Entry #7 - Opening Some More Doors

Hi lovelies,

At the end of last year I had a lot going on.  It was the eleventh hour for me, or at least it felt like it was.  My internship was drawing to a close, my friends were getting hired left and right, and I was reading away in a freezing conference room, certain I would be the one called next, hoping that when I returned to the city after a holiday at home I would be returning to a job.  That was the ideal image in my mind, but seldom is reality that convenient.  The holidays passed and I returned to that conference room, where it seemed like everyone else was receiving good news.  Everyone but me.

But again, seldom is reality that convenient.  I couldn't just sit there and panic about my future, because I wasn't alone in that room.  Beside me were other fantastic candidates from my intern class, and every time I'd glance over at them I would wonder, "Why are we still here?  I mean, I wrap my mind around ME not getting snatched up yet, but YOU GUYS, TOO?"  For every time that I wanted to scream or cry or hyperventilate, I didn't.  It would have been selfish, and it would have shown that I was learning nothing.  Because as frustrated and pissed off and defeated as I was, I also knew the merits of the people in that room with me.  People I believe deserve amazing careers in publishing. People I believe were passed up by absolute fools.  If I'm sitting with those people, then I should try to believe the same of myself, right?

I don't talk a lot when I'm panicking, because panic is contagious.  Like yawning and projectile vomiting.  It's just not a good idea to start doing it.  So rather than letting that panic spread into my writing and subsequently onto this blog, I thought it best to keep my trap shut.  And then my Dad asked when I was going to post again.

So here's a post for you, Dad.

The theme is that nothing is quite so awful when you're not alone as you're going through it.  I hope we all know this.  I mean, I knew this before this horrific hiring experience, but it's good to be reminded every so often.  If I didn't have the support of friends and family, old and new, well... maybe I would have still made it this far, but I would be a terrible human being.  I never want to be a version of me without the warmth and love that I'm lucky to receive from all of you.

This is also for you, Mom.

My Mom flew out to NYC for a workshop at Columbia's Teacher's College, because she is incredible and dedicated and a fantastic leader.  She also got here about a week after I'd been turned down from one job and bombed an interview for another because I'd had a hundred degree fever and brought up piranhas for no apparent reason.  My intern class had dwindled and I'd been starting to think, what if I can't make it?  What if I don't get hired anywhere?  What happens if I have to move back to Seattle?  My poor, sweet mother.  I got home from a long and brutal Friday, full of anxiety and rejection, and she opened up my apartment door and said, "Welcome home!"

And I burst into tears.  Partly because of the pressure from what was going on in my life at the time, but also because that's the first time someone has been waiting for me to come home in so, so long.  I mean, I like living alone for the most part, but this sweet and simple action completely unmade me.  Yep.  It might be time for roommates.  Or at least a cat.  Ten cats?

Anyway, here I am, about to start a new job at a Big Six.  When a door this big opens, I have to glance back for a second before I walk through.  If you'd told me I'd be here a year ago, I wouldn't have believed you.  Mostly because I'm just starting to learn how to believe in myself.  But I think a big part of learning that is trusting and believing in the people around you.

I'm going to go be posh and work next door to Rockefeller Center now.  Wish me luck!

Entry #6 – A Book: Companion, Escape Pod, and Brutal Weapon

Part One: That Time I Didn’t Cry on the Subway

The thing I do most on the subway is read.  Riding the subway has sort of taken all of the reasons I’ve read books my entire life and distilled them into a mighty brew of need.  I don’t just read because I love books – I read because I need to.  Because reading saves me from so many of the things that I can’t stand.  They say that introverts need time alone to recharge – oftentimes when I read, it’s like I’m putting up walls around me, and everything else falls away, and I can recharge.  Maybe that sounds sad, or lonely, but trust me.  It’s bliss.

