Women, rejection, and the VIDA numbers

I attended a panel at AWP a couple of weeks ago entitled: Women Writers and Rejection: How to Get Published and Avoid the Slush Pile. I was unsure about attending the panel; it wasn’t clear to me what could be said in such a discussion that was new or different with regards to submitting. What I was intrigued by, however, was this sentence in the panel’s description: “Women writers don’t submit enough; we’re too cautious and we take rejection too hard.” Though I secretly suspected these exact points about my own process of submitting, I had not considered that they were gender-related. I thought my hesitation about submitting simply reflected my own lack of confidence.

I decided to go to the panel. I suppose I wanted (perversely) to hear that these ideas were true, and that it wasn’t just me, in order to validate my own experiences with submitting and the feelings of inadequacy they produced. The five female editors of well-known lit mags and presses who led the panel discussion could only provide anecdotal commentary on whether women submitted less than their male counterparts to their magazines, and some of them didn’t really have any idea whether the magazines they represented published both genders equally. They all instead offered “I’ve been there” kinds of stories, in which they described moments when they were younger, or less immune to the pain of rejection, points at which they took rejection very personally. They encouraged the predominately female audience to get over it and toughen up. There was some very unscientific assertion that men succeed in getting published more because men are programmed not to give up — just look at a man in a bar! He’ll keep hitting on women until he succeeds! One editor noted that in her experience women in MFA programs tend to get more caught up in romantic entanglements than their male counterparts and it affects their writing/submitting output.

Oh yes she did.

Those comments aside, there were some helpful tidbits and a lot of encouragement. But the panel did not provide much actual evidence that: a) women are not as persistent at submitting as men are, b) that women take rejection more personally than men do, and thus c) submit less as a result.

By now you may have seen or read about the numbers released from VIDA: Women in Literary Arts on the ratio of men vs. women published in major literary magazines and the numbers of male vs. female authors’ books reviewed in said magazines. Hint: Men were published more than women in 2010. A lot more. And male authors had more books reviewed. There are some stark pie charts on VIDA’s web site, in which women get slivers of pie, about a quarter or third of possible publication space, and men get the rest.

Since the numbers came out a couple of weeks ago, many of the literary magazines mentioned have rushed to defend or augment these stats with more specific numbers of their own, and other voices have chimed in, from bloggers like Christine at 80,000 Words to Meghan O’Rourke at Slate. There have been pieces in the New Republic, the Guardian, the Awl, and even on PBS.

While most expressed their shock and horror at the disparity, some called into question the reliability of VIDA’s numbers, or wondered how scientific of a study this was. Some wondered whether the problem was deeper – that is, are fewer books by female authors being reviewed simply because there are fewer books by female authors?

So is the gap due to editorial bias or are women simply submitting less? Many of the editors of lit mags who have responded to the VIDA numbers seem baffled, as their submission numbers are not that skewed. But this caught my attention:

Rob Spillman, editor of Tin House, wrote on that magazine’s blog:

Of solicited writers, I see a distinct gender difference. When I solicit male authors, the only ones who do not submit are those contractually bound by other magazines. For female authors it is closer to 50% submit after being asked.
Male authors, in the face of rejection, are much more likely to submit more work, (and sooner) than their female peers. This is true even when the female author is explicitly requested to send more work.
Similarly, men whose work we accept are more likely to follow up publication with more submissions. Of the 28 female writers in Fantastic Women, 3 have voluntarily sent further submissions. In that same time period I have received at least 100 submissions from previously published male authors.

Wow. What’s going on here? An elite group of female writers being asked to submit to one of the top literary magazines, and they don’t? And, female writers actually getting published in said magazine — which, by the way, published nearly twice as many men as women in 2010, 55 to 29  — and then not attempting to leverage that connection to seek repeat publication later?

Continue reading

Writing links: Election Day/World Series hangover edition

Hello friends,
It’s a sunny, 75-degree fall day in Northern California. We Californians, unlike most of our American compatriots, yesterday elected a Democratic governor*, and have reelected a Democratic Senator. The San Francisco Giants have won the World Series for the first time, well –  ever, really, but since 1954 if you’re one of those people who looks at the entire history of a team and not its geographical location, but that’s neither here nor there. And you wanted to see some writing-related link goodness, didn’t you? Perhaps, like me, you’re avoiding reading the political news. Well, here you are:

Just in time for NaNoWriMo: How to Write a Novel, from San Francisco-based literary agent Nathan Bransford.

