Where I've Been

In the interest of cutting to the chase, I'll have out with it: I got a job as a copy editor for a group of small magazines based in southeastern Connecticut.

I started on Tuesday.

The office is 40 miles from my house, but my route takes me mostly along the Merritt Parkway, which is a thoroughfare that is notoriously susceptible to delays, jams, and accidents. Depending on when I leave my house and whether traffic is flowing smoothly, the commute can range from 45 minutes to an hour-and-a-half.

It's a small office--there are five other people that work in this particular location (an editor, an editorial assistant, two production people, and a sales guy). There's no dress code in the office, and, like most publications I've worked for, salty language flows freely (not that I've allowed myself to curse a blue streak just yet).

The magazines are essentially internet and electronic media trade publications. I (obviously) won't name them here, but a typical article in one of the magazines might describe an emerging internet technology and provide instruction on how to incorporate this technology into one's internet-based business.

Two of the magazines I'm working for are produced in the office I work out of. Two others are produced in Madison, Wisconsin. My responsibilities are essentially to edit every article that will be published in each of the magazines for grammar, syntax and overall clarity. The work has thus far involved referring often to the AP Style Guide and The Elements of Style, doing a little layout work in Quark (the younger cousin of the PageMaker software we used at the Herald), and asking lots of style- and substance-related questions of my editor (the learning curve has been fairly steep in regards to the technical ins and outs of the software/technology/online media world).

My sense at this point is that this is an excellent opportunity. I don't necessarily see myself working in electronic media trade publications for the rest of my life, but I can certainly see myself working in some corner of the publishing industry. The real-world editorial experience I'll gain after just a few months at this job could (and should) bolster my resume enough to allow me to move up in the world. I'm essentially learning a trade, and the skills that I'll gain from this job could open a lot of doors.

But better not to count any of those chickens before they're hatched, of course.

Anyway, that's where I'm at.

In terms of the future, I'm planning to make a plan soon. It's still early fall, so I'm thinking I've still got time to apply for graduate programs for next year. (I almost certainly won't apply to law school; I'm thinking more along the lines of a short-term graduate degree in English or writing.) Also, I'm thinking very seriously about teaching for a while. Probably not Teach for America (I don't know that I can handle the two-year commitment). But perhaps a Dead Poets Society-type gig at some idyllic New England prep school. I'm sure I'd feel a few pangs of guilt (about the whole privilege perpetuating privilege thing--not that my upbringing was all the precious), but I'd just look at that kind of gig as a springboard into a more civic-minded career.

Surprisingly (or not), my state of mind is almost as turbulent now as it was back in the dark days of real unemployment. So I imagine this chronicle will be as angsty as ever. If not, hopefully it'll be just angsty enough to sustain your interest.

Until next time, friends. I've missed you.

Coming Soon...

...the return of (Temporarily) Unemployed.

A lot has happened over the past couple of months, and I fully intend to bring this chronicle up to speed on all that has gone on.

I've been grateful for the break from blogging in many respects. Spending a lot of time writing about how feckless my existence has been had the unitended consequence of miring me even deeper in self-pity and hopelessness. Without this blog as a crutch, the need to evolve became much more urgent. Granted, it took a full two months to right myself, but at last I can say that I've done it (more on the specifics in the next post--I'm not going to New York or Boston or Oregon, but I will be doing something stimulating and hopefully fulfilling for 37.5 hours per week).

There have been things that I've missed about keeping this record. I've longed for the sense of personal connection that comes with knowing that there are a few people out there who are mildly interested in reading about my comings and goings. There's a good chance that I'll never write something that gets published, but in whatever small way this blog has resembled the experience of being a real live author, I've enjoyed it.

Just to be a shameless tease, here are some of the events/topics of the past two months that I hope to recount in coming posts:
-The dental magazine debacle
-Marathon (4+ hour!) interviews in NYC that went nowhere
-Applying for a job as a travelling textbook salesman in Kansas City
-A pseudo(?) health crisis
-How I couldn't even get a second interview at the MIT Press
-How I almost went to work for a law firm
-How I'm going to ditch Kaplan for a second time
-What I want to be doing a year from now
-And MUCH MORE! (Shameless)

I'm going to make a few calls and text messages tonight, and over the next few days I hope be back on a regular writing schedule. (If for now other reason than to keep the pen and the wit sharp.)

