Bronze Thrills, Black Confessions, and a little Jive

This is a story of my first lesson in the importance of proper proofreading and editing, and how quickly a manuscript can lose credibility when a reader is confronted with easily avoidable errors.

“Moist Caverns” and “Man Tools”

When I was around 13 or 14, I discovered that nestled amongst the magazines on the stand at the Winn-Dixie grocery store, were four black romance/confession magazines—Jive, Black Confessions, Bronze Thrills, and Black Romance. (These publications were, in my words, an “urban imprint” for Sterling/Macfadden, publisher of the mainstream confession titles True Confessions, True Story, and True Romance.) An avid reader who was suffering from a severe case of puberty, I found my little discovery quite intriguing, to say the least. It didn’t take long for me to realize the salaciousness that lay before me.

He plunged his man tool into my moist cavern…

“Ma!!," hurrying excitedly, "can you buy this for me?”

My poor mother, I bugged her for at least several weeks to buy one of the magazines for me. It was the most important item in the world to me at the time. She was a tough nut to crack, as she wasn’t naïve, and knew all too well the type of stories they were. She shared her concerns that the material was inappropriate for me, and we'd go back and forth on how the stories weren't bad at all, and that I was indeed old enough to read them. I begged each Winn-Dixie visit. I still remember the night when she finally relented. I had been following her around the store holding one of the magazines, looking pitiful, of course. Knowing she’d say no, I wasted my breath again by asking if she’d buy it for me. She reviewed the cover for a moment, and then said yes! That, gentle readers, was one of the happiest moments of my teen years. Bronze Thrills was finally coming home with me (I still have this issue by the way, February 1993). Finally, I was going to read stories about girls just a few years older than me who had boyfriends and were having sex with them; girls disobeying their parents to sneak around with neighborhood bad boys; women catching their husbands having affairs; love triangles; domestic violence; workplace infatuation—Yessssss!

And so my journey began. Soon I started a summer job and was able to buy my own magazines, and I continued to do for a number of years afterward. While I always found the material interesting, and usually had a favorite story in each issue, reading these magazines was an exercise in patience. The grammatical and typographical errors were so blatant that, in my opinion, it offended the intelligence of the readers.

"Errors"

Jennifer, are you telling us that a magazine went to press without anyone bothering to make sure it looked okay?

Yes, I am. Where were the editors? I wondered. Did anyone on the payroll bother to even read one of the issues? Pure foolishness. In addition to suffering with misspelled words, missing words, and no spacing between words, imagine these other crimes against literature that faithful readers had to endure:

The "editors" in charge forced us to

· Attempt to understand text where there was either a misplacement or absence of quotation marks that rendered dialogue and the narrator’s inner thoughts indistinguishable.
· Re-read stories, as a story in one issue was sometimes a word-for-word reprint of one from a few issues back.
· Get to know a main character by one name, let's say “Nathan,” only to turn the page and find that his name had changed to “Mike.”
· Skim an issue's Table of Contents in the store, and become excited at a particular story's title and synopsis, only to get it home and discover that said story wasn’t even in the issue. I'm not kidding. Table of Contents should never lie! (This happened to me twice, and I’m still mad about it.)

"Prisoners"

Before the internet, lonely hearts commonly sought love through classified ads in newspapers and magazines. Black Romance and her sisters were no exception. When I would get a new issue, the first thing I would do is read the "Pen Pals" column in the back. Out of about 25 ads per issue, all but one would be from a prisoner seeking companionship.

"Ebony prince seeks princess for romance and marriage. I'm a writer, musician, and political activist. Will answer all. Roses for you, beautiful lady. Race and weight not important."

(Sidebar: Race and weight never seem to be a problem after all the options have been taken away. Come as you are, my queens. Funny, were they that accepting as free men?)

As an adult, I saw the ad of a guy I think I worked with at McDonalds years before when I was 16. This guy (when I knew him) had gold teeth, a jherri curl, and always wore a cow hide sun visor (of course, I had a crush on him). He had a very unique nickname, and this was the name I saw in the ad. When I saw that this individual was incarcerated in my home state, I was all but assured that he was indeed the same guy who shared fry duty with me and had gone on to make some bad choices. I used to wonder, and still do, how these men found out about these publications; was there some kind of network? I also felt some kind of way about these men possibly attempting to take advantage of lonely women. I'm sure my mother didn't know what to make of me. I was a weird one, I'm sure there were hardly any other teenage girls who found reading inmate personals ads entertaining.

