1 You work from 9-5... No more no less.

My parents were the type of parents who knew I had a passion for writing.

I was an old soul in a modern lifetime

I had expressed my dreams of becoming a journalist at a very young age. As soon as I turned 12, my dear parents bought me a typewriter. I named her Kala, meaning one with artistic talents.

I began writing my own newspaper, starting off with easy topics like what was for dinner to what was on sale at the market. Of course I later learned that the market already had an advertisement system and my mother didn't want the whole neighborhood to know what our weekly dinner menu was. I found a gig at a local diner to make a sales paper for the weekly special. I only worked for 4 years, earning around $10.50 a week.

My parents saw that my talents were being suppressed by the diner gig. Mr. Hollum, the diners owner, told me to go find a new passion. Little did I know was that his grandson had wanted to take my place and work for free. I don't work for free.

By my 18th birthday, my parents had wrapped a box of notebooks up in a newspaper. I read the paper and saw a position for a journalist/creative writer at a writing center called "Wake Up World". It was in the city. We lived in a suburban town.

My mother wanted me to work and be independent. My father didn't quite like the idea of me driving. By age 20 I was driving like a pro.

I decided that by my 21st birthday I would attempt to apply for my first job!

I called and was granted an interview from the manager of "Wake Up World". I didn't expect to have the interview date set for next week. I was still moving into an apartment with a good friend of mine, Holly Birch.

My dad came over to help me settle my furniture and boxes into the new space. He insisted that I take his advice by saying,

"You work from 9-5... No more no less."

I gave him a hug and told him that I couldn't promise what the manager would say, let alone if they would hire me on.

When midweek came along, my mom came over, claiming to have brought me a business suit for the interview. It was a green velvet blazer and an orange blouse, complete with a matching headband.

My mom hadn't told me that it was her first suit. Not wanting to reject the kind gesture or gift, I tried it on. It fit me like a glove. I paired it with black slacks and black gloss short heeled boots.

She got teary eyed and hugged me tightly. I looked like the mirror image of her when she went looking for a job in fashion.

I had taken a two week long diet in case I couldn't fit the suit again. I had committed to going to the gym and fasting on breakfast and dinner. I only ate protein bars and shakes when needed.

On Saturday, the day of the interview, my parents gave me the whole "Violet, stay strong even if you don't get hired" speech over the phone.

I drove to the nicer side of the city and parked in the small parking lot.

I had brought a resume of my previous experiences of writing, education and skills.

I walked into the office feeling confident and slightly nervous. The moment the managers office doors opened, my destiny or fate would be decided.