wall street walking,

by Rachel Lynch in


Some days she was all work and no play. It's Monday morning and I've got to get to the office to make sure stories are correct and my ideas are in to my editors. Here, I'm a different kind of player. I've got a longer skirt on, a pair of glasses and my hair is pulled far back. This is still me, don't get it wrong. In fact, I'm more myself at the office than I am on a weekend bender. Perhaps this is who I'm becoming, a hard worker amongst the children waking up with hangovers. The tasks of working at a paper rock me like a good song and I'm ready to get down. Hands and knees, I'm scrambling to fit the words to the page and let the people know what's going on. Today I'm making a promise to myself. If I don't feel a story, if it doesn't move me or if it isn't honest, then I simply can't write it.