'Cause it ain't no plain ol' cover-letter. I haven't written anything substantial, even semi-substantial, in months. Just haven't felt up to it. When you're only accountable to yourself, when you're not facing deadlines and A's & B's, well, you come face-to-face with a fiery-eyed motivator who doesn't end up having any teeth. The tongue-lashings are slack and weak, just for show. He can't draw blood. No spurs. No nothing. He just stares at you. And then everything's deferred, indefinitely postponed, ultimately canceled. And you feel guilty, 'cause the eyes are still on you. And then I got tired of it, and, desperately needing a distraction, I finally did something proactive. So here it is: a letter. Asking for an ordinary, run-of-the-mill position, but in a casual, let's-chat kind of way. Just a letter. But writing it felt good, and I think it's halfway decent besides, if a little scatter-brained. I've removed the name of the magazine, so now it's just about me. Anyway:
Hiya,
Well, here goes my (decidedly playful) cover-letter-esque, uh, letter. Can we call it a missive? Or a communiqué? I like that word (the latter). Makes me think of Cold War-era Soviet intelligence. Always scribbling out coded notes and zipping them off to top-level honchos at HQ. Anyway, on with the letter: From what little I know—from the ***** ***** Web site, mostly—you-all ladies seem pretty lively & colorful—spunky, if you will. Plenty o’ pizzaz. As for me, well, I’m much more dull than this letter has thus far suggested. I iron my solid-color/politely-patterned button-downs. I shine my shoes, which are usually very-ordinary brown leather. I despise exuberant self-promotion. In the fall (and in the winter, for that matter), I wear a Carhartt work jacket, ‘cause I like to pretend I’m a real Minnesotan. I mean, I’m just some guy. So, you’re asking, how do I fit? How can I contribute to a magazine as vivid and cosmopolitan as yours? Well, first off, I like to write (not that I’ve been doing that much of it lately—let me tell you, after a prolonged & soul-deadening period of academic inactivity—id est, the summer—writing this letter feels fantastic!). You-all saw fit to publish a very short piece of mine, The Knight, for which I’m very grateful. Second, I like to read. This past year, I was hot-on-your-heels (can I use that phrase as an adjective?) as a staffer (Head Fiction Editor) for the one-and-only Ivory Tower. I’ll be serious for a second about reading (well, and writing—after all, you need both): It’s my belief that, quite simply, there’s nothing better than a good story told well (whatever the format), and, as an editorial intern, I would want to ensure that the ideas—valuable, beautiful, life-altering ideas—are communicated clearly and effectively. Good stories (poems, etc.) just make you feel better, you know? Doctors save lives, and get paid handsomely for it. What do artists do? They make those lives worth living (and, moreover, they do it on the cheap—what a great deal for us, whose lives have been made whole, huh?). My last point, I declare, shall be a staggering collection of semi-sequitur one-liners. Here goes: I like hyphens. I like em-dashes. I like parentheses. I like spelling out i.e. (id est). I could, one day, wean myself off all of these. But the thing is, I like (when writing stuff like this) to write like I (sometimes) talk. It’s more personal if I’m always second-guessing and making qualifications. I don’t like being told anything—suggestions only, please, the more human the better. I want things to be a little uneven. It’s like walking on ill-fitted cobblestones, with lots of pebbles and gravel and crud in between. And they’re slippery, too; it just rained. I mean, nothing should ever be certain. Should you know when you’re at the end? The path you’re on will invariably intersect another path. What will the intersection look like? Stop signs? Flashing lights? Not likely. You’ve got no idea what’s happening in my (or any other) mind right now. You’re a planet. You’re a wanderer. Anyway, this is all just one big not-indented, run-on paragraph. And that last bit got away from me, but I’m leaving it in, ‘cause it’s some seriously conceptual shit (can I swear?). Back to the point: If possible, I’d love to help out at ***** ***** as an editorial intern. (My God, that was spastic. Funny thing is, I’m a serious person.) ((Double parentheses: Does this count as a writing sample?))
Sincerely (much too ordinary a sign-off, after all that),
Robert Kipp
