No creative writing class ever prepared me for this: the all consuming, multi-media, multi-querying world of professional writing.

There I was, a senior at Columbia University in New York City, jumping for joy when the Creative Writing Department informed me they would pay to copy and bind my senior project, a collection of short stories.  Imagine: to see a bit of my writing, for the first time, properly in print.

When I picked my stories up from Village Copier, the pages were still warm, the binding a sharp line of heat. This, I thought, would mark the commencement of my life as a professional writer.

I must have still been ecstatic from my beautifully bound writing when I sat down in the university's career counselor's office the next week, because when she asked me what my plans were for after gradation, I announced that I would move to California and become a writer at, you know, some newspaper.  

She arched her brow, looked at me sharply, and grunted:  “Uh-huh. Except that newspapers all over the world are dying.  And staff writers with twenty years experience are being laid off.  What makes you think that a twenty-two year old with no published work who has never lived in California could find work as a writer?”

Hmm. That hadn’t occurred to me.

“But I am an English major!”  I exclaimed. “That has to get me somewhere…?”

“Yes.” She continued.  “Somewhere like a very very small town in—where did you say you from,  Louisiana?  A teeny-tiny newspaper in the middle of Louisiana that may be looking for, say, a court reporter.”

“A court reporter?”

“Then slowly slowly, maybe you become the traffic reporter, and then the news reporter, and maybe, someday a feature writer.  Perhaps from there, you go to a suburb outside a larger city.”

“Really?”

“Slowly slowly, work your way up.  And maybe, twenty years from now, you can find yourself freelancing for the New York Times.”

“Freelancing?”

I did not like this one bit.  How could I not get a job writing?  I had spent four years huddled around old wooden tables discussing the placement of adjectives, the development of characters.  Had I done this all for nothing?

But she had spoken words of truth.  I had no training in journalism, and more importantly, no examples of published work.  As lovely as I thought my photocopied short stories were, they weren’t going to cut it for newspaper writing.

So I begrudgingly submitted to her logic.  Or at least, somewhat. There was no way that I was moving to Hick Town Louisiana, but if those big name newspapers and magazines weren’t going to let me work for them, there had to be some way I could get in contact with them.

So I began to enter travel writing contests from top magazines.  The biggest one was Conde Nast Traveler, the same publisher as Vogue, the New Yorker, and Harper’s Bazaar.  They were running a contest called “Win the Cover” where you submit a photo of a great travel moment with a 150 word blurb elucidating the experience.  The grand prize was a roundtrip airfare to Thailand, a five-night stay at a luxury spa resort, and $300 per day for meals at the resort.

I submitted a photo I had taken while studying abroad, jotted down a caption while riding the Staten Island Ferry on my way to tutor some kids the SAT, and forgotten about the whole thing.

Until I won.

And then I got to thinking: if I won this one, why couldn’t I win others?

So I started submitting my writing to other contests.  One of them, Costa Rica Pages, was asking for essays on a life changing travel movement, for a grand prize five night trip to Costa Rica.

I won that one.

So about the time I took the Thailand trip from Conde Nast, which I postponed for a year so I could time the free air fare with an eight month Asia trip, I decided this was it:  It was time to become a writer.  If I was winning from top name magazines, why couldn’t I write for them?

So here I am, fresh from an eight month trip to Asia with copious notes, thousands of photos, and a desperate desire to distill this raw material into workable travel writing.

Hopefully this course will propel me through all the technical part of writing that they never tell you when you're in college-- querying, pitching, submitting-- and on to becoming a writer, for real.

Five Magazines I would like to write for:

1.)    Conde Nast Traveler
Let’s dream big. Talk about exclusive, this magazine is published by the same people who put out “Vogue,” “The New Yorker,” and “Harper’s Bazaar.”  The last time I picked up a copy, Paul Theroux was the author of the feature article.  You can’t even find an email for submissions because, apparently, they only employ “staff writers” AKA only really famous and well-connected freelancers.

2.) www.Nola.com
editors@nola.com

Nola.com (Nola stands for New Orleans, Louisiana) is the website affiliated with our dear state newspaper: The Times Picayune.  They don’t actively accept submissions, in fact the email address I obtained was from an obscure ad for marketing, but I’m sure if you’re a local, you find your way online somehow.

3.)    World Hum
dispatches@worldhum.com
The writing on this website always impresses me, carefully edited and poignant.  

4.)    The Times Picayune
Who could argue that this isn’t a sweet name for a local newspaper?  Louisiana’s own official newspaper  reaches absolutely hilarious levels when speaking about local news.  (The perpetual bath ring that still hangs onto the city post-Katrina? We all know about that one.).  However, since they won a few Pulitzers from the hurricane coverage, and are cutting staff positions, writing for them has become increasingly competitive.

5.)    Matador!
You’ll accept some of my articles, right?