Ask a Writer! (Open)

[Feivel Silverstein]

Feivel had been surprised when he'd been asked to speak at Hammel. Yeah, he had a job that was able to support himself and his deadbeat brother, and it was in the same field at least of what he'd studied, but he didn't consider himself one of Hammel's big success stories. He'd wanted to go into broadcast journalism, but the glass ceiling for metas was more of a brick when you had giant, electric-blue butterfly wings and wanted to cover sports on-camera.

The reporter made himself comfortable, sitting on the table with his clip book and a few stacks of the local paper. Even sitting, he was so tall he towered over most of the students who stopped to look at his display. "Hello there! I'm Feivel Silverstein, and I'm a professional sports writer." He opened the binder on the table to show the clips of his writing. There was nothing quite like seeing his name in a byline, knowing he was writing something people liked to read. "I've been a reporter for seven years now, and I've worked with both newspapers and tv stations. I'm also the assistant sports editor for the local paper, so I cover college and minor league sports, and I edit the articles we get from our stringers. Anyone have any questions?"

[Melodee Riker]

The poor man actually thought writing about scores in a game was writing. Melodee felt her heart break a little for him, and for the sake of proper literature. Being an editor was more impressive, but over sports?

It was the greatest rift between she and her brother, but one day she hoped it would be repaired. And the Job Fair didn't seem to have much else in the way of things she was interested in. Certainly not this, but then she had gone to the fair with the intention of gathering information, and she was not going to leave empty handed. How would that look?

Terrifying. She had a reputation to uphold. Even if said reputation hadn't quite cemented itself at Hammel yet, she was going rule over it. She would be it's Queen in time. But she was gathering her court far more slowly than she had anticipated. A fact that would be remedied soon, she hoped.

"That sounds like a great deal of time and calender management." She commented, unhooking a pen from it's loop inside her planner. Her own style choices for the day was a simple elegance. She wasn't over done in jewelry, and the dress/bolero combination with flats seemed well suited for a young woman looking at what may lay ahead of her in the professional field in a few years.

Melodee had taken a page from her mother's book. Disarm, analyze, and then decide what to do with the information received. She would disarm with her appearance and analyze how he behaved for there might be something worth gleaning from him. Already she could tell that he was proud of his work, careful with his appearance, and that made him interesting enough while she made her rounds.

"How do you have time for all of that?"

[Feivel Silverstein]

"Exactly what you said. Time management." Feivel nodded at the teenager, thankful that someone was willing to stop for something other than staring at his wings. (Yeah, other people had butterfly-like wings, but rarely someone of his height.) "And learning how to write fast. It's useful in college, and being able to organize your thoughts quickly helps with whatever you want to do. Are you interested in journalism? Or writing, for that matter?"

He flipped the pages in his clip book again to the back, where a single page was covered with red scribbles and cross-outs. "This is what I do the rest of the time when I'm working. Learning how to edit yourself is another skill that's useful. Anyone who knows how to write well can really do well in whatever they want to do."

[Melodee Riker]

"I'm more interested in the editing and publishing properties for the writing world." Melodee permitted, stepping closer to take a careful look at the marks he'd made on a transcript. He was good at that, she would give him that much; though, she still believed that sports writing was hokum.

"I would imagine that editing oneself is the more difficult of the tasks. As it is your writing, you are automatically biased towards it. How do you overcome that particular challenge?" Opening the pink patterned planner she had, Mel turned to a note page and pulled the cap off of a Mont Blanc ball point her father had given her for her birthday. Poising it over the page, she waited, eyes expectant and head tilted as precisely the right angle to portray interest and listening.

As he spoke she jotted a few quick notes in a swift, but neat handwriting. It didn't do, her mother had told her, for anyone to have writing that is sloppy and illegible. Write to your station. Which was exactly what Melodee did. Her station was above nearly everyone, if not everyone, at Hammel. The older girls who believed the ran the school with a cold wit and air of authority didn't know what was coming.

They would learn soon enough, but for the moment, Melodee had other things to occupy her. The sports writer, for example.

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