Some ebooks now priced higher than hardcovers. The times, they are a-changin’.

How to promote your book A great series from Booktour.com. You know, if you have a book.

Lorrie Moore on MFA programs, writing from a male perspective (“I like being a guy for about 25 pages.”), and getting her start — from The Rumpus.

In addition to being a successful novelist, nonfiction writer, publisher and philanthropist/champion of kids’ writing programs, Dave Eggers is a pretty talented artist. His sketches/interviews from the World Series. (The Bay Citizen)

The Sorry State of the Rejection Letter. (via The Millions)

Are you a nonfiction writer? Does your work happen to fall into the normally unpublishable 90-pages-or-less category? Amazon wants you.

Finally: A sure sign that you’ve made it? You have your own font, a la Zadie Smith.

*Fun fact: The Republican candidate for governor of California, Meg Whitman, spent more on her campaign than the entire 2010 budget of the National Endowment for the Arts, approximately $163 million. Another fun fact: Her campaign was focused on cutting government spending.

February writing links

I’ve finally finished a freelance project that was hanging over my head and am trying to get back whatever it was I was doing before said freelance project. It feels like that was about 3 years ago, but it was only 3 weeks. While I was busy juggling mom-work and freelance work (there’s probably a blog post in that, if I could just find the time to write it) apparently February ended. Which means it’s past time for February writing links. Here they are!

This one’s a bit of a rant, but a rant worth reading/thinking about, by Leon Wieseltier at the New Republic. It’s an essay on what the “digital revolution” is doing to writers (impoverishing them!), and why “nausea is in order.”

On a somewhat related note, “crowdfunding” author advances … In which “crowdfunding” is a fancy way of saying “begging.”

Mentioned in the New Republic piece above, this one, in the Atlantic, argues for shorter newspaper articles. I’m not sure if I agree or not, though the examples here sure are good ones.  I think if I was teaching a beginning journalism class, this piece might be required reading.

The Millions’ excellent guide to fiction online.

Sorry non-tweeting reading public, this one’s on Twitter.  It’s the Twitter feed of @longreads, which provides links to long-form nonfiction/journalism. I keep getting sidetracked reading the excellent writing @longreads suggests.

This one’s been widely posted, but I’m posting it here again anyway, in case you missed it. The Guardian asked various authors to give 10 Rules for Writing Fiction and the results are here. Some of the advice is quite funny, whether it was meant that way or not (“Don’t have children.” – Richard Ford) and a lot of it is to-the-point and hard, which I suppose the best advice should be.

If, like me, you’re interested in creative nonfiction, then this one’s for you. Susan Orlean, she of Orchid Thief and New Yorker article fame, is teaching a nonfiction class at NYU these days, and she’s posted her syllabus online (scroll down to find it). I found it interesting to see what she’s assigned for reading material and so on. Or maybe I just wish I could take the class.

Finally, a day in the life of author Alexander Chee, part of a series on writers’ daily lives here. What struck me most: Chee has three writing spaces set up in his house, so that no matter what part of the house he’s in, he can’t escape the work of writing.

But then you have a sandwich…

“You’re not letting people read it as you write it. Nobody has ever read what you’re doing. It could be terrible. It could be brilliant. And you start to think, ‘Oh God, this is a complete piece of shit that
couldn’t be published—nobody is going to read it.’ But then you have a sandwich and go, ‘I am a genius and I’m going to win the Booker Prize.’”

That’s a quote from “My Book Deal Ruined My Life,” one of the more truthful (and entertaining, because it’s so true) articles I’ve read about writing in a long time. There are people out there who are probably responding to this piece in a very snarky way, as in “Wah! It must be so hard to have a book deal. Life is rough.”

I have never had a book deal. But I have written a book, and I have read enough about writers and met enough writers with book deals to know that it is not all sunshine and rose petals in the world of professional writing. Writing is hard. Writing is lonely. Writing doesn’t pay shit. Book advances are small — only the unusually large ones get reported on. Anyone who is surprised by the writers in this article and their woes is probably not considering the profession of writing in a realistic way.

For some reason, reading this article just made me wish I had a book deal even more.

Deranged? Possibly. No one said writers were sane people.

Wanna thumb wrestle about it?

An opinion piece in the the San Francisco Chronicle this morning takes a look at truth in nonfiction, specifically, David Sedaris’ nonfiction.