Thanks for having me back. I've missed you.

On hiatus

I've come to a point where I need to take a little time to work some things out on my own. I've been on a steady decline over the past month, and I need to refocus my energy on the business at hand: getting a life. I've spent too long being bogged down in my present circumstances (and I've spent too much time writing about them). Somewhere along the line a big chunk of my former identity got swallowed up by this pathetic new identity with its myopic self-pitying worldview. I think this blog has been a little too effective in encouraging those unhealthy attitudes. So it's time for a break.

(In case you were wondering, I won't be taking the dental magazine job because I didn't get it--which I think is a good thing.)

So I'll be going now. I'll be back when I've reclaimed a little dignity. Promise.

Until then, if you want to know what I'm up to, send me an email or give me a call.

I leave you (for now) with a few appropriate stanzas from my old pal Elizabeth Bishop:

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster;
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Oregon Trail

Last night, the Pacific Ocean got a little (or maybe a lot) closer.

I was out with my friend Dave (a buddy since the third grade) and thought I'd ask him, just for kicks, if he would want to move out to Oregon. He's been living at home since December (he was working at a Whole Foods in Boston after he graduated, but quit because he couldn't stand the condescending customers). I thought for sure he'd say he would but couldn't afford to move out, or that he plain wasn't interested.

Instead he said, "You know, just this weekend, Leslie told me that she wished I'd move out there."

Leslie is Dave's ex-girlfriend, but they've maintained a close friendship. She's been working in Boston since she graduated from college two years ago. In September, she's starting a Ph.D. program in psychology at the University of Oregon in Eugene.

"Leslie wants you to move to Eugene with her?" I asked.

He said, "Yeah, well she said she thinks I'd really like it out there. I'd consider it, but I wouldn't want to move out as a couple. So, actually, this sounds like something that might work out pretty well."

Hmm. I never imagine that all of these competing interests (Dave's, Leslie's, mine) would fit together so efficiently.

After I dropped Dave off, I went home and did a little Craigsresearch. A nice two-bedroom in Eugene can go for around 800, which is what I was planning to spend for a one-bedroom in New Haven. On the job front (a topic that always makes me nervous), Eugene is home (obviously) to the University of Oregon and all of the job opportunities that a large research university has to offer. It's also an hour away from the city of Corvallis, which is where Oregon State University and its attending job opportunities are located. And, if worse comes to worst, there are plenty of restaurants, bookstores, coffee shops and even a Kaplan center where I should be able to find some source of income (oddly enough, I meet the qualifications to teach a Kaplan LSAT course).

I was feeling pretty good about this plan until I went to bed. I tossed for a while, dreamed a few fitful dreams, and woke up in a panic around five. All I could think of was that yawning gulf of America between the Atlantic and the Pacific. Everything I know is in a little corner on one side. Between here and there are the daunting obstacles of a two hundred dollar plane ticket or a four(!)-day drive.

Needless to say, I've got some (more, ad nauseum) soul searching to do over the next couple of days. Plus, Dave and I have to pow wow.

Ah, one more thing: apparently William and Mary is well-known for being whoreish with their fee waivers. They flash those things all over town.

A few developments, briefly

Just got back from my *third* interview at the dental magazine, and I still don't have an offer from them.

They'd asked me back to retake part of the proofreading test (curious) and because the head of the magazine (the one doing the hiring) wanted me to assure her that I would devote myself to this job for the fairly long-term ("several years" was how she put it). They're worried that I'll leave to go to law school in six months (which I assured her wasn't possible). She said that, given the amount of energy it takes to train someone and acclimate them to the work done at the magazine, they want someone who's committed, someone who might want to make a career at this particular publication. You can probably imagine how I feel about that.

She said she'd call me tomorrow to let me know one way or the other.

