Head First ▶️

Chapter 1

You know how they say be really careful about wishing for something because you just might end up getting it?

I always thought that it’s just plain bullshit.

    But judging how the last 20 minutes in my editor-in-chief’s office went from “How’s your day” to “I’m transferring you,” I’m pretty sure whichever wise man penned these words is actually psychic.

Or somehow related to Harry Potter.

I probably shouldn’t have silently wished for a more “thrilling” job. Out loud.

    Walking back to my desk, I could just hear my mother, flashback to my first day in college, saying, “What if you end up having to report in the middle of a war? You could get killed!” Give it to her to be over dramatic. But right now, all I feel is I am nearly into war. I love my mother with all my heart but being a former grade school teacher and now, EBay furniture seller, she freaks out about anything more exciting than the new season of Law and Order.

    She often questioned if I knew what I was getting into. Being a speech communication graduate in Virginia, I basically entered the world of news writing completely blind. After reading an article on the newspaper about taking risks in life, even if it means trying out something completely different, I had an epiphany. I mean, I did news writing in high school so I figured it wouldn’t be so bad. And so despite the tiny voice in my head saying it was a terrible idea, I quit teaching kids in the daycare London Bridge is Falling Down and applied as a news writer. But right now, it’s starting to look more like temporary insanity and lack of judgment rather than a calling.

I lost you didn’t I?

    The point is, two years in, I’m only starting to believe in myself that I could do it. Community stories are my thing and being transferred to our lifestyle department, writing about what’s hot and trendy in this year’s Fashion Week, is driving me a wee bit off the edge.

“—so freaked out?” Jessie Nichols, the only friend I managed to have, stared at me worriedly.

Attempting not to let her know that I heard a quarter of her seemingly long question, I let out a dramatic sigh, and dropped my head back.

    I snapped my head back, closing in on her face. “This is driving me nuts! I can’t transfer!” I motioned to my head and tapped it. “My brain and my body just can’t accept free running schedule. I need control.”

    She raised an eyebrow in confusion and backed up. “You, Joey-I-Can’t-Wait-To-Go-Home-Early-Daniels, is furious over having transferred to a department that allows you to cover events for two hours to three a day, go home to write the story, travel the world free of charge, then go home to write a story, and try out new restaurants for free, then I repeat,” she paused. “Go home and write the story—because?”

    “I—But—T-Then-“ I stuttered. She’s right. Lifestyle writers in our newspaper are among the free living. While I reported for work to the office after covering events, they had a flexible schedule to work with. It was to envy but I liked the office hours. I like spending the night till morning finishing up my stories, hunched over my desk. And the bland, cold coffee in the pantry. And attempting to sleep within the confined areas of—I’m totally kidding. If I were to be truly honest with myself, I’m ecstatic about transferring. But this is a major turn away, and change in my life in general is something I’m not so thrilled about.

“This is scary. I don’t think my ‘well-woven words and unusual angles in writing’ is gonna cut it,” I explained. Jessie placed her hands over my shoulder and shook me lightly. “You’re in shock. And denial mode. I get it.” She glanced at her watch and picked up my bag, tossing it to me. “You’ll get over it. Accept it even. Just sleep on it. And tomorrow, it’s all going to make sense. Besides the fact that you sooo got this, Chief Tanya did say you could turn it down. She’s not forcing you.” She smiled.