True to form, the Chronicle piece follows on the heels of an article that appeared last month in the New Republic on Sedaris’ Naked, which reported that Sedaris went beyond mere exaggeration for humorous effect; that he took liberties with the truth. In the New Republic article (link above only gives the full story to subscribers; I read it on Lexis Nexis) writer Alex Heard investigates various scenes in Sedaris’ books but says that he is more concerned with the larger question of “whether ‘nonfiction’ means anything when you’re talking about humor writers who admit to flubberizing the truth for comic effect.”

In the end, he concludes that “most of his crimes are petty, making him a nonfiction juvenile delinquent rather than a frogwalk-worthy felon. Still, his work is marketed as nonfiction, and there’s a simple rule associated with that: Don’t make things up.”

Agreed.

The Chronicle opinion piece seems to agree too, pointing fingers at publishers, agents, and writers. The author of the piece, Oscar Villalon, wonders why a writer would “take the risk” of calling something nonfiction that isn’t.

And that’s when I started to get seriously irritated with this article. I quote:

Why take the risk of a public shaming?
There are a couple of reasons for it. The first is purely cynical: Nonfiction sells a lot more than fiction. For many readers, books must have some sort of utilitarian purpose — you have to learn something “real” from it — and they don’t see any point in investing their scarce free time in reading make-believe. It’s an ironically ignorant stance, but it exists. Publishers or agents, by calling a work nonfiction that isn’t, are hoping certain readers will be more likely to pick it up.

The second reason is laziness: In another irony, a writer doesn’t have to work as hard to create the verisimilitude and the nuance a novelist must render to make his world recognizable and true when he already has the reader’s suspension of disbelief. The book is labeled nonfiction, so however incredible the actions and descriptions therein, they must be believed. After all, truth is stranger than fiction.

Ignoring the fact that nonfiction writers “don’t have to work as hard” as fiction writers for a moment, Villalon seems to perceive readers as complete idiots without any sense of perception or understanding of grey areas. It’s either read and believe, or read and don’t believe.

My guess is that most readers know that Sedaris is exaggerating and that most readers probably assume that not every detail in his essays is factual. I know I do. And yet Sedaris is still wildly popular, which basically blows out of the water Villalon’s theory that nonfiction readers don’t want to waste their time with anything that remotely deviates from some absolute truth.

Back to the (from my perspective) more outrageous statement, that telling the truth is somehow easier than writing fiction because readers already believe that what you’re writing is true and you don’t have to suspend their disbelief…

To quote the New Republic piece:

In interviews, [Sedaris has] groaned about the time Esquire sent him to cover life at a morgue in Phoenix. The problem: He had to restrict himself to what actually happened. “I couldn’t exaggerate at all,” he told an interviewer. “It gave me a whole new appreciation for people who can honestly tell the truth, because people just didn’t always say what I wanted them to.”

Even Sedaris thinks writing nonfiction is hard, and for good reason. It is hard to maintain accuracy while also telling a good story that captures readers’ attention. For this reason, I could argue that nonfiction writing is harder than fiction writing (as some writers do), but I don’t believe that. They are both challenging; both must draw readers in, but by using different tools.

Villalon goes on to say that fiction is somehow getting short shrift out of all of this. Fiction! I find it amazing that someone could believe that nonfiction has somehow come out on the more credible side while fiction writing is now considered “second rate,” particularly following the James Frey fiasco, Augusten Burroughs’ legal woes, and the fraud of Jason Blair in the NYT and Stephen Glass’ pieces in, yes, The New Republic. If anything, I think readers are a lot more skeptical of nonfiction than they’ve ever been. And fiction: Fiction writing is at the heart of every MFA program, most literary magazines, many prestigious writers’ colonies and grants, and many of the big-name, big-money awards. There is status in writing fiction that nonfiction writers rarely achieve (unless their books are blessed by Oprah) despite the fact that, as Villalon points out, nonfiction sells more.

Which made me wonder, who is this Villalon guy, anyway? Turns out he’s the 30-something book editor at the Chronicle, and he’s on the board of the National Book Critics Circle, the group that gives out the prestigious awards. He’s also an author. Of a book about thumb wrestling.

The post-MFA wallowing is hereby over.

It’s time. That’s right. It’s time to stop wallowing in my post-MFA blahs and get to work. I’m talking about an agent. It’s time to dig that fat manuscript out of the pile it’s in in my closet. If I’m ever going to publish the book I wrote — or any future books — I need to find an agent who can help me navigate the publishing world.