"Conclusion"

Today, Sterling/Macfadden no longer publishes these black love-focused magazines. I think the True magazines are still around though. I wasn’t sad to see them go. Aside from being older and not that into them anymore, I had lost respect for the company for not caring about the quality of this particular brand. It had gotten to the point where I no longer bothered to flip through them anymore. I had spent too many nights becoming engrossed in a story, only to be snatched from the fantasy because of an error that, had anyone cared to proofread it, could have easily been corrected. It's hard to enjoy a story when the journey to get to the end is choppy and misguided. Before abandoning these magazines, I had managed to collect over 30 of them. I have them stashed away here and there. I hope to keep them for a long time because I’m sentimental, but also because I want to pass them on to someone. Most teens/young women today wouldn't find much interest in a nearly 20-year-old romance magazine, but, if one of them is like me, would greatly appreciate the piece of history. Perhaps I'll find someone someday who will treasure them as I have, offensive errors and all.

I've rambled on enough. Now I'm off to go and finish up an earlier post I started in July.

--A nostalgic reader

What Do You Do?

I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting since my last post. About the usual stuff I suppose: Am I living each day to the fullest? Have I made the right choices up to this point? Is my lack of a love life due to something horrible I did in a past life? If I lost 20-30lbs would I then receive the highly coveted Certificate of Desirability, deeming me worthy and eligible to at least enter the dating pool? Is the DC area where I should be? Or should I have tried a little harder to move to NYC where so many others like me reside? Why are all the men who seem perfect for me either a part of the “gold band” club or just not interested? Should I have more to show for myself financially?

Not a day goes by where I don’t ponder most (sometimes all) of these questions. Some have many possible answers, others none. I’m just at that point in my life where I assess myself more thoroughly, and am more aware of how my actions today can make or break the rest of my life. I guess I have too much time on my hands. A wise man or woman might say that if a person is out actually living life, then he or she won’t have time to sit around thinking and worrying about it. Makes sense, doesn’t it? And it’s a good motto to live by too, isn’t it?

Still, I counter with this—what do you do when “living life” just doesn’t feel the way it used to? When you’re missing something and you’re not sure what? When something’s happening and you can’t put a finger on it? When you no longer enjoy doing things by yourself and long for a partner, but feel invisible to those you wish would volunteer?

What do you do?

You take people’s advice. You speak and nod in agreement when people say to put it in the hands of a higher power. You try to change what you think you may be doing wrong. You ponder why, what, how, when, and where?

And during it all, you hope to find an answer. A solution to put your anxious mind at ease. A solution that rejuvenates your spirit. Some type of something to motivate you to do all the things your heart yearns for you to do.

JS

Will They Reminisce Over You?

So as you know by now, all I do is think. If not about the present, then the past or the future. I decided to take a brief walk down memory lane and share some of the simple things I routinely hear and smell that make me reminisce. (Don't laugh at me).

Scents

Cool Water cologne

This scent will always be with me. It belonged to a boy named Walter who wore it in high school. I've smelled the scent on other men since then, but Walter must have added something to it. It was intoxicating and fit his demeanor so well. Laid-back, smooth, and deep. He was so mature, seemed like he belonged in college instead of the 10th grade. I had a thing for Walter because of that smell. I'd envy the popular girls who had the chance to hug him and walk with him. I wanted to do it too. I just wanted to tell him how good he smelled.

Jergens soap
This scent reminds me of my nighttime baths as a child. The ones after mom would call me inside after I'd been playing outside for hours and demand that I get in the tub and clean myself. My memory often mixes Jergens with the smell of fried chicken. Mom would usually be cooking dinner while I took my bath.

Male sweat
Ahh yes, the smell of teenage boys. I started to notice this scent when I was in middle school. I would walk into a room and could tell boys had been there. It wasn't a funky scent, but I could smell they had been sweating nearby. Girls didn't smell like that. Funny, I don't smell it anymore. Could it be my pubescent senses were heightened for only a short time and as I matured I lost my keen sense of smell? Perhaps because we use so many chemicals to mask our natural scent? I just know I remember when boys started to smell different to me.

Sand de Sable perfume
This perfume used to be one of my cousin's favorites. It smelled so good on her that I pestered my mother to buy some for me. I remember her telling me I was too young to wear it. It took forever before I got my first bottle. I think I was so old I was able to buy it for myself.

