Jun 4 2009

I wanna be a writer

One of my friends is a recruiter. She matches people with companies looking to hire someone for a specific role. She forwarded me a funny email exchange she had with somebody who was interested in a medical writer position she had posted.


From: [wannabe medical writer]
Subject: Fw: medical writer

> Hi
> Am a health care worker who is also a writer
> Have been writing for many years.
> Have a post grad degree in pharmacology (Phd)
> Have over 700 health related articles
Have attached two of my writing samples
> Reliable and punctual.
> [name removed]
> below are some medical sites that i have written for.
> [links to sites removed]

Her reply:

Dear [wannabe medical writer],

Your message below does not have any complete sentences nor correct punctuation which does not demonstrate to us that you have strong writing abilities.

Best of luck in your search.


u are a first class fool

punctuation, stick it up your arse

This applicant is also quite eloquent, it seems. Needless to say, he’s not going to be considered for the writing position.

This entry wants to stick some punctuation up its arse!

Jan 30 2008


“That’s how it starts: one of the little metal parts moves out of the way for the other.” He seemed quite serious, but inside he knew it was all bullshit.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she said, “if I had time to explain it to you better, I would. Right now I just need to get through the last of these.” Her hand moved almost mechanically, as though she’d done it a thousand times before. Her face was one of blank focus as she worked.

“We’ve been through this before. Why don’t you put them down for now and we’ll fix something for dinner. You should just relax for the rest of the evening.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder. Thinking the better of it, he removed it again. “Besides, you like Italian,” he added with a smile.

With a sigh of mock defeat, she pushed aside the contraption and turned to look at him. “You’re right. I am getting hungry.” She stood and walked towards the kitchen. “You are going to help, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. What would you like to drink?” He followed her into the small kitchen, reaching above the counter that also served as their dinner table to get a couple of wine glasses.

“Sangria, if I still have a bottle left, otherwise something else red. I feel as though I could drink the whole bottle.” She filled the large boiling pot with water and salted it well. She turned on the stove and hummed a dissonant tune.

“Here you go, ” he handed her the glass of wine, taking a sip of his at the same time. “I’ll start the salad.”

“Thanks for coming over. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

This entry just felt like writing.