I have been avoiding this, because I know it is going to take patience, persistence, probably a lot of luck, and most of all, time. Quite possibly years, but I’m trying not to go there. There is a huge probability that I will fail both to get an agent and to get my book published. (And I’ll do it here, in front of all you people! Ahem. It’ll be great. Really.) I’m not saying that out of insecurity, I’m being realistic. There are bizillions and gabillions of people out there who want to publish books, who’ve written books, who think they can write a book, and who have novels upon novels stashed away in their desk drawers. But: in 2005 only about 170,000 books were published in the U.S. That’s all kinds of books, children’s, textbooks, fiction, nonfiction, reference, everything. And, last year the United States’ book publishing output dropped by 18 percent. So on the one hand you have the bizillions and gabillions of wanna-be-published authors, on the other you have the 170,000 books published a year — and falling.

All that adds up to a high probability that I will see some rejections in my mailbox in the coming months. But rejections in the mailbox are better than a manuscript buried in the closet and no chance at all.

So where to begin? Whatever you want to say about MFA programs, I can tell you that one of the best things I got out of being in one was 1) access to people who had agents; 2) discussions with people who were in the process of looking for agents; and 3) the opportunity to work at an agency myself. I learned a lot about how agencies work, what makes a good book proposal, and what not to do when sending your work to an agent (um, neglect to include your contact info comes to mind, for starters). I’m not saying I’m an expert, because I definitely am not. But I picked up some things that I am hoping will help me in my quest. I guess what I am saying is that I have a plan of attack. I’ll be posting about this process as I go, so stay tuned.

It’s not you, it’s me. Or is it?

I’m in the process of compiling a list of books I read this year. In previous years, I’ve been much better about keeping track of what I’ve read, but this year, not so much. Which could be a symptom of how busy I was, or how involved I was in my thesis…Or the fact that I moved back to SF from Boston, and then we bought a house and moved again just a few months later. Did I mention writing a book?

It’s probably a bit of all of the above. But there’s also something else: This was not a good reading year for me. The first half of the year I was in classes, so my reading list was determined for me. All nonfiction, all the time. At the end of the semester, I was thrilled to be able to choose my own reading — Novels! I wanted to read novels! — and dove into it. I zipped through a few fiction selections in just a couple of weeks. But since then, something has happened that has never really happened to me before…

I haven’t felt like reading.

And not only that, but when I do feel like reading, I have been hugely unsuccessful in finding books that I like. In bookstores, I pick up books, read the back covers and then put them down again. Ho-hum. Sometimes I buy, but then when I get home I find that the books that seemed so intriguing in the store are not really doing it for me. (Witness: John Irving’s Until I Find You.) I started a lot of books this year that I didn’t finish, which is not a pattern I normally follow. I’m a stick-a-bad-book-out-to-the-end kind of person. Except that these days, I’m not.

Every so often I think, there’s nothing wrong with taking a break from reading, right? Except that for me, there is. I’ve been finding the near-absence of reading in my life unsettling. It’s like having a good friend disappear, or turn on you.

So I’ve been thinking… Is it me? Or is it the books?

One possible explanation for this odd blip in an otherwise blissful 30 years of reading: Could this be what happens when you finish an MFA program? Is it possible that I am so burned out on words that I don’t want to read? Or maybe, though I don’t quite beleive it, it’s the sudden return to having to choose my own reading material after two years of class-mandated books? Is it reading fiction after two years of reading mostly nonfiction? And then there’s this: I have heard quite a few MFA grads complain about how being in an MFA program ruined reading for them — two-plus years of constantly critiquing others’ writing can definitely make you hyper-critical of any artistic endeavor. We’re trained to look for flaws, particularly certain types of flaws, and we’re trained to write in certain molds and patterns. People say that writing can’t be taught, but I would argue that that’s not true: It can be, but to do so, writing has to be boiled down to patterns and frameworks. Not everything that’s published fits these standards, of course. In that light, how can someone who’s been through an MFA program not find fault with a lot of the writing that’s out there?

Then again, perhaps it’s not the MFA program, though it’s an easy scapegoat. Maybe I’m just having a hard time finding books that fit my mood. But maybe it’s not just me.

