Publishing job applicant advice.

There is a difference between "editorial assistant" and "assistant editor"--usually a minimum of two years as the former and above-and-beyond hard work to achieve the latter. Don't use the two phrases interchangeably when you are applying for the former.

My Fug Lady.

I had a great time in Iowa! Erika and I watched girly movies, ate ice cream from the container, played with Punkin in the park and at the children's museum, took him to see Wall-E, went to the Daiquiri Factory (sans Punkin, who had a sitter) for her birthday...all in all it was just what the doctor ordered, at least for me.

But then I came back and was dismayed to see this:



You know, I'm one of the few staunch Keira fans I know. I thought she ... didn't excel in Atonement, but that's like the harshest thing I've ever said about her. I'm the lone person who even bought both of the Vogues she appeared on the cover on in 2007.

Um, if this is the best they could do for the cover photo, I don't think I'm buying this one...

Update: I knew the fug girls wouldn't let me down.

Breaking brain cells.

Gag me.

Don't even get me started.

Instead, just think: my three a.m. wakeup time is totally worth it since I'll be in Iowa with Erika before lunch!

Muleheaded.

After a few weeks of Googling, Chris found a wedding location online that we REALLY liked the looks of, and my mom and stepdad did us the favor of driving over and scoping it out yesterday. They raved about the grounds. It's in a beautiful historic town in Virginia, easily airport accessible. Even the price isn't so bad.

BUT (of course there's a but) the venue not only requires you to go through a specific wedding planner, the wedding planner requires you to use their vendors.

Perhaps I'm making things overly difficult for myself, but after those initial weeks of not having a wedding vision, Chris and I now have a very strong vision, and it involves doing a lot of things ourselves. We don't want to be strong-armed into our choice of a photographer, caterer, or florist. I think imported stone columns, three terraces, and a boxwood maze are just going to have to be the elegant backdrop to some other couple's nuptials.

We're still thinking about it, but it might be back to Step One in terms of locale-hunting...

Nitpicketline.

I shrugged to myself.
I nodded and said...
I winced.
I shivered at the thought.
I shook my head and said / I shook my head to myself.
I shuddered.
I raised my eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes.

I can't speak to books for adults--my non-required reading has recently been confined to re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the countless time, a book which commits none of these crimes (nor, let's face it, any other)--but when I find these phrases in a manuscript, my red pencil leaves bloody slashes across the page.

You could argue that once in a while these sayings are necessary, and I can see that it could be true. "Once in a while" being the operative phrase. But even then I'm still going to try to persuade you to get rid of it. (It's not just the first person use of these cliches that I object to; one could argue that "She shrugged to herself" is even more obnoxious. Have YOU ever shrugged to yourself? I didn't think so.)

The manuscript I'm reading now, while otherwise promising, used all of these and more within the span of ONE CHAPTER.

Behind the curtain.

Today my boss took an author and his wife to lunch and I got to tag along. Well, actually, it's one of my new authors, or I should say, I'm his new editor. Anyway, I was a little nervous. I'm his sixth editor at this publishing company in the ten or so years he's been writing for us. He asked me to stick around, please. But he was so nice, and so was his wife, and I went from feeling apprehensive to warm and fuzzy by the end of the meal.

We went to a hotel on the other end of our block. It's a schmancy hotel on the corner of Fifth Avenue, with doormen and a roof terrace and potted palms. They sat us in four pink armchairs at a small round table in the corner of the upstairs lounge, rather than in the dining room. I should have had a salad, but Caesar was the only option, and it's not my favorite. Instead I had grilled chicken with goat cheese and roasted red pepper on toasted ciabatta.

In the opposite corner a twentysomething woman sat by herself with a magazine, eating her own solitary lunch. A waiter in a white vest served her a Bellini from a tray. Must be nice, I thought.

Then I turned back to my own table and thought, This is as nice as a work meeting could possibly get.

Surface.

I'm not an artist...I don't often create anything besides memos...but for some reason I find arranging items in my home (I guess I have to call it "decorating") to be profoundly satisfying.

When I was setting up the bedroom, I was really inspired by these photos. Now I'm wondering if I want to be even more of a copycat and pull together white, cream, and beige bedding. We have a purply blue duvet cover and a green throw, which makes the room looks cool and springlike; but I just love the peacefulness in this photo. (I've also been on the hunt for those striped pillows, to no avail.) Chris's mom just gave us a cream fleece blanket, so it wouldn't be hard to test.