Chapter 6: Hannah
Holy shit, Carlos’sstrategy is working. Not for getting a job with ESPN, but for getting traction on ClikClak. My videos are starting to get views. Like a few thousand apiece. Especially for the dog park series.
It certainly helps that there’s a corgi there named Sir Fluffybottoms—I shit you not—who thinks he runs the show. But today, it’s a whole new ball game. A tiny demon chihuahua showed up and literally made a Great Dane cower. I’ve been studying my dog puns and practicing my sportscaster’s voice.
Not to mention, I sort of love having my face all pretty and stuff. Not enough to learn how to do it all myself, but I’ll enjoy having Carlos at my disposal before he moves on to be a makeup artist to the stars.
I’ve never been one to embrace my feminine side, but I could be convinced. I’ve even started wearing mascara to work.
Today, I have to film my sports gossip features. It’s where I talk about the best, juiciest sports news that has little or nothing to do with actual play. It’s the stuff even non-sports people like to hear about. The stories are relatively easy to find on the internet. Someone cheated on their significant other. A random tweet about a hidden relationship.
I have files and notes all over my phone so I’m never without content ideas. Now I know why Carlos wanted me to quit my job. This is pretty much all-consuming. But it’s not paying any bills yet, so I still have to work in catering.
To manage, I batch-create whenever I have the time. I take out my list of topics, record several videos, and then edit and publish them later. The juiciest stories get the first videos, with other ones in store for when I don’t have time to film. I’m going to make a bunch when I get off work tonight.
If I can keep up this rate of growth, I might be able to parlay this into something to send on come the spring. That’s the plan: At least four months of social media presence to show I have some staying power. I need to keep up with consistent posts so I keep gaining more followers. I doubt I can depend on my growth being linear. If that were the case, I’d be in the millions when I plan on sending out resumes and applying for positions.
As long as I make myself finally do it.
The thing with having your dream ripped out of your hands once is that it makes you a little hesitant to try for it again. There’s a big part of me that knows I probably was never going to make it as a professional soccer player. While Indiana was a D1 school, we weren’t that highly ranked, at least not compared to the men’s program. And it’s not like I was the best on the team. I wasn’t even consistently a starter.
But still, I was supposed to have two more years to improve my physical game, and then who knows what could have happened? I could have been the next Abby Wambach. Instead, courtesy of a crazy medical thing, I nearly died and said goodbye to my soccer career.
It sucked royally.
It’s been so much easier not to get my hopes up again. Every time I do, I’m disappointed. It’s safer not trying. It might not be fulfilling, but at least I’m not getting crushed. I stay in the moment and don’t look toward the future. It’s best not to have expectations.
I’m a survivalist.
As I see my views and followers rise, it makes me nervous. If I’m successful here, I’llhaveto do something with it.
I have to try.
I take a deep breath and continue my search, trying to ignore the feelings that are making my chest tight. I can’t help but think about everything that went down out in Bloomington that set me on my current path.
Callaghan Entay.
As much as I want to blame him, it’s not all his fault. I mean, it most likely wouldn’t have happened if not for our night together, but it’s nothing either one of us did on purpose.
At least that’s what the doctors said.
Rare medical fluke.