Is it the books? I was discussing this with some friends a few weeks ago. I’m not the only one having this experience… When I look for a book to read these days, I find bookstores don’t have quite the same allure that they used to. (I know, heresy!) I pick up books, read the back covers, and soon feel like I have read them before. The stories seem familiar, the plots recognizable, even the moods are clear. Maybe I should stop reading back covers. Hmm. Probably I shouldn’t be judging books by their back covers, based on copy written by who knows who (some intern in the publisher’s marketing department?) But the point is, it’s rare to find a book that is really and truly different; intriguing; moody but not overwhelming; with characters that you want to get to know, and a plot that’s really going to transport me (not alarm me or depress me or bore me).
Is it the times? Have Sept. 11, the Iraq War, the tsunami, Katrina, and other such calamities made for dark, humorless, plodding writing? Grim, formulaic books?
(In the back of my mind I suspect this theory, too, is flawed. Look at all of the amazing literature that came out of WWI or Vietnam, or…)

Maybe my lackadaisical reading habits can be blamed on all of these things and more. There’s the Internet and TV, which suck up more time than I like to admit. And it’s true, reading is more active, requires more focus and thought than any TV show or website. So perhaps technology is a culprit, too.

Whatever the problem is, here’s hoping 2007 is a better year for publishing and books, for growing beyond MFA program analysis (or whatever thinking constrains you) and for settling into bed with lots of really, really good books.

Does publishing overlook Korea?

Our weekend, despite being jam-packed, was oddly relaxing. There was dinner at a new sushi restaurant in the neighborhood (The verdict: so-so. Shiso leaves don’t really go with hamachi, and dying fish roe to match the colors of various sushi roll contents, while pretty, doesn’t necessarily make for good flavor). We took in a baseball game…It was a warm, clear night with great views of Oakland from AT&T Park. Alas, the Giants lost, again. I wrote some, and spent some time at a coffee shop trying to organize chapters. There were visits to the gym. After an impromptu grocery store stop, we grilled teriyaki flank steaks for Sunday night’s dinner (complete with with delicately crispy hash browns and crunchy-sweet sugar snap peas. Yum. We actually read the Sunday newspaper.

And there was packing. All of the books, as well as many other bits of our living room, are now boxed away, in weighty boxes I do not want to lift. I miss my books already.

OK, I take it back, all of my books are packed except for the ones I keep on my desk to help with the thesis. Four of these are models of sorts, books I look to when I get stuck on my own book and therefore they will remain unpacked until the last minute:

Iron and Silk, by Mark Salzman
Untangling My Chopsticks, by Victoria Abbott Riccardi (yes, the occasional judge on Iron Chef America)
Foreign Babes in Beijing, by Rachel DeWoskin (So jealous of this book! A fascinating personal narrative and tons of information so deftly woven together. And she’s a published poet, too. )
Beyond the Sky and the Earth, by Jamie Zeppa

The others are Korea guidebooks (Lonely Planet and Moon) and Culture Shock! Korea.

While I was packing my books away I started to consider the books I own that relate to Japan vs. the books I own that relate to Korea, and I started thinking about how different those piles of books are. I was a Japanese Studies major in college, so it’s not surprising that I have more books about Japan. But what’s strange is that there just seem to be so many more books out there about Japan, Japanese culture, Japanese food, women, festivals, etc., etc., etc. than there are about Korea.

A search on Amazon for books about Korea pulls up the usual suspects, travel guidebooks,  then a book about  how to get a job teaching in Korea, then a pile of histories of the Korean War and North Korea. North Korea seems to be the key ingredient for getting a book on Korea  published. There’s little out there (that’s accessible, anyway) on Korean culture, food, daily life, etc. There is only one modern travel narrative, a dated book (1987) by Simon Winchester that was recently re-released (I suspect more on the strength of his other nonfiction works than because of its topic). I have no way of proving it, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say there are even more novels written with Japan as a backdrop than Korea. Why is this?

What’s also strange is that looking back on my college courses, I managed to come away with a decent grasp of Chinese history, literature, even a little bit of women’s studies as it related to that country. I was, in fact, required to take a course in Chinese history for my major in Japanese Studies. I was not required to learn a thing about Korea. And I didn’t, except when the country popped up in the course of studying Japanese history. This despite hundreds of years of contact between the two countries, and hundreds of years of cultural exchange, peaceful or not.

Recently I picked up The Koreans: Who They Are, What they Want, Where Their Future Lies, by Michael Breen, which is a sort of journalistic look at the country’s post-war development. I found it lacking in personality. I think of China Wakes, for example, by New York Times writer Nicholas D. Kristof and his wife Sheryl Wudunn. That book is now at least a decade old, but it is still a fascinating read because the stories about China as a whole are revealed in personal conversations with its people. The Koreans is in large part filled with generalities.