Music

"White Horse" (Laid House)
A boy who lived in the same housing development as me had a crazy dance he would do to this song. His mother would put the song on, "White horse, don't ride the white horse..." and he would dance and entertain the adults. I don't remember how old I was, maybe 8 or so. I still see his face so clearly.

"I Get Around" (Tupac)
My biggest high school, Kenneth, was the coolest boy at school. I was a freshman and he a junior. Man I was in looooove. Anyway, he brought a boom box to school one day and was outside during lunch playing music on it. My best friend and I passed him and giggled as usual. I turned around and he was looking right at me. The realization that the guy I liked actually noticed I existed, whilst Tupac flowed "'Cause oh they sweat a brother majorly, I don't know why, your girl keeps paging me..." caused an instant memory burn.

"Before you Turn off the Lights" (The World Class Wrecking Crew)
Not too much to report other than this song would blast from everyone's car stereo. I believe it was around 1987/1988. Man that song was so hot! "Before you turn off the lights, let's get one thing understood, if you plan to make love to me, you got to do it good, 'cause I'm a helluva woman, and for me it takes a helluva man, so don't you dare turn off the lights unless this you understand." I remember riding in the car with my cousin (the same one who liked Sand de Sable perfume) and her friend during one summer she came to stay with me and mom. Listening to them talk about teenage stuff while the music played made me feel like I was one of the girls too, though I was just their annoying tag-a-long.


So, will they reminisce over you? I wonder who will reminisce over me?

A Reply From the Heart

I spend a lot of time on a particular messageboard because of the interesting discussion forums and thread topics; my favorite hangout being the celebrity news and gossip forum. Sharing my thoughts with the world in reply to "who is this with so and so?" or "is so and so sleeping with this guy?" is a fun way to relax after a stressful day of doing what I do to earn a buck. I also frequent the board's news forum, though threads in this section tend to focus on the week's more depressing news. A story tonight affected me more deeply than the others because I could relate to the victim. I didn't know her, but I've encountered women who remind me so much of her; or rather, of the circumstances that may have led to her accepting someone into her life who had no business there. She reminded me of women who have taught me that it is better to be alone than to waive a potential mate's crucial "must haves" after reaching a point where you just want somebody and no longer believe that your god ever received your pleas for a suitable companion.

I read this woman's story and wrote an emotional response that seems to have affected other members as well. I wanted to share it on my blog. Not as a musing of an editor, writer, and storyteller. But as an observation of what I see happening far too often. I can only hope that I never signal to life that I'm ready to walk in this woman's shoes.

Here's the video of the news story:



And here's the article that details the couple's history.



And last, the comments that I shared with the board:

"Such a sad thing to hear. Poor little boy. You can only hope that he blocks out his mother's death, if he saw it, and only remembers the good times and his mother's love. He'll need those memories and I wish him the best. I have more stuff to say but not everyone will understand how I feel, so I'll just say this. I just feel sorry for this woman. I'm sure he wasn't her first choice or even her 20th. I'm sure that she pursued "better" men and prayed about it through the years. Perhaps the feelings were never mutual. So you go for what you can control, your education and career. I'm sorry she got tired of looking and waiting and decided to accept this thing into her life. I won't fault her for it because loneliness is a serious thing and only those who have experienced it can understand what can make a seemingly intelligent put together person stoop so low. Not everyone is strong enough to battle with a desire to be loved."

Is that Jennifer? Girl, where have you been?

Someone very close to me told me tonight that because I had not updated my blog in a while, she in turn had lost interest in updating hers. Knowing this person very well, I suspected her disclosure was an attempt to entice me to share a few words, "musings," with the world, as I haven't published any thoughts since June 26th. Well, it worked. (Now get to work on yours, you know who you are.)

Here I am, out of hiding; though I wish I could say for how long. Lately the things I've had on my mind are not appropriate for my blog. I don't know, maybe if my name and picture wasn't all over it. They're not bad thoughts, just thoughts that not everyone understands. And for the people who know me, thoughts that would cause them to express such sentiments as "Aww, you poor thing, he's on his way" to "I thought you were intelligent, how could you write something so ignorant?" to maybe even "Wow, that's disgusting. You want to do what?"

You're curious now, aren't you? What on earth do I think about that I'm so afraid to chronicle for the world to see? Well, gentle readers, a whole heck of a lot. But, who am I to deprive you of the little tidbits of my existence. Here's a list of some of the things I've been pondering the past few weeks (in no order of significance):

• I need to lose weight. I feel as though it's keeping me from having the active dating life I deserve. And I guess the PC thing would be to say that I want to be healthier for my own good. So, um, yeh, that too.
• I'm a recent homeowner who is now wondering if I made the right decision. I'm overwhelmed by what I've done. Repairs are needed and things need replacing, and my lawn is dead. Oh, and I'm frightened that property taxes will continue to skyrocket. Where's my landlord? Someone take care of things for me again!
  