When I’m reading on the subway I don’t really care if I’m more or less nestled into someone’s armpit.  I can get over the pushing and shoving, the jostling crowd that feels like it’s trying to rip my shoulder bag away from my body.  Everyone who’s standing there and blatantly staring at me, slack jawed, glassy eyed, certainly skeezy and possibly terrifying, ceases to exist.

Which is why, when a man screamed at me on the train for reasons that might be classified as being poor at best, I pulled out my Kindle and climbed back into Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell.  Sure, my face was flushed.  My throat was tight.  Hands shaking and eyes burning, I chewed on my tongue and said to myself, Don’t you dare cry, Kayla King.  Don’t you dare.  Sources ranging from episodes of How I Met Your Mother to random transplants on the street will tell you that you’ve truly become part of NYC when you cry openly on the subway.

I’m not ready for that.  Because people like that – bullies – don’t deserve it.  So between paragraphs, I would look up and shoot icy glares at him, like Ashe’s Frost Arrows darting across the seats.  I would forcefully make eye contact and let him take some responsibility for the words he let carelessly out of his mouth.  I couldn’t do that in the first five minutes after the yelling, mind you.  But five minutes of reading a wonderful book, of surrounding myself with characters that I love, made me strong again.  So I glared at him, and let him know that I was hell bent on making him feel some of the discomfort he’d inflicted upon me and other passengers.  And in a perfect world, he thinks twice before he yells at strangers on the subway, just trying to get home after a particularly exhausting day of work.

I know, I know.  Eye for an eye is not good.  But guys, I’m weak when I’m wounded like that, and I have kind of a twisted sense of justice.  But at least I didn’t cry.  Not a native yet.

Thank you, Rainbow Rowell, for helping me not to cry on the subway.  Thank you for protecting me with your written words when a subway full of people stood by silent.  You are worth tens of thousands of silent people (at least).

It doesn't matter what that guy was upset about, or what he said.  He got off three stops after his little temper tantrum, and I'm sure that I'm the only person from that train ride who is even aware of his existence.  The city's going to swallow him back up, and I'll forget him.  The specifics are not important or worth repeating, all that matters is that books are a wonderful shield that can bolster you at the right moment, and in time, even help you forget about jerks like that.

I'm still marveling a little over that moment on the train when I suddenly felt better.  I was so, so sure that I was going to lose it in front of all of those people, just because some random yelled at me (I really don't take kindly to people who don't know me from Eve attacking me - at least do it for a plausible reason, you fools).  But it was like Cath and Levi were out of the book, right there next to me, hands on my shoulders, saying, "He's not worth it.  He's so not worth it."

Entry #5 – Be the Weirdest Individual You Could Possibly Be

What I mean is, be true to yourself. Kind of like that 98 Degrees song at the end of Mulan, “True to Your Heart.”  Just listen to it.  It’s good for you.  Well, as long as you remember that you don’t need validation through the affection of another person.  Sorry.  I’ll try to focus and not deconstruct Disney soundtracks.

This is a particularly good time for me to remind myself of this, since I’m starting to write cover letters and look for jobs and generally be driven to forget that I like anything about myself and that I’m pretty awesome most of the time – when I’m not blowing my brains out over stress.  My palms feel like they’re in a state of permanent sweatiness right now.  Sorry.  You probably didn’t need to know that.

While job hunting and writing cover letters, I’ve felt from time to time like I’m excising my personality and what I care about and replaced it with clinical descriptions of my filing aptitude.  There’s nothing particularly wrong with that, on the contrary, it’s not the best idea to gush all over your future employer about how passionate you are about the titles they’ve produced.  If your cover letter reads, “OMG JOHN GREEN CHANGED MY LIFE AND HIS BOOKS MAKE ME CRY IN PUBLIC PLEASE HIRE ME!!!!”  Well.  I think you can all tell the difference between that and “I currently work in the offices of these four highly reputed literary agents, reading manuscripts from clients and queries, and composing reader reports, editorial letters, and rejection letters.”  Even if my heart wants to hire the fangirl…

But you can still be an individual.  You can still show your passion, you just have to be smart about it.  Most of the time, it’s highly likely to be the case that who you name drop and your previous professional experiences are the factors that get you an interview.  But sometimes, I like to believe it’s that personal part at the very end of the letter that will set you above the rest of your competition.  Guys, I am a deep carer of things.  You know that.  It should be no surprise to you that I feel this way.

