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Finding Daniella: Chapter 2 – Who Owns My Soul?

25 Mar

I’m not overreacting, not really.  It’s just that when I started into journalism, I’d imagined so many jobs.  So many places I could go.  But nowhere in the list of “Things to do before I die” did I have an entry titled “Work at an ad agency writing ad copies for products no one needs”.  I guess that’s disillusionment for you.  My parents call it “growing up”.


Apparently, the world is short on jobs writing for People magazine, or writing articles on starving children in… well, somewhere.


But recently, I convinced myself that a job is just a job.  I can’t recall why I wanted to go into journalism in the first place these days.  It seems so long ago now that I was submitting college applications.  And somewhere along the way, I forgot why I wanted to do this.  And now I can’t remember and it no longer seems important. 




I’m sitting in front of the MacBook I bought so that I could be trendy, like all of the writers sitting at their local Starbucks, sipping five dollar lattes and typing furiously to show everyone that they’re writers.  Snobbery at its finest. 


I used to be one, writing articles and stories that were all-important to me, but which no one else would contemplate reading.  It seemed important to me.


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Finding Daniella: Chapter 1 – The Hardest things

23 Mar

This is the first novel I’ve started in a long while, so I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out. It’s chick lit, so readers be warned…


There’s an irritating buzzing going off next to me and the pillow over my head isn’t helping. I pull the pillow off – it’s not doing much good where it is anyway – and start the search for the incredibly annoying buzzsaw.

I’ve just found the snooze button (I guess it was the alarm clock going off) when someone starts knocking on my door.

“What?” I groan, wishing that the rest of the world – my world – would disappear temporarily.

“Daniella?” A voice comes through the door. “Daniella, it’s time to get up. You’re going to be late!”

Late for what? Is the first thought that goes through my head. It’s not like I have somewhere to be. It’s not as if I have a job or…

Oh, shit. Now I recall. I have a job interview today. I spit out those words in my head as I take inventory of my body. Well, my head feels like a dump truck just backed into it. The rest of me doesn’t feel too much different either.

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