Inside The Washington Post I am just about invisible, unless I act out, in which case I am treated like an intimidating, overbearing, frightening-type black. Then, people notice me. In some ways, the corporate culture is like elementary school: the bad kids are the ones who get the most attention. I realize this when, after three months of generally agreeable behavior, I have only one 750-word story published, a silly item for the grab-bag section on a woman who runs a shop selling magical teas and herbs. This is not so amazing in the hectic world of the newspaper culture, where leads are followed, sources interviewed, stories written, and then BAM! made irrelevant by a more important breaking story. But I am new to that culture; I'm a magazine writer who, as a free-lancer, seldom had a story rejected. Here at he Post I'm batting near zero.

It seems to be enough that I am here, black and female. No one but me feels it necessary that I actually do anything. As long as I can say that I am "working on" something, everyone is cool.

Everyone but me, that is.

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