Here’s an example: I am very interested in your business reporting job. Short, sweet, no nonsense In response to your ad, please find my resume and clips. I have covered small-town politics in Texas, crime in Atlanta and environmental issues in New Jersey. Autobiographical Persistence and patience are two things a reporter needs. I am a small-town girl with my eyes set on the world. You: Busy editor working late and staring at a growing mountain of job applications. If the positions have yet to be filled, please consider the brief resume which accompanies this letter. Confidence gone crazy You would be crazy not to hire me. The reason I’m interested in working for your paper is I would like to move back to the area.
Her inbox is most likely littered with boring messages like yours unless you do something about it. Think beyond your comfort zone be intriguing, coax her into letting you in and reacting to your first email.
We have heard of the might of the kings” the Old English of “Hwæt! This is despite the research suggesting that the Anglo Saxons made little use of the exclamation mark or indeed much other punctuation beyond the full stop or the occasional semi colon.
We Gar-Dena in gear-dagum, þeod-cyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon! Although its origins as a folk story brought to England by the pre-Christian Germanic tribes are largely unknown, the poem became an object of academic and popular interest when it was first published in 1815 by the Scandinavian scholar Grímur Jónsson Thorkelin.
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. The Miss Lonelyhearts of the New York Post-Dispatch (Are you in trouble? —Write-to-Miss-Lonelyhearts-and-she-will-help-you) sat at his desk and stared at a piece of white cardboard. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo. I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing;—that not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind;—and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost:—Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly,—I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me. It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. —Raymond Federman, Home | About Us | Current Issue | Back Issues | Reading Series | Donations | Subscribe Advertise | Contact Us | Related Links Site supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts, which believes a great nation deserves great art.