All the way home I was thinking about taking that westward road trip. Quite frankly, I'm god-awfully scared of it (would I be able to find a place to live and a job to pay the rent?; what if I get hurt or sick or what if something happens to the car?; what if I get there and I'm incredibly lonely?). But maybe it's time to do something I'm god-awfully scared of doing. (Anyone reading this want to move out to Oregon?)

Today's other minor developement was that I got my first bit of correspondence from a law school. (I signed up for the referral service--LSAC gives out my address, undergraduate institution and LSAT score to schools and they send me informative literature if they're so inclined.) This bit of correspondece was an email from William and Mary letting me know that if I chose to apply to their law school the application fee would be waived (i.e., they're enticing me to apply by making it free). That pepped me up a bit. If I do decide to do the law school thing, a little flattery (and money) will probably go a long way. (It's nice to know that someone thinks I'm at least moderately qualified for *something*).

Two roads diverged

It's been a while since I've posted because I've been taking some time to think about what my next step is going to be. In particular, I've been thinking about some of the comments and suggestions I've received from people who read this blog.

I've spent plenty of time on these pages making excuses for why things are the way they are, and how they're not actually as bad as I make them out to be. But today is not the day for excuses. I hold myself fully and solely accountable for the decisions I've made, and I accept as inevitable those things that are out of my control.

At this point, all of my bases are covered: if I'm going to apply to law school or grad school, all I've got to do is apply. If I decide to move out, all I've got to do is pack up and put some gas in the tank. If I decide to take a job around here, I could get myself an apartment within the week.

By early next week, I expect to hear from the dental laboratory magazine. If I don't get it, my decision is made for me--I'll get it the car, drive west, stop when I hit water, get a job at a coffee shop or a bookstore, get a cheap apartment and...live.

If I do get this magazine job, I'll have a decision to make: take it or leave it. The argument for taking it at this point might be a little more convincing: it'd be good money and good experience. I don't have to make any long term commitments; I could leave after a year (or even less) and almost certainly still have enough freedom to move across the country (I don't intend to have any kids at this point next year).

Maybe the lesson to learn at this point is to stop seeing myself in terms of the things that I can't do. Some of those things are things I can't change (i.e., I don't have the grades or the scores to get into a good law school, I don't have the talent or experience or personality to get a good job in publishing). Some of them are defense mechanisms brought on by fear (i.e., I don't have the natural ability to be a good writer, I don't have the courage to move out and go somewhere far away). If I apply to good jobs or good law schools with a measure of confidence and without regard to my credentials, maybe I'll get lucky (it worked for undergrad) and maybe I won't. If I write or move out (and just do it) maybe something good will happen.

I can't really say whether I want this last job to work out or not. My sensible, rational side thinks there's still plenty of time to do something drastic and still plenty of opportunity to grow up while I'm living around here. My frustrated, ambitious side thinks it's time to listen to what it (and others) have been saying for a long time.

One of the most misguided things a person can do to himself is make promises. Like, "I promise that if I take this job I'll quit in a year and then I'll move away and won't look back until I've made something of myself." I've heard lots of stories of whole lives turning on single decisions. I don't want to be editing press releases about dentures and crowns twenty-five years from now. I just want what everybody wants--A little happiness (and somebody to share it with).

It's a long way down

Major developments today. None of them good.

This morning I drove out to Monroe for my second interview at the dental magazine. I was ten minutes late, but they didn't seem to mind (I called to let them know I'd gotten caught in a traffic snag on the highway). I met with the editor and the senior editor (my last interview was with the president and the managing editor). The interview took the form of a pleasant discussion and a series of what I hoped were amusing anecdotes--I talked about working in Toledo, editing at the Herald, my career ambitions (or lack thereof). I thought I was effective at ingratiating myself to these women, and if I wasn't already a shoo-in for the gig, I must have been at this point. I ended by asking when they expected to make their decision (half-assuming that they'd tell me right then that they'd want to hire me), and they said that, well, they had a few more interviews next week, so I should probably hear by the week of the 10th. Two weeks from now. I was crestfallen. Here I was, thinking I'd come out for a pre-offer-of-employment formality, and I come to find out that they've got several more interviews and that I won't get an answer for at least eleven days. I was told that I was at the top of the list. I was told that they knew who they were looking for when they saw him. And I'm only lukewarm on this job! What went wrong?

