I dedicated last summer to finding work experience in London. I designated two months to staying in my flat in Kingston and looking for work experience in publishing. I thought it would be great. I’d spend two weeks at one house, then onto the next and the next. What really happened was I sat around moaning about the heat and finally got around to apply to one publishing house, which I never heard from again.
Then I spent the last five weeks of summer at my parents’ house fulfilling maid of honour duties for a friend and I forgot all about it. When my masters’ degree began the discussion of work placements arose. I took the information they gave us, but decided I should be concentrating on my studies and needn’t worry. I would be too busy working and concentrating on getting a good grade was more important. The fact I picked up a charity admin volunteer role one day a week didn’t seem to come into the same category.
Midway through the term I thought I’d have another bash and apply for experience in January. I believe I actually managed two applications, one in London and one where my parents live. I heard nothing from the larger house and a kind rejection from the local press in Devon. I naturally assumed it was extremely difficult to find experience and I oughtn’t to even try.
On rolled Christmas, out rolled the volunteering role and in rolled a paid role. Another, more powerful, excuse to ignore the absent placement students at the beginning of the second semester. The summer, I told myself. There’ll be tons of free time in the summer.
Then came summer. And the dissertation. Another excuse. May trudged by. Then, as I looked towards my imminent trip to Australia a future plagued with job rejection letters loomed. If I had no experience, I would be jobless forever! Out came the netbook and in went the cover letters. I worked hard at my letters, drawing out any tit-bits of advice I’d stored in my memories. I applied regularly, ignoring my secret fears that no one would take on a work experience applicant asking for one day a week.
Then a friend recommended me to a website as a proof-reader. I nervously awaited a phone call and suddenly I was an editor. A from-home role using a few hours a week, but editor nonetheless. The next day, still high from my success I received a phone call from an unknown number. I tentatively answered. My application had arrived on my caller’s desk just as his colleague had said she could really do with an extra hand in the rights department.
So now I have two lots of experience on the go. I persevered even though I thought it was futile. And then there was sheer luck. I guess the moral of this story is don’t give up.
Until next time. Ttfn xx
 The fact I was studying Publishing in joint honours with Creative Writing meant a work placement wasn’t a requirement of the course. Something I still feel ought to be altered.
 The ever striving school child inside me still wins out.
 Inter-semester breaks are the bomb.
 Yes, you are right to be shocked. But, alas, these are the thoughts of the lazy student.
 Roly poly roly poly, up up up soon to become roly poly roly poly crash bang whallop...
 My defining metaphorical line between student-hood and adulthood.
 Give or take; I was still writing a dissertation and working one day a week.
 I had also just moved and was still getting phone calls from various estate agents.