My Accidental Career
Have you ever bluffed your way into a job?
In my ongoing task of digging through the overwhelming amount of my family’s old photos and papers to form some semblance of an organized archive, I’ve recently encountered episodes of my life that I haven’t thought about in years. Including the one that turned me into a professional writer.
It started with accepting an emergency assignment for a job I knew nothing about.
One Friday morning in L.A., a friend called me at work to ask if I could fill in for a journalist who was scheduled to cover the opening of a new tennis camp in Lake Tahoe over the weekend. Apparently, the designated reporter fell ill at the last minute, and the magazine was desperate to find a replacement.
Would I take the gig?
I knew zero about the game of tennis, but the magazine didn’t know that. They hadn’t asked. That’s how desperate they were.
The job meant a few extra bucks for me, and I had no weekend plans. So, that evening, I borrowed a racket from a friend, packed a bag and boarded the next puddle jumper from L.A. to Tahoe to cover the event.
This was in pre-Internet days, so there was no way for me to access information about the game of tennis or the new camp, a reality that hadn’t sunk in until I was on the plane. I told myself that a reporter’s job was just to ask questions, which helped calm my nerves. After all, I’d written lots of reports in high school and college. What could be so hard about writing this one?
By the time I arrived, it was almost midnight. I’d already missed the welcome dinner and any chance to find out anything in advance of tomorrow’s Opening Day’s activities.
The first thing I learned when I arrived at the courts the next morning was that the camp’s purpose was to teach tennis professionals how to teach tennis. All the attendees were accomplished players. All fifteen or so of them were there to get certified as tennis pros at various country clubs around the nation. Since they were already seasoned athletes, the training was sure to be exceedingly rigorous. And I was expected to participate.
After a long and excruciating first day on the court, I was ready for bed as soon as the sun set. When I woke the next morning, my legs were completely in spasm. I rolled off the bed onto the floor and belly-crawled to the bathroom, then hoisted myself into the bathtub. After a few minutes of soaking in warm water, the cramps relaxed just enough for me to hobble to the courts in time for a second round of torture. All the pros were already warming up, practicing their sleek forehands, twisty backhands, powerful overhead smashes, cunning lobs, and the rest of the words in my new sports vocabulary.
I returned to L.A., turned in my report, and collected the check. The next month, Tennis Illustrated published the article. A few weeks later, they called to ask if I’d be interested in being their editor. The offer was almost twice what my job as Assistant to the Director of Production at The American Film Institute paid, so I accepted.
And then I really panicked. I wasn’t really sure what an editor did. And all I knew about the tennis world was from those two days at the resort. How could I possibly run the magazine?
Luckily, the friend who had loaned me his racket came to the rescue again. Not only did he know tennis, but he’d also been the editor of his college newspaper. He gave me his extra racket along with a manual of editorial squiggles (which I came to learn were called “proofreaders’ marks”) so I’d know how to mark copy.
That is how, while I was still in my twenties, my life as a professional writer began. After a couple of years of covering big tournaments and interviewing tennis greats, I moved on to the masthead of a lifestyle magazine, where I earned a national journalism award. And then I turned to writing novels, which also happened to me out of the blue. But that’s a story for another time.
Today, with my multi-award-winning Samantha Newman Mystery Series—and beloved writing colleagues all over the country—I’m thrilled to be part of the publishing community. And I’m working on another book. But that is another story for another time.
To all the aspiring writers out there, keep writing. You never know when good luck might lead you to your best life.
Gay Yellen’s award-winning writing career began in magazine journalism. She later served as the contributing writer for the international thriller, Five Minutes to Midnight (Delacorte), which debuted as a New York Times “Notable.”
Her multi-award-winning Samantha Newman Mystery Series is packed with suspense and laced with touches of romance, heart, and humor. Available on Amazon or through your favorite bookseller.
If ever a book begged for an abridged version (I thought back then), Melville’s was a good candidate.
Gay Yellen
But the publisher who loved it marketed 
Which brings me to Book 3, 
As a lifelong book lover, I read newsletters and articles by literary critics on what they think is important to read. So in January, I usually check the various “Best” book lists for the past year.
Reader’s Digest doesn’t stop at mere books of the year. It also publishes “The 100 Best Books of All Time.” What they do when new books are published is a mystery. They could easily drop Hamlet from the current list. It’s a remarkable piece of literature, but it isn’t a book. But what about the other 99?
Does this look like a cube to you? No. It’s a rectangular pyramid with a rounded-off top, kind of like a mini lump of half-spent charcoal. Those smart fridge engineers had to know it wasn’t a cube. Maybe “lump” was too down-scale a word for the marketing team. Sure, the pieces chill like a cube, but still… it rankled the editor in me.
For a visual reference, here’s a cabochon amethyst cut in a shape called “sugar loaf” that’s almost identical to our lumps. Obviously, gemologists are way more careful with their language.