Boxes, Boats, Burlesque, Boyfriends and Books

Well, here's a funny little tidbit from the world of publishing for children: you get a lot of promotional mail for online games and new picture books and stuff. Mostly it's books and catalogs that I find when I open the mail (one of my more glamorous duties, let me tell you). In the past couple of days, though, it's been like CHRISTMAS at HQ. Yesterday, we got the largest box of Tinkerbell paraphernalia known to man. We wanted to reuse the box to send submissions to first readers, just to weird them out, but it was goo big. I got a water bottle, a sticker, and a beach ball, all decorated with Tinkerbell. Today, we got a (slightly more reasonably sized) box of ToonTown stuff! This was far more exciting because I got a tee shirt with a slightly angry looking duck on it.

Now, I have no idea what these boxes were trying to get us to buy, but I would like to give a shout out to whoever sent them to us, because you've never seen so many 20+ year old young ladies lunging for such silly objects.


One of my seriously glamorous new jobs has been to test drive arts projects before the editor puts them in the back of the magazine that's directed at kids ages 6-9. Luckily, I have the artistic ability of a 6-year-old, so we all know that whatever I come out with will be a pretty realistic Catastrometer reading of the age group. I tell the editor each place where I feel the project is too hard or any snags I might find (snag number one: I cannot use scissors, glue, or paper).


A couple more bits of friendly advice that have occurred to me as I open mail, read submissions, pound my head on my desk, etc.
1. Well, I don't know what other publishers would actually say about this but ESPECIALLY when we don't take queries and you are sending us a manuscript, you really don't need to start with "To whom it may concern: Have you ever wondered what you would do if you were babysitting and thought you heard a man upstairs but when you called your dad and he came in with a gun to look around he found out there was no man upstairs? This is my humor submission." Because, funnily enough, I have not, but you've just told me your whole plot and it's dumb and I don't want to read it. But I have to.
2. Try, just try, to figure out exactly to whom you're addressing yourself. I know it's confusing when there are eight magazines to choose from, but I admit to having a little chuckle every time you get it wrong. Of course, you should really be addressing it to "Lowly Intern, esq." but, on the off-chance someone else should open the mail, let's just stick to not addressing yourself to an editor who does not exist.
3. On the subject of the above, please do not send the same story to every editor in the hopes that it will get into ONE of the magazines. Check the address: we all work 5 feet away from each other. And it is actually me (Lowly Intern Esq.) who makes the first recommendation as to which magazine you'll be best for, regardless of which one you're submitting to. ... I lied, it's the first reader. I'm so lowly!
4. Okay, see, today I got a book query (which we don't actually accept, but the lady did not include a SASE so I could not tell her this) asking us to read a manuscript of a memoir of a Burlesque dancer. Apparently, they were the first strip tease ever in something-or-other Alaska.

Don't get me wrong. This is fascinating. I would totally read this manuscript. But (and I'm looking at all the people who have sent in gory, violent, or intensely confusing submissions) PLEASE look at who you are submitting to and if it is a CHILDREN'S publishing company, maybe just...don't.


Today the editorial assistant (hereafter EA) and I decided we were going to reorganize the science books in the library. This was by far the silliest thing I have ever agreed to do in my life because I am not content with vague organization. I must have it perfect or die trying (which I almost did. An archaeology reference book the size of Burkina Faso tried to behead me not six minutes into the process). I was actually late for our library date though, due to: I stupidly thought it was safe to wander into an office supplies store because I was early finishing lunch. I told myself "I'm not going to buy anything unless I REALLY need it" but of course that degenerates into "unless I WILL really need it EVENTUALLY" which slides to "unless it's not TOO expensive and I REALLY like it" which eventually splats into rock bottom "unless it's pretty."

I stopped myself at $20 though, for three totally recycled notebooks that are nice colors and smell good and a planner that I hope to God I actually like because usually I spend all summer deciding what planner I'm going to get.

This is all really irrelevant, I just wanted to tell you about my new boyfriend.

Well, see, his name is Brad and he works at some salon or other and he did not LOOK like one of those ambush-you-on-the-street-and-hold-you-hostage-for-twenty-minutes types (I can get by those easy, because I've found that listening to music, pretending to talk on the phone, and running does not work (because they run after you yelling "DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT CANCER/CHILDREN/THE ENVIRONMENT/PUPPIES?" [yes, yes I do, I swear. It's just you scare me.]), but if you sort of look down and look like you're about to cry they figure you just got dumped and leave you alone). Anyhow, Brad got me with "Can I ask you a question about your hair?" which I was like "um what?" and then I was hostage.

As it turns out (did you know?) I can get something done with my hair and nails and something else all for some low, low price. Somehow, my new boyfriend Brad was very confused by the fact that I have never been to a place like this. I'm not sure when I started giving of the I-do-more-than-run-a-brush-through-my-hair-at-least-once-a-week aura. This whole thing ended with us bonding over how he got carded trying to go into a rated-R movie and the metra man tried to give me a high school discount on a train ticket (and when I said I was 20 he said 'girl, you don't look a day older than 15.' Muh.) and then he gave me his number so I could let him know if I ever had fifty dollars on me and really wanted to get something or other done to my hair. Or for a hot salon date. It wasn't really clear. Then I was late for my library date, and then archaeology tried to kill me. End scene.

I got my own shiny copy of C D B today because we didn't know where in the library to put it.