That’s why, when I came across a posting for an editorial assistant that had a background in gaming, my heart clenched up a teeny tiny bit.  It was like looking at the editor herself and quietly asking, “Were you looking for me?” 

I must confess, I’ve been a little lonely on the geek front out here.  When I left behind most of my friends in Seattle, I was also departing from a community that is unabashedly up front about League, board games, anime, homestuck, Robert Jordan, Patrick Rothfuss, and the actual A Song of Ice and Fire books, not just the HBO series.  I go around the city dialed down about 50,000 notches.  Well, that may be an exaggeration.

But when I realized that one of the other interns here is also a Yu Yu Hakusho fan, my brain short circuited.  I just sort of stared at her in disbelief.  My people are out here, apparently, we’re just flying under the radar like pros.  Well, probably not me.  I can only turn down the volume so much, guys.  Sorry.  I mean, I’m not sorry.  I mean… you’re welcome?

I applied to that job, of course.  I said all of the important things.  Where I work right now, and for who, and all of the skills I’ve acquired, including some proficiency with very specific database software.  But in that last paragraph, I mentioned replaying Chrono Trigger, and that Ashe is my go-to AD Carry, and how much I miss my dungeon master right now.  Because, yeah, I can write you an awesome pitch letter.  But I can also tell you why Silent Hill: Revelations was a horrendously disappointing movie adaptation.  Because I’m me.  That’s all.

One of my fears in growing up has been that I’ll just become so much less… me.  That someone will look at me and the things that I love and say, “Grow up, fangirl.”  I’m not saying I’m trying to be Peter Pan or anything, but I do think that there’s something wrong with that.  I refuse to equate what I love, those parts of what make me as amazing as I am, with being immature or childish or any less of a comprehensive adult.

And hey, maybe it’s my professional skill set and my general geekery that will eventually get me a job.  Maybe not.  But these parts that change and grow as I do don’t have to EAT each other. 

As long as I’m being true to myself, I’ll be happy.  Everything else will come in time.  I hope that all of you will be yourselves, no matter what amount of stress or pressure you go through.  Never be anything less than the wonderful person you are, no matter how weird.

Be the weirdest individual you can possibly be.  That’s my version of a Hallmark card.  Fangirl on.

Entry #5 – Be the Weirdest Individual You Could Possibly Be

Special Edition #1 – NaNoWriMo, Year Nine

So, I posted a day late.  I apologized in my earlier entry, and now I want to make it up to you with a little extra content.  I've been turning over the idea of extra posts in my head for a while now, just some random updates and silly things about me when it's not Wednesday.  Hey, it's Thursday!  Have a piece of my soul.

These days I’m reading enough to make my head spin.  I get up, go to work, read on the subway ride downtown, read for another seven hours or so, head home, read on the subway ride uptown, and more often than not read for at least another hour before I fall asleep.

Not that I’m complaining – a book on the subway is like a frying pan in a fantasy world.  One of the best unexpected weapons yet.  But more on that another time.

In addition to all of this reading, it’s National Novel Writing Month, so I’m trying for those 50,000 words again.  This is the ninth year that I’ve gone for it, and in that many tries I’ve reached the goal twice.  But, as anyone who’s talked to me about NaNo before has heard me say, it’s not about reaching 50k.  If you’re really lucky, you’ve even see me start to blubber about how victory lies in those first few words.  You’ve probably stared at me in gobsmacked horror when I get like that – tears filling my eyes as I go on and on about honor and wordcount and brave souls.  Please, keep in mind that it’s probably already a week into November and sleeping has all but gone out the window for me.

