Here is a lesson in how life goes on without me: A few days away from my favorite morning writing spot and they rearrange the furniture. This morning, my coveted table in the corner was replaced with a napkin station. I’d come a tad out of my way to be there. I’ve realized that, with my schedule at my new job a bit more flexible than expected, I can just wake up a little earlier and walk a few extra minutes to the subway, and I can keep my beloved morning writing spot intact. Though I do wish they’d kept the table for me…
Some people have asked me how my new job is. To those who are wondering: This isn’t the place to go into detail, and my inability to send proper emails makes it worse, but I will say I’m happy about my choice. I love so many of the books I was assigned; they are the exact kind of books I was secretly hoping to work on. The people all seem so smart, so talented. (I am trying not to be too intimidated.) The organizational system there excites me to no end, though it’s something to get used to, and quickly. Everything is called by a different name than I’m used to. I can’t find anyone (though today I started surreptitiously writing down office numbers). All I am left with is the solid knowledge that I must step up my game. I must be good, to make it there. I will be working very hard to prove I deserve to be there. Wish me luck.
To those who don’t find it relevant: Don’t worry, I don’t want to keep talking about work—this space was never meant to be about my day job in publishing, but about my writing, and all the various struggles involved with that. I’m not sure which is more (or less) exciting, except where else can I whine about my new rejections (though none since the last one), and tell you that I’ve been working on revising this story for weeks on end and there’s still something jumpy about it, maybe it’s my transitions, and what do you do when your story gets really good around page 10 but you’re not so sure about the first nine pages? Do you cut them out entirely? Then how does your story make sense? Do you reimagine? Do you edit to death? Do you cry? I don’t have a writers group or a workshop to show this thing to, so I have no worldly idea. That’s why I’m telling you.
This weekend I hope to get a handle on it.