• I like someone who doesn't like me back. Will I ever not be that loser I was in high school who didn't even go to her prom because no one asked. The story of my adult life.
  
• I wear my hair natural, but sometimes I wish it were relaxed. Like right now.
• I've been worrying about old age, and whether I'll have enough money to take care of myself.
• I've been wondering what was behind Door #2. Did I make the right choices in life?
• Years have passed and my book is still not finished. Am I a writer or a dreamer?
  
• My wardrobe sucks. All I wear are black or gray pants and my choice of about 4 or 5 blouses.
• I want a vacation away from myself and all the responsibility that comes with taking care of me. I just want to be Jane X for about a week and roam about the land with no immediate needs or concerns.
• I bought some cookies after work and ate most of them. I wish I were stronger.
  

Well, there you have it. These are some of the things that entertain me during my waking and sleeping hours. Now if this is the stuff I feel comfortable sharing, imagine what's inside contained in the "X" files. *cue creepy music*

Until next time, my anonymous voyeurs. Dream of doing something wonderful; bonus points if you wake up and actually do it.


Love,

Jane

Lyrical Stimulation

I write a lot about the power of music. Its ability to lead you on various mental journeys; recall memories and feelings from long ago; create a fantasy world to replace your reality. It's Saturday afternoon and I'm writing, sipping coffee, enjoying my living space, and, of course, listening to music. I've traveled with a number of selections today, thanks to YouTube, my personal radio station. I want to share some of the music stimulating my senses this comfortable afternoon. Enjoy this sample of things that court Jennifer's spirit.



Janelle Monàe



Janelle Monàe



Michael McDonald



Curtis Mayfield



The Roots



Norah Jones and Andre 3000

It's Been a While Since I Held an Editing Class

These are just a few little nuggets of advice to use when querying the writers who rely on your direction to lead them to a polished finished work.


1. Be tactful
Address the query to "Author" or "AU" (or you can use "QU" for query, like I do). Be courteous, use "please" to show that you’re asking them to perform extra work.

2. Avoid capital letters and exclamation points in your query; be professional no matter how stunned you are at what you’re seeing.

Ex: Ronald Reagan, a democrat, believed in the concept of ‘trickle down’ economics.

Query:
[AU: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? REAGAN WAS NOT A DEMOCRAT!]

Revised Query:
[AU: Did you mean ‘republican’? Please check party affiliation.]

3. Word your query so you get the answer you are looking for.

Ex: According to the finding, men want to marry women who remind them of their mothers; however, there is no conclusive research.

Query:
[AU: "Can you please clarify this statement?"]

NOTE: I’m guilty of this one. Wording a query this way can yield two possible answers: 1) "No I can’t; and 2) the actual rewrite you were expecting. Instead, try clarifying the statement yourself and asking the author if your interpretation is correct.

Revised Query:
[AU: This may confuse readers. You cite a study's finding, but write there in no conclusive research. It may be helpful to state why the finding is not considered conclusive.]

4. When dealing with arithmetic, if you see an error, do not make changes if unsure of the author’s intentions.

Ex: 12 of the 60 respondents (50%) could not identify the State of California on a map.
It is incorrect to change the math here without checking with the writer. Unless you know whether to change the 50% to 20%; the 12 to 30; the 60 to 24; or the 12 of the 60 to 45 of the 90, query the author.

Query:
[AU: The arithmetic does not seem correct. 50% of 60 does not equal to 12. Which number needs to be changed?]

5. Make queries concise; avoid wordiness and sarcasm.

Ex: Jamie enjoyed the way Mark touched her, it was as if he loved her. Though she knew he didn’t. Come to think of it, she wasn’t so sure he even liked her. But she’d deal with her guilt in the morning. She needed Marc's touch tonight.

[AU: Wow, you’d think Jamie would have more self esteem. Guess not! Please confirm spelling of "Mark" or "Marc."]

Revised query:
[AU: Please confirm spelling of "Mark" or "Marc."]


Source: Stet Again!: More Tricks of the Trade for Publications People provided the rules; I provided the examples.