I stand by those feels though.  Some of you probably already know that when I care about something, I CARE HARD.  I AM A DEEP CARER OF THINGS.  So while I’m up in the small hours of the night, feverishly hammering something out on my keyboard, crying because I’m killing someone off or because my most recent 8tracks fanmix for my own original characters is squeezing my heart to death, I am loving every single second of it.  And I hope that everyone else who takes their chances at NaNoWriMo – at writing, actually – feels the way that I do when I do it.

I’m just so full of the sentiment lately, huh?

It comes with being a deep carer of things.

It’s even better when I find someone who cares deeply with me.  Want to know how this year got started?  With one of the best people in the world, up into the late hours, notebooks propped open on our knees and shooting ideas back and forth.  Does it make sense if this person is dead?  Should this person actually be kind of an anti-hero?  How can I make this world as depressing and ruinous as possible?  In a particularly glorious moment, I came up with a line of dialogue spoken by one of my characters that’s still haunting me, that makes my throat close up for small moments, that has sparked at least three playlists.

That damn line.  It’s trying to kill me.  It does kind of kill someone, as it were.

So, if you’ve embarked on the voyage of NaNoWriMo with me, best of luck to you, friend.  Remember that once we’ve cast off, the journey has begun, and there’s no such thing as running aground in a sea as wide as this.  Same goes if you’re not doing NaNo, if you are just a writer of the words that you want to write.  Your sea is no less than mine.  Your country is just as boundless. 

May the road rise up to meet you.

Entry #4 – Don’t Look Them in the Eye – No, Wait, They’re Looking! They’re Looking!

I’m so sorry to be a day late!  I don’t really have an excuse for myself, though honestly I didn’t think a day or so would matter very much.  If you’re one of the people who told me that I’m stupid for thinking that way, and that you missed out on my usual Wednesday post, then thank you.  Thank you.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the idea of people actually reading something I’m writing.

It’s been a month, team, and I’m still here.  Still hale.  Still strong.  Still mad as a hatter for this impossible industry, but then again, that’s a prerequisite.  Still getting phone calls asking me if I’m safe.  Today my sister phoned and requested that I do my best not to get shot.  I’ll do my best.

Right before I moved, an avalanche of advice came pouring in, and quite a bit of it has turned out to be somewhat… contradictory. 

First of all, not being out after dark is silly and impossible.  It gets dark at 4:30pm, and you’d be surprised how packed the streets still are around three in the morning.

Secondly, Central Park is a safe place now.  You can go jogging and everything.  That scissor stabbing on October 1^st was a random incident.  I’ve heard about the 1980’s, guys, and we’re not going back to that.

In that vein, I ride the subway nearly every single day.  The main things you have to worry about are random incidents of nudity and varied levels of personal hygiene.

But what I really wanted to bring up was the whole issue of eye contact.  At some point in this veritable downpour of KAYLA DON’T DO THIS, someone told me that it was terribly unwise to make eye contact with anyone on the street.

I want you to picture me with my eyes firmly on the ground or off to the side or even (gasp!  KAYLA WE SAID NOT TO DO THIS IT WAS IN THE CODEBOOK LOOK AT THE INDEX UNDER THINGS THAT TOURISTS DO) looking up at the buildings around me.  For about three weeks, I did not look anyone I didn’t know in the eye.  As though if I were to do so, they would spring at me with a battle cry and a ballpoint pen, ready to savage me for violating a secret New York code.

I am ridiculous.  You know this.  If you didn’t know before now, well… I have just fixed that for you, haven’t I?

But I am also a person who doesn’t easily back down from a challenge.  Don’t get this confused with any sense of confidence or personal pride, it’s just that I’m secretly a kid and everything’s a game to me so if you start playing with me I am going to play back.

