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Does Anyone Here Need Someone Who Needs a Job?

I’m a team-playing, self-starting, out-of-the-box thinking, detail-oriented dynamo who you need to hire, like, yesterday

Friends, I had a lightbulb moment after scrolling through the many jobs on Indeed and even this platform that I’ll never have a shot at because most hiring managers and recruiters turn a blind eye to more “seasoned” workers. Because I’m not in my twenties, thirties, forties, or even fifties. I’m in my sixties and to some, that equates “decrepitude.”

I’m saying “bullshit” to that.

So, I thought, instead of traversing the same tired route, why not reach out to this diverse community of individuals who are engaged in any number of varied pursuits and offer my equally diverse toolbox of tricks? (I could have used another noun but “tips” and “tricks” appear to be well-received, here.)

All snark aside, I am so adept at what I do that it’s almost embarrassing to not be doing it. And that is writing for a wide range of industries, clients, publications, media, mensches, jerkoffs, and the like. In other words, I can do it all, people. Except write about bitcoin. I have my principles.

Take the following as a kind of resume, if you will. And feel free to ask questions, later.

I began my illustrious career in public relations, as an assistant to the Big Boss. She liked my style and because I nagged the hell out of her, gave me a shot at writing press releases and public service announcements for clients like The American Library Association, which had such supporters as The Chicago White Sox, Mike Royko, and Bill (“I shoulda stuck to Jello”) Cosby.

Remind me to tell you about the day I crossed the street to meet with Royko at the Chicago Tribune to tape the PSA I’d written for him on behalf of The American Library Association. I nearly wet myself. Or, my experience taping a couple of the White Sox during their 80s heyday, in their locker room, no less.

I had a huge crush on power-hitter, Ron Kittle. Apropos to nothing, I realize.

After my PR stint, I secured a gig at The Chicago Sun-Times as a promotional writer, thanks to my mom. She was the office manager at the fabled Como Inn at the time, where a lot of Sun-Times staffers hung out. I don’t know how she did it, but she scored me an interview and I was hired.

Loved it. What a ride.

The promotions department was really an in-house advertising agency with the sole client being the Sun-Times. Every day was different. I wrote print copy, radio ads for AM and PM drive times, to let readers know what was going to be published in the next day’s edition and also worked on an endless stream of special projects and contests sponsored by the paper.

The guy whom I was dating during this time, and who would become my spouse, also got a job there, in the public relations department, which was headed up by Royko’s then-girlfriend who became his wife. She was a great gal. In fact, we were invited to their wedding. At a restricted country club.

Yes, you read that right.

Do any of you remember columnist Irv Kupcinet? The guy was a true mensch, gracious to everyone and so kind that when my boyfriend and I decided to tie the knot (finally), he made mention of our engagement in his column.

One day, I was called up to the editorial department and was asked if I wanted to write feature stories on a part-time basis. My promotional work had been well-received by several editors as they had to approve much of my copy, and I was given the shot of a lifetime.

Of course, I wanted to write features. With a by-line, no less. So, I went for it. I was given a ton of creative license in that I was allowed to pitch my ideas to the editor in charge. One of my favorite pieces was entitled “The L to Hell,” about riding Chicago’s elevated train system.

Much later, after exiting the Sun-Times, I wrote a few features for the Chicago Tribune, most notably, a story about anorexia in men. One of my former Sun-Times coworkers suffered from the disease and asked that I write about him. Anonymously, of course.

My Sun-Times gig was one of those dream jobs that couldn’t last, and it didn’t but hell, to paraphrase Soul Train’s legendary frontman, Don Cornelius, “You can bet your last money it was a stone gas, honey.”

If you’re still with me, I won’t bore you with the details, but after the Sun-Times, I made the switch to advertising and marketing agencies, where I bubbled and toiled for many, many years until my involuntary “retirement” in February of 2018. On Valentine’s Day.

Yeah. They showed me the love.

And, I’m a produced screenwriter, a gig that I’m going to continue to pursue as it’s my dream. Crazy, perhaps. But, I’m crazy, so sue me.

In November of 2018, I started writing on Medium, to the enormous delight of…who?

Just kidding. To the enormous delight of my nearly 4k followers, I hope.

Yet it took me over three years to realize that I will never make any semblance of a “living,” on that platform. As hard as I try and as often as I write, I can’t seem to crack the code. My stories will never go viral. I’ll never be trending and unless the planets realign and Republicans burn in hell, I’ll never pull in more than $150 a month. If that. Even though I receive “Your audience is growing” emails, almost daily.

I just don’t understand the mysterious machinations of that place and probably never will.

So, who wants me, huh? Come on, step right up. And don’t be shy because I’m fairly easy-going, for the most part. Fun to work with, even, as many former coworkers would attest to.

What I’m taking a year and a day to say is, if you need any manner of writing assistance, be it editing or ghostwriting or conceptual help, I’m available.

Hell, am I available.

Perhaps you could use an assist marketing a new business venture. I’ll target. your audience and suck up customers like a Roomba on steroids.

Or, maybe you’ve been planning to write an “F you” letter to your ex-nimrod of a boss, but can’t find the exact words because your emotions are getting in the way. I got your back, there, guaranteed. Or even, a “Dear John, or Jane” breakup missive to your louse of a partner who was caught in your bed with someone who wasn’t you.

I’m there!

Want to be the next Quentin Tarantino and write a killer screenplay? I can coach you through that, as well.

Fee-wise, I’m reasonable, but you’re not getting anything for free. I just want to make that clear from the get-go. No. Free. Work. I’ve done too much of that just applying for jobs, for chrissake.

All right. Enough about me. Now tell me: What do you need? But tell me quickly as hopefully, I won’t be on the market for long.

Because, now, I’m mellow and open to possibilities. But, as Woody Allen said, “You mellow too much, you ripen and rot.”

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Sherry McGuinn
Sherry McGuinnhttps://medium.com/@sherrymcguinn
Sherry McGuinn is a long-time, Chicago area, advertising/marketing writer, blogger and, for the last fifteen years, screenwriter. A big-time dreamer and proud of it, Sherry has had two short films produced, one in L.A., the other in New York. Both won several awards and screened at festivals but she is still "fighting the good fight," in order to become a full-time, working screenwriter. A passionate straight-shooter who never rests on her laurels, Sherry writes about damn near everything because how do you encapsulate…life? Unflinching in her determination to “just tell the truth,” Sherry strives to educate, engage and inspire others to follow their dreams. A lifelong animal lover and advocate, Sherry resides in a Chicago suburb with her husband and their three fabulous felines.

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