Procrastination: My Friend, My Enemy

Monday morning. I arrived at the office at 7:45am and was met with my coworkers' surprise at my early arrival. Any other workday at that time, I would be digging through a pile of clothes for something decent to wear so that I could rush out of the house and catch my 8am bus. But today at 8am I was settled in my cubicle with the soothing warmth of my coffee awakening me and attempting to open a Word document. I needed to finish editing it before a 10am deadline. However, Word decided to process at a geriatric snail's pace, and if I dared scroll too fast, freeze up entirely. As expected, this drastically slowed my editing time. At 9am I called the person awaiting my work and explained the computer dilemma. Thankfully he understood. I continued to sweet talk the Word program and caress the mouse, all in an attempt to not upset things any more than I had. It worked! Word relented, allowing me to send the document off at 9:52am. The only problem was that I wasn't satisfied with my work. I wanted to look over it one more time, to apply that last layer of icing on what had the potential to be a very pretty cake. (with coconut flakes, hmmm)

I would have felt better had I not procrastinated. You see, I could have finished it Friday, and I kicked myself for not doing so. Though it wasn't my fault that the computer had a tantrum, and that I lost my edits twice, the breakdown only reminded me how I repeatedly have these close calls. I have the darndest time motivating myself to complete something when I have ample time to do so. I am motivated by fear and all of the chemicals that are released during a time of high stress. I need to know that the 25-page document lying in wait on my desk or inbox is due at 3:30pm...TODAY. And that the time is now 10:12am! Now, don't misunderstand me. I get the job done, and I've been told that I do it quite well. It's just that I wish I was one of these editors who get an assignment with a week to spare, and finish it two days later just for the heck of it. But I love what I do--arriving to the destination of a well-written, grammatically correct something or other. I just take the scenic route to get there.

Ah yes, proscrastination, you can truly be my foe at times; though I manage to beat you every now and again, when the stakes are high. But you are also a friend, a companion when I need a mental escape from the looming responsibility of completing a task. For while I battle with you to allow me to take care of it, you fill my imagination with the images, sounds, emotion, and often intense feelings I need to write, sing, dance, laugh, desire, and reflect. I suppose I should be grateful that I know how to stop and smell the flowers. I just wish I could do that and run a perfectly organized and efficient life at the same time.

I'm Also a Movie Director

No, no, no, I haven't partnered with any Hollywood hotshots (not yet anyway). I do however create scripts, recruit talent, direct the action, and watch it on my mental movie screen. Because I'm a loser in the dating game, I feel great empathy for those poor souls who sit on the sidelines with me, waiting to be picked and given a chance. The underdogs. In homage to the "rest of us," most of my movie fantasies center around the adventures of intelligent and passionate Plain Janes who manage to get the sweet, handsome, gentle, and charming hero despite the adversities that I bestow on them. My movies are much better than what I find in the theatres. I sometimes star in them, other times I have an avatar. Depends on my mood. Here are a few of the classic "films" I’ve made in the past. I might close my eyes and watch one of them before bed tonight. (Oh, if only I could fall asleep right away like a normal person.)

1. That’s Your Husband?: An overweight, yet super sweet cleaning lady shocks an office full of beautiful thin singletons when they discover that she's married to their handsome and charming boss. He's completely oblivious to the fact that his subordinates wish he had chosen someone on his level of attractiveness; someone like one of them.

2. You've Got an Extra What?: A beautiful woman feels cursed by a genital deformity (Hey, I gotta keep the fantasy interesting right? Don't judge me!) As a result she's never gotten close with a man for fear of rejection. But then she meets a very special hero who's determined to show her what she's been missing.

3. Heart of Hearing: A cautious deaf woman who was raised in a convent, finds her way to the big city where she meets a special hero and his evil charming cousin. The evil cousin wants to rob her of her innocence; the hero wants to stop him. But does he arrive at the hotel in time?

4. The Roommate: Deciding between a sexy, music video model and her more conservative, homebody roommate should be easy right? Not for one hero who is quite pleased to learn that the roommate who's so boring (according to the model) is a skilled chess player--just like him. Oh the delicious dilemma?

Ahh yes, these and many more play each day on Jenn-Tube. Too bad I'm the only person that can tune in. Sometimes I wish that what I see so clearly in my head was on a real tv or movie screen. I would like to know if the audience would say "finally, something good to watch!" My actors are very talented and some have faces that I make up. Meaning I've never seen that exact face before in my outside life. I mix and match until I have an entirely new one. It's hard to do though, so I usually opt for people I've seen on the street, or in the store. Wanna know something? Sometimes I wish it wasn't make believe.

