My Dirty Little Secrets

When I was a practicing young Catholic I used to go to Confession every week, mostly to talk, and always to the same priest. He knew who I was, and I knew him, yet I always met him behind the screen. Somehow that made me feel safe. Not that a 13 year-old had too many deep, dark sins to confess, but it made me feel clean as if the sun was shining upon me after a sudden summer rain.

Okay, my dirty little secrets:
1.) I hate selling ads. I mean, I really, REALLY hate selling ads. I am a writer, and I am a reluctant publisher only because I love to write and really believe in the mission of New York Tails. And I believe in my people (our writers and volunteers). You could not assemble a better, bigger-hearted, devoted and intelligent team of people if you tried. It is just dumb luck that they all came under the New York Tails umbrella and I am honored to have them under it.

But, as publisher, I have to make sure the magazine keeps afloat, and a big part of that is ad sales. And, just like every magazine (and I mean every magazine) now-a-days, we are feeling the pinch not just from the advertising migration to online media, but the economy as well. We have an excellent product--award winning, even, with many of our associates and past contributors going on to national fame. But damn if I know how to sell it. I have to force myself to make X number of cold calls every day, and I even get afraid of calling my renewals. Why? I have no freaking idea. I'm just not a sales person.

When I was strictly on the editorial side on other publications I had nothing but thinly-veiled disdain for the ad side (and, truth be told, many of the sales people were world-class A-holes, like trying to whore me out so they could close the deal on an ad. I never allowed this to happen; even got fired once for it!) But I must say I do have a new appreciation for being on that side. When I call people up as "Diane West from New York Tails doing a story on..." you can see and hear their eyes light up. When I call as Diane West, publisher, seeing if you'd like to advertise in our next issue..."not so much. On top of all this, the summer is a notoriously slow time for ad sales (heck, sales of any kind, except maybe beer and watermelon). Put these together and you have a perfect storm of depression and fear.

2.) I am trying to clean my house for real this time. I've put it off since a big move back in November. I dream a dream of a day where I know exactly where the scissors are, where this month's rent bill is, where my socks without the holes are.Everyone tells me I'm going to feel better and more in control of my life and my surroundings after I declutter. Maybe.

I am unearthing all sort of dirty little secrets. Love letters from boyfriends long past (even married) now. Heart-rendering, wrenching, pain-filled letters and wild professions of love. Several marriage proposals--all rejected except one (which was later rejected.) Pictures of friends whom I haven't seen or spoken to in years, or who have moved to the other side of the world and have completely different lives now. Friends who just drifted away for reasons known and unknown. Friends who have died. Friends whose faces are a little chubbier now, a little more worn, eyes a little less bright. Photos of children I watched grow up who are now in college or who have children of their own. Yikes.

But, of course, in writing this I'm wasting time and procrastinating from dirty little secret #1.

At least I feel a little better.