Well, the time has come for me to say goodbye...
No, too sentimental
I have decided to accept the offer given to me by the ---------.
No too impersonal
Unfortunately, I have decided to resign....
What if he says "unfortunately" for whom?
As you can see, I've decided to take the job offered to me by another publication. Money had a good deal to do with it, since I'm now being offered almost double of what I make now.
But, oh, but. I'm so attached to this job. It's my very first job, when I was still tilting in indescion about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
My first office party, my first paycheck, my first raise. Having a column. My first byline. Errors like repeating the comic strip two days in a row that cost me my leave one year. My first press junket, where this one woman (incidentally from the publication I am joining now) told me I had to "grow up before I thought of being a journalist." Working till 2 am on a special issue. Working on the coffee supplement. Knowing what terms like "assignments" and "file your story" and "beats" and "press cons" meant. Quark Xpress, the bane of my existance. Keyboard shortcuts.
Learning and surprising myself by knowing things and people. The joy of having your story "followed up" by other papers.
Ooh, my press card. And my business cards, with "Features Writer" beneath them that I distributed to everyone I knew. My press sticker for my car.
Being a part of the media. Forgetting shyness. Learning a new confidence in myself and my abilities.
And now, moving on. Moving up. In me, there's a sense of betrayal, like leaving a relationship. Like cheating on someone. And my editor's words, "You're a good kid. You'll do well in journalism."
Well, I certainly hope so.