The Difference a Year Makes

I know I’ve been away for a while, but I’m ready to get back in the blog game. Meaning I hope to muster the right words to compose one of my “musings” at least once a week. Am I hard at work on my debut novel, is this why I’ve been so busy? Nope. In fact the transfer to paper of what my characters are shouting at me is pathetically stagnant. The only things I’ve written down lately are appointments and bill payments; and the only typing I’ve done is in reply to comments posted in different discussion board threads. I’ve allowed my commitments to other things to overshadow the promise I made to myself to have something finished by the end of ’09. But the interesting thing about time is that it keeps on ticking, and new opportunities to correct one’s wrong (in my case, poor prioritizing) come around again. At least that’s what I’ve been told.

Ah yes, my post title, the difference a year makes. Or maybe I should say two years, because that’s when this thing I’m going to talk about all started. April 2008 was a time of high-anxiety for me. I’d applied to the Summer Publishing Institute at New York University (NYU) and was praying for acceptance, as I knew this was the perfect opportunity to network with the top dogs of the book and magazine publishing industry. I’d fallen in love with NYC and wanted to live there more than anything (a dream of mine since I was a child). From my frequent trips there I’d met several fellow creative spirits and felt as though I could finally live in a place where my kind of people lived; quirky weird people just like me who wanted to be friends. During this time I was actively searching for any place to live that wasn’t a cardboard box, and had begun to declutter my apartment—all in anticipation of my big move. I even put a deposit on a room in a boarding house and had secured a move in date. I also scored two job interviews in case NYU didn’t pan out. It was so close to happening I could taste it. And it tasted sweet, like a ripened peach.

But by summer’s end, I could only sulk at the remnants of my crumbled cookie. I’d lost touch with the people I’d met there (if NYC’ers think hopping the train to the next borough is long distance, imagine how DC seemed like a galaxy away). NYU denied me; I suspect because of my age and work experience, as the program is geared toward very recent college graduates with minds ready for molding. Not an old seasoned loser like me who didn’t make the right moves when I had the chance. It may have been too hard for them to fathom my willingness to leave my job as an Assistant Editor to move to New York where the best I could hope for after the program was landing an Editorial Assistant gig (a step up from an internship), where I would most certainly need to bartend or shelve books at some bookstore in the Village to make ends meet. But I was willing to do it because: 1) I wanted to leave DC and felt that NYC was where I needed to be, and 2) I wanted to start settling down and saw this as my last chance to do something so financially risky.

Fast forward one year to Summer 2009, and I loved my job as an Assistant Editor. I was learning so much about substantive editing, content management systems, editorial and production schedules, graphic design, and was managing my own editing projects from copy submission to publication. But something was missing, the writing responsibilities I wanted, and a title that reflected it. I wanted to be a Writer/Editor. And what do you know, I soon saw an opening with everything that I wanted. A government position in walking distance from my apartment. The place I wanted to give up to live in a small room with a shared shower (and more rent). And what do you know, I got the job!! By this time, I’d even joined an organization of young professionals dedicated to community service and was meeting some very ambitious and like-minded individuals.

Fast forward one year to May 2010, and I’m a busy little bee these days. I’m now a homeowner!! My life has become quite stable here in the DMV (the term referring to the District/Maryland/Virginia area). I’m coordinating events in the community service organization; doing well at my job (at least I hope so); I’m writing and editing quite a bit (for work though, not on that brilliant novel); and am trying to make the right decisions based on what life is showing me. I still visit NYC and I still wouldn’t mind having a 212 area code someday, but for right now, the opportunities are right here, and I need to stay. For how long—well wouldn’t I like to know the answer to that. The other day, after a long hiatus I ventured back to Mediabistro.com, where I used to keep track of all the latest happenings in the NYC freelance and publishing scene. I checked out the discussion board and saw a thread from an anxious applicant to the NYU Summer Publishing Institute, asking if anyone else was feeling impatient in the wait for an admissions decision. I smiled and shook my head in kinship of what this person was feeling. Good luck, I thought. Some posters replied that they received acceptance notifications, others were still waiting. I’ll admit to feeling a sense of “what if,” but I believe that I’m where I need to be right now. But I can’t forget the disappointment I felt when they told me no. Spending those six weeks at NYU for the opportunity to step foot inside a publishing company was the most important thing in my world. Now I know how to start my own publishing company. The difference a year makes.