just minishorts.

Well. I always wanted to become an author, but my ideals of authoring for a royalty was equated with something far, far more glamourous. Never in my entire being on earth have I imagined writing books for students to study with.

I've been on a freelance job hunt, and in the process, I've been asked if I were interested in writing books for particular markets.

'If you don't want to use your name, you can use a pseudonym. Not a problem.'
'Urm.'
'I want eight sets of SPM model test papers from you. I'll pay you a proper sum for each set.'
'I don't want a lump sum can ah?'
'If you want a royalty, we don't do that.'
'Why don't we do this? I'll work on these existing titles first, and if you like what I do to the work, then we discuss the royalty division.'
'Okay. Let's see what happens.'

So much for quitting the job and looking to a life of freedom. Now what I've got to do is to empty out the heavy boxes, and then start off with the work. Eight tests, equals eight reading passages, and several other stuff that needs a lot of brain squeezing. Why was it that I'm doing educational publishing again?

Because it's the only serious publishing in the country that makes money.

Now that fact alone makes me wish that the country had the likes of Simon and Schuster or Bloomsbury in the picture—and the likes of these will accept our materials. However, being a professional in the business, I have my own views on why it is so difficult for South East Asian writers like us to break into the international market. We'll leave that for another day.

OK. So now I've left the organization and am all alone. The day I left, it was Chap Goh Meh, and Eric had taken leave from work just to fetch me to the office and back home. He put a huge box of Kleenex in the back seat, and he was certain that I would burst out in tears.

'What makes you think I would cry?'
'Well, it's your first job, and I've seen people cry mah.'
'Uh.'
'I think you will cry.'
'I bet that I won't. I don't give a shit about things no more.'
'I bet the movie and lunch that you would.'
'Deal.'

I didn't cry. The day I said goodbye, I wrote four thank you cards to my immediate seniors (and the Managing Director), knocked on the doors and handed them my thanks and 'appreciation'. Although I'm not sure if the word ought to be placed within the inverted commas—after all, I did learn a great deal at Fajar the office. But the thought of leaving was welcoming, and the moment I left the premises, I felt wonderfully released and fresh… and knowing that I would be back on Friday (to deliver some agreements, for free, mind you), just made me realize that in this book business, you can't leave everything behind as you wish.

I'm starting work immediately though. It doesn't mean I'm not busy, or that I'm loitering around. I've got some books up my sleeves, and you'll see me crapping about horrid authors still. What to do? This is my rice bowl, so to speak. A girl's got to do, what a girl's got to do. Get it?

Aih. A toast to life. Or rather, the lack of it. Well. A toast to freedom, independency, and freelance jobs. And yes, if you need someone to help in some editing job, you know where to go. I think I can use some more petty cash.