This is my 30th anniversary of working in publishing. I’m not looking for a party or a Timex watch. I just need to say it: thirty years. Fifteen as an editor and fifteen as an agent. People always say that life happens in a flash, where did the time go, etc. Not so much in publishing. It’s a slow grind. Writing books is slow, publishing them is slow, recovering from publishing them can take an eternity. Still, and I know I sound like some kind of half-full gal, but it’s been extraordinary. Front row to writers doing their work, amazing colleagues, some who have become life-long friends. The parties, the drugs, a writer winning a prize, a book climbing the bestseller list. Every day going to the office, large Starbucks in hand, saying good morning to Pat at the door, and walking into a book lined office, my name on the door, simpatico people inside, talking their clients off the ledge, opening a new carton of galleys, going over a submission list, making a lunch date, chasing a check, another day.
What’s your day job?
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