Breaking into the publishing world is not fun. From any
standpoint. Whether you want to be a writer, an agent, an editor, or whatever
else. Possibly the only easy way into publishing is gaining employment in a
basement mailroom. But seeing as I’ve already done the mail-sorting thing, I
figured that I’d try another route into this whole shebang: an Internship.
It’s been years since I penned my first story for my
undergraduate degree, a five-pager written for my “Intro to Creative Writing”
course. For the most part, I hated that class. However, it was the first time I
realized how much I enjoyed writing—no, not enjoyed, but loved writing. Ever since I
was in Kindergarten—where I’d dictate the story to my teacher, who then let me create
the illustrations—I’ve written off and on, always enjoying myself but never
really having aspirations to be a Writer. That all changed in my intro course,
when I realized how much I wanted to tell stories. I haven’t looked back since.
Sure, I’ve questioned my purpose or if I’ve chosen the right
path. I mean, what writer doesn’t feel like they’re just wasting their time
when the rejection letters start rolling in, especially the impersonalized form
rejections? But I keep on, simply because of my love.
It’s led me through some highs and lows, everything from
publishing short stories to hearing “No thank you” after “No thank you” in
regards to my master’s thesis novel. And, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if
my writing aspirations aren’t a key factor with my building anxiety issues.
Still, I knew things would get better. And they have, on multiple levels.
First and foremost, I met my amazing writing counterpart,
Holly Cagney, with whom I’ve now written one completed manuscript and am on the
verge of finishing a first draft of our second novel. It’s been ridiculously
fun writing with her and rekindles my love for the written word every time it’s
my turn to write the next section of our novels.
Next, I realized how much I not only enjoy writing, but how
much I enjoy editing. I’m not talking about my own work. Fuck no. I hate
revision. It’s a necessary evil to writing, but I’d much rather be like Cynthia
Ozick and say that when a story or novel is finished, it’s finished, no
questions. But working on others’ material? I heart it almost as much as
writing itself. This realization led me on a quest to figure out what it would
take to become an editor in this overcomplicated publishing world. Everything
direction I found pointed to an internship.
So I poked around the internets, trying my best to track
down any literary internship. Problem was, the majority of them all want you to
be able to work in house—complete with fetching coffee, sorting files, and
answering phones. I’ve done that as an editorial assistant—and got paid for it.
I wasn’t about to do such a thing for free. Besides, I can’t, seeing as I’m not
living in one location long enough to cover a full stint of an internship.
Worse still, the few satellite internships I found had just passed their
deadlines. But I still discovered two to apply to.
Any of you job hunters out there know that these odds blow.
For once, though, the writing world wasn’t going to simply
ignore me or raise my hopes only to shat them back out on me with an
oh-so-courteous, “Thank you for letting us consider your work. Unfortunately…”
One of those two emailed me back. One of those two exchanged
a couple more emails with me. One of those two scheduled a phone interview,
whereupon a sixth-month internship was offered.
Now, I’m interning for the Andrea Hurst & AssociatesLiterary Management. Through them, I’ve been working with both Andrea and
Margaret Bail (an extremely wonderful person, by the by), helping assess
manuscripts, trolling through the slushpile, and will be able to see the rest of the
“back end” of the publishing process. I couldn’t be happier.
It may seem weird to some to become an intern in your
post-graduate life, working for free for the next sixth months, but when you’re
deadest on accomplishing one of your lifelong goals, a step like this feels
pretty fucking fantabulous. So go ahead, call me a 30-year-old intern because
it’s exactly where I want to be—side-stepping my way into the publishing world.