Am I missing something? Are there better books out there about Korea’s people and culture?  Or is Korea just overlooked by English language publishers?

Not so big in Japan

There’s an interesting piece in the New York Times today about the fact that chick lit is not just an Anglo-American phenomenon; chick lit authors are emerging in unexpected places, like India, Hungary and Poland. While I’m starting to worry about the implications of chick lit here in the U.S., i.e. that it’s getting harder for women to publish unless they are writing some form of chick lit, in some of these other countries, the idea of chick lit marks an expanded set of freedoms for women, both socially and sexually.

What I found most interesting, however, was that chick lit hasn’t taken off in Japan:

“Nor is chick lit terribly popular in Japan, where women lean toward
weepy adolescent love stories or darker literary fiction that deals
with the “isolation and the meaninglessness of modern urban life;
boredom and frustration with men and relationships and marriage, and
the constraints put on women in Japanese society,” according to Hamish
Macaskill, a literary agent in Tokyo.”

Who knew?
In a country where cute cartoon creatures like Hello Kitty are popular even among adult women, you’d have thought maybe there would have been an attraction to Bridget Jones-like storylines. I must say, I rather prefer to think about women as living in the “isolation and meaningless of modern urban life” rather than in the perpetual self-criticisms, struggles with weight, alcohol, boys, and shopping that pop up in chick lit, albeit among best girlfriends, pets, and phone calls from mothers. Maybe Japanese women have a better grip on reality. Maybe I am just cynical.

20 minutes without stopping

I’m having trouble writing today.

Since I can’t seem to get rolling on Korea writing today, I am trying only to write something. I read somewhere that the best way to get past writer’s block is to force yourself to write something, anything, for 20 minutes without stopping. So this is what I am doing here.
I tend to have the problem of not being able to write when I haven’t had time to write for several days. It takes me some time to settle into the writing process, so when I am prevented from writing for a few days, I have to settle all over again. Bleh.
The reason I’ve been too busy to write is that I have been swamped with work for my Americans in Paris class. The professor assigned about 20 pieces in the anthology for Monday, and then another 20 for Wednesday. In short, a lot of writing by 40 different people, all about Paris, or their experiences in Paris. The readings are pretty interesting, actually, and have opened my eyes to a number of writers I had previously either ignored or had not been aware of. Edith Wharton, for example. I read Ethan Frome in high school and absolutely hated it. It was the plot I objected to, really, I don’t remember the writing. But we read two pieces by Wharton for class that I thought were really wonderful. She was obviously a very intelligent woman, and was an excellent writer. I am considering reading the full text that the accounts came from for my final project.
We have to keep a reading journal for this course, basically making a comment or two on everything we read. I may post mine here soon.

I started my internship at the literary agency on Monday. It was uneventful. The agency is part of a large national law firm, so basically, I am working at a law firm, and it’s everything you imagine a law firm to be: staid, quiet, well-appointed. I have an office (which I share with two other interns, though we never work on the same day) overlooking all of Boston. It’s on the 27th floor. Everything is very organized. There are tons of office supplies, all neatly stacked in their own special room. There’s a separate kitchen, where there’s a funky machine where you can brew a single cup of coffee, tea, hot chocolate, you name it.
On my first day, my supervisor, who’s the editorial director for the agency, showed me around, and then she put me to work. I read a proposal for a legal thriller type of novel, which was an interesting departure from what I usually read. Then I wrote up a report on it. This is what I’ll be doing once a week for the rest of the summer. Reading proposals and writing reports. It seems kind of cool, but it’s a lot like what I do in my writing workshops, so it’s nothing too challenging or new, though the pressure of the situation is a bit more dramatic. I am basically recommending whether the agency should take on these books or not. When I say no, it’s some author like me who is getting rejected. That’s kind of depressing.
Hopefully as time passes I will see more of what goes on in other aspects of the agency.

Other than class, the internship, reading and going to the gym, I haven’t been doing too much. There hasn’t been time to do too much else.
Today I am headed out for drinks with two friends from school. Tomorrow, reading, writing, the gym–more of the same. B. leaves on Saturday. I will not see him for three-plus weeks after that, but my mom, my friend Beth and my dad are all coming to visit over the next three weeks, so it should pass quickly.