 

I started noticing people staring at me.  And I started thinking to myself, “Don’t they know that you’re not supposed to do that?”  And one day, I believe it was on the subway, I caught a woman staring at me because I had the excellent spot by the door.  I think she wanted it.  We probably both clambered onto the train at the same time and I just beat her to it, which in her mind, merited some serious no-staring code breaking.  She stared at me, and I, uncomfortably aware of my surroundings and just wanting to read something fantastic by Rainbow Rowell, tore my eyes away from the page before I could help it and I STARED BACK.

She was not expecting that.  After five full seconds, she looked away.  But I kept staring her.  I wanted her to know that I knew what she was up to.  If she wanted to stare at me again, she was welcome to, but under the condition that I would be staring right back.

That’s how the staring code works, you see.  When you stare, you give others the permission to stare, and as some close companions of mine might tell you, you don’t want to be on the wrong end of my stare.  I was given an award in high school for shutting people up with my icy gaze.  I’ve spent the years only refining it to a sharper point.

How could I go through my first few weeks in this treacherous city with such disregard to one of the best weapons in my arsenal?

Not to be abused, of course.  Like I said, for me, it's a game.  How long until I make you uncomfortable?  If you stare at me, besmirched riders of the subway, I will stare back.  And you will lose.  Every time. 

Fear me, people of New York.  I was born and raised in Seattle, and we are excellent at making you feel horrible about yourself with a silent, steely gaze.

But really, I’m still pretty afraid to look people in the eye around here.

Entry #3 – The Subway is a Strange, Magical Place… but Yeah, Carry Hand Sanitizer

Time for something positive, I think – short and sweet.  It IS NaNoWriMo, so I have multiple commitments.  I think you’ll like this one, though.  I'm feeling a little sentimental tonight. <3

Today I was talking with a few other interns, and you know how conversations end up where everyone goes around talking about the weird things that happen to them.  One person mentioned about how she’d seen someone chopping onions on the subway.

Cutting board out.

Knife at the ready.

Onions being hacked into tiny little pieces, with at least twenty onlookers to their demise.

I can’t imagine anything remotely like this.  I have no idea what I would do in that situation.  My first thought was, “Was everyone crying?”  I worry about frivolous things.

Another person chimed in and mentioned that they’d seen a man in a tutu doing a striptease.  Someone had witnessed a naked man waiting for the train.

I haven’t had anything like this yet, but I’m sure, like all great things in life, it will come when the time is right (or not, but it will be thrilling regardless of convenience). 

But while I haven’t had my token weird subway experience yet, I have come across a different kind of subway magic.  Moments where other people smile at you for giving up your seat for someone who needed it more.  When everyone grins at a cute kid saying goodbye to everyone as they step off the train, and then catch each other’s eyes and grin even more.  When you step between someone with no space bubble and someone who looks terrified, and scooch the overbearing person back just a bit.  When someone questionable sits half on top of you, and the person on your other side immediately moves over and gives you more space.  Just because they know.  They’ve been there before. 

It’s this odd sense of camaraderie that arises out of nowhere, just when you feel like no one in the whole city has a single human bone in their body.  There are some great humans riding the subway, every day.  When your back is quite literally against the wall, someone just might notice and give you some space.  Why?

Because we’re all riding the train together.

P.S. I just saw another cockroach.  It must die.

P.P.S.  It scuttled under my refridgerator before I could get to it.  Have pulled out excellent roach killing slippers and shut off a few lights to bait it.

P.P.P.S. Maybe I should just go get the raid?  And just spray it under the fridge?

P.P.P.P.S. Should I open a window before I do that?

P.P.P.P.P.S.  Oh hell.  It’s one freaking cockroach.  If it brings any more friends I’ll just burn the apartment building to the ground.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S.  No.  NO.  If I want to sleep in peace, the Raid has to happen.  HEAR ME, ROACHES?  I AM SPRAYING THE RAID.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. The Raid has been sprayed.  Windows are open, thank goodness, because this stuff should not be breathed in by anything that wants to live longer than five minutes.  

Going for a walk.