what I’d read for myself. My natural instinct to be curious kicked in shortly before my mother kicked me out for being an ‘unemployed hobo’ with ‘no possible future’. All I could do was laugh in her face, after all, it’s not as though I had a real plan for my future. But I went ‘job hunting’ anyway, or as close as you could get with nothing but a wand with you.
I found myself sitting at the Leaky Cauldron, pretty much at a loss. It was then that I noticed the message board, the word ‘Intern’ streaking across it in vibrant, lime green letters. I saw the age limit and realized I was of age. It took me a good few seconds to realize what I’d seen and to register that it sound extremely appealing. Next thing I knew I was on a tour of the Daily Prophet office. It was basically a quick walk through as I was on my way to receive my first ‘assignment’. Despite the half-hearted tour guide, I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, the adrenaline at its maximum potential as I approached the glass door that read ‘Editor’ in straight, professional white letters.
I was running on some kind of high that you only get from immense happiness and I realized that I needed it. That feeling of the blood rushing to my face as I approached the office of my superior. The knowledge that I did something the world would see, maybe even something for the front page. I wanted my work to shout to the readers and grab their attention over everyone else’s. An added plus to reading my work would also be that none of it was altered or ‘distorted’ into something more interesting because everything I’d write about would be interesting. At least that’s what I thought in my mind. Maybe, in reality, my next assignment will be about stock…really hope not.
Personally I never really thought, ‘I’m going to work for the Daily Prophet.’ It wasn’t on the top of my Things I think I might want to be list and I wasn’t even planning to pursue the reporter’s life. I enjoyed reading the paper, sure, and every now and then I’d wish I could submit a story about something that happened, give my view of the incident, but it never really shouted “JOB” at me before.
I’m an artist. I like to draw, paint, sculpt even, and my heart was so much into these things that my ability as a writer, even that submerged NEED to write was buried. The unknown world of breaking news and advice columns an utter mystery other than what I’d read for myself. My natural instinct to be curious kicked in shortly before my mother kicked me out for being an ‘unemployed hobo’ with ‘no possible future’. All I could do was laugh in her face, after all, it’s not as though I had a real plan for my future. But I went ‘job hunting’ anyway, or as close as you could get with nothing but a wand with you.
I found myself sitting at the Leaky Cauldron, pretty much at a loss. It was then that I noticed the message board, the word ‘Intern’ streaking across it in vibrant, lime green letters. I saw the age limit and realized I was of age. It took me a good few seconds to realize what I’d seen and to register that it sound extremely appealing. Next thing I knew I was on a tour of the Daily Prophet office. It was basically a quick walk through as I was on my way to receive my first ‘assignment’. Despite the half-hearted tour guide, I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, the adrenaline at its maximum potential as I approached the glass door that read ‘Editor’ in straight, professional white letters.
I was running on some kind of high that you only get from immense happiness and I realized that I needed it. That feeling of the blood rushing to my face as I approached the office of my superior. The knowledge that I did something the world would see, maybe even something for the front page. I wanted my work to shout to the readers and grab their attention over everyone else’s. An added plus to reading my work would also be that none of it was altered or ‘distorted’ into something more interesting because everything I’d write about would be interesting. At least that’s what I thought in my mind. Maybe, in reality, my next assignment will be about stock…really hope not.