Flash forward a few hours to the daily ritual of mail-getting at my father's North Haven residence. I'm generally hoping for one of my magazine subscriptions to come in, or maybe a piece of informative literature from a graduate program. Today I find a letter addressed to me from the Yale you know what. I paused upon discovering it--why would they be sending me a letter? I speculated without really speculating (maybe they're extending an offer in writing, how quaint!) as I tore through the envelope. What I found inside was an exceptionally polite letter from the marketing director (the woman who I spent the bulk of my morning at the Press talking to, the one whose daughter was my supervisor a few summers ago) informing me that they'd found someone whose "experience was better suited to their needs." The phrase puzzled me--it had been nearly, what?, a week since last I'd seen those words arranged in that order.

A step back for a moment: In recent weeks, I've been actively trying to take note of my emotional reactions to various situations. I'm drafting an emotional map of myself. What I observed myself feeling after reading this latest rejection letter was anger. Looking back at posts in recent weeks, I find that anger is a common emotional thread, at least in my employment adventures. It was fury I felt upon receiving the demure email from the editor at Time Warner (or was it a wholly-owned subsidiary?). It was rage that washed over me when less than 48 hours after my chat with the literary agent in Manhattan who had sought me out I was informed that someone more qualified and more interesting and more better had been hired. And here again was that old familiar anger. Looking at these responses objectively, I can't say that I think they're very healthy. Isn't it probably true that all that anger is misdirected outwardly? Isn't it easier to get mad at the world than it is to look inward and identify flaws and actually attempt to correct them?

The saddest part of all (when I make the effort to nudge anger out of the way for a moment) is that I've been walking around all week as though I was already employed at the press. Getting the call from them last week was about the biggest victory I've had in this miserable war since it began. Interviewing in New York was exciting, but none of those jobs ever felt truly viable. But a morning worth of interviews at my own university's press, now that felt like it could go somewhere. In fact, it felt like it should go somewhere. They knew my story--the months of fruitless searching, the nearly-trampled spirit. Wasn't it the obligation of the institution that chewed me up and spit me out thirteen unlucky months ago to make good on its promise to open a few doors for me? Here I was with my English degree and my writing samples and my timely submission of my homework. It was in the bag, and I spent the week strutting around like a member of that exclusive club called the publishing industry. Christ, I'd practically picked a futon for my new i'm-so-special-i-work-for-the-YUP apartment.

But like every bubble that I've allowed to inflate beyond any reasonable proportions, this one was vaporized (with a few polite sentences on a piece of cream-colored stationary). The letter was dated on Tuesday, a full two days before what they told me would be the earliest day on which the department would be able to confer about potential candidates. The unkindest cut of of all.

So, that was that. Out of today's news comes my current conundrum: I've obliged to wait out this other job (which I wasn't all that stoked about until it became apparent that it's the best thing within my grasp that's come along since I moronically turned my back on that Edith Wharton job last September) for almost two weeks, and pray that it works out cause if it doesn't it's probably time to load up the shotgun and move out to Ketchum (only kidding).

Speaking of failure, these latest episodes have seriously called into question my desire to pursue a career in writing. Having lived a life of constant rejection lo these many months, I can't imagine willfully prolonging this kind of lifestyle for much longer. Thus far, I haven't been able to land a job anywhere near the field of writing. How much faster will those rejections fly at me when (and if) I actually attempt to get something published? And how much worse will I feel when it's not just my "skills and experience" that don't measure up, but my thoughts and my feelings and the ways that I express them. I don't even want to think about it.

Oh right, there was one more tiny little newsworthy event on this fine penultimate June day. I got my LSAT score. It's a little more than halfway between my version of bad and my version of good. It probably means no Duke, Penn, Georgetown, or, sadly, Michigan. But BC, GW, USC and Cornell might be within reach. Listen to me with this namedropping. Where do I find the gall to be so pompous? Especially in light of my abject inability to--well, do anything, really.