a year ago or, the internship: part one

It hit me recently that a year ago, I was a lowly editorial intern, making minimum wage at a book publisher. My boss was a year older than I, the head assistant editor who seemed so far ahead of me. I pulled out my journal today, which brought back all the memories. In the interest of nostalgia and because it relates to writing/jobs, I’m going to be posting my internship story over the next few days. If you’re at that breaking-into-writing/editing stage, I’d love to talk to you–if only for the empathy.

Here’s part one:

I sat in the animal-print chair, holding my canvas Barnes & Noble bag on my shoulder, clutching my umbrella, still wearing my jacket. It was my first day at a local book publisher that had agreed to take me on as an editorial intern. I thumped my black leather heel on the ground, partially out of nervousness, partially to shake the raindrops, and picked up a company catalog with my free hand, scanning to see if I recognized any titles.

“I don’t think she’s in yet,” Annie, the receptionist, said about my new manager Leah Robin, when I’d approached the front desk. “I’ll keep trying her phone.”

A year into my grad program, my favorite class was unquestionably Editing. I had taken it on an every-other-Saturday basis, earlier in the year. I remember that when I signed up for the class, friends were surprised. “Seven hours on a Saturday? Editing?” But my professor was animated, the discussions were fascinating, and the hours flew by. Our class spent entire afternoons discussing punctuation and grammar, and it was fun. My professor let us argue about sentences: “Should this be an en dash or a hyphen? Is ‘Renzo piano’ definitely an open compound?”

Rapidly, grammar and editing occupied even my free-time thoughts; I became one of those annoying people who find errors in the day’s newspaper or a favorite magazine. And that March, I got a freelance editing opportunity as a result of my new habit. I had contacted a local publisher about her magazine’s errors, and she’d hired me to correct them. For the magazine, I received sixty-some pages of proof to read and edit from my home in one day; then I returned them to the magazine’s office.

Fast forward a few months: summer was beginning, and I wasn’t planning to take any classes. Tossing around ideas for summer work, I wondered about an internship—but what kind? A teacher of mine suggested several companies; only one was located in the area: a small, independent book publisher just thirty minutes from my house. I researched them online and found they had an editing internship that would allow me to learn more about the publishing industry and also to refine my editing knowledge. I applied right away, but its summer positions were full. I applied again in August, and it took me.

“I guess she was here all along,” Annie peeked over her desk at me. “She’ll be right out. Do you want to put your lunch in the fridge?” I shook my head, not bothering to explain the bag I carried held my copies of The Chicago Manual of Style and Merriam-Webster Dictionary, not my afternoon meal.

In moments, Leah greeted me, clad in a comfortable shirt and blue jeans, and led me to my cubicle. “I tried to get you everything I thought you’d need,” she said, pointing to flags, post-its, pens, tissues, and a company copy of CMS. She’d even posted a “Welcome” sign on the cube’s wall. When I’d first met Leah, at my interview, I’d been surprised at how young she looked with her long blonde hair and trendy glasses frames. At the interview, too, she’d worn blue jeans; this company was definitely different than any I’d worked for before.

I set my things on the desk and followed Leah as she led me through the building. She introduced me to people in almost every department (IT, design, acquisitions, sales, human resources, printing) giving their names, though I knew I wouldn’t remember them. The company’s offices filled about half of a small, one-floor building and housed around sixty employees. Most departments held several cubicles, and only some department heads and executives had private offices. The central space, known as the “bullpen,” housed a sort of meeting place for the staff, where parties were held and announcements were given. The bullpen was also where the company’s cow, formerly one of Chicago’s many, resided. I later learned they’d actually beat out Oprah on the bidding for the literary bull. The bullpen, like the rest of the building, had a bright and cheerful feel—all red, orange, and yellow color choices. And nestled next to the cow and drums (what they used to call meetings—really!), a large fountain flowed serenely.

After touring the building, Leah and I returned to the editorial department and met in the media room. We spent the morning going page by page through the blue-binder editorial intern manual, which involved a review of key areas of The Chicago Manual of Style, as well as information about house rules that involved deviations from CMS or Merriam-Webster. For example, the company prefers “email” to “e-mail” and “U.S.” to “US.” Leah also gave me a typed sheet of comments previous interns had made at the end of their assignments. Several stood out to me immediately: “Eight hours of editing is tough!” “Really tedious work!” and “You are not a slow editor. Really. Take your time.”

The amount of information I was given in one day intimidated me at first: How would I remember the order of final checks? What were all the ARC tags again? Could I bring this binder with me everywhere? But Leah assured me that she didn’t expect me to know everything that day; I had time to learn and absorb the procedures. One day down; sixty-one to go.

Filed under grad school, story of my internship |