Yesterday was my birthday. Good-bye 23, hello 24. I’m at home with my family in Kansas City, right now. We had cake and coffee and I opened a few presents. A bit different than the past four (five?) birthdays I’ve spent in Des Moines. (Funny those college and post-college birthdays became more normal than those with the fam, you know?)
Anywho, 24 promises to be interesting. After all, I’m moving from (er, have already moved from) Des Moines to Portland, Oregon. I’m just spending time with my family in KC ‘til I fly out on Saturday. Then Monday, I start a new job at a start-up home/interior design magazine.
I spent four years at Meredith. They treated me very very well (and I’m not just saying that because they might be reading this). I clocked in three years at Country Home magazine. I had an entire front-of-book department credited to me, plus my own blog. I chose stories, got them photographed, wrote them, and edited the entire section. I dabbled in the feature well. Producing credit? Check. Writing? Yup. Editing? Photo shoots? A bit o’ styling? Check, check, check. I got a ton of experience right out of college. I can't complain at all.
But, I was getting super antsy. Days went by that I realized I was writing the same ol’ stuff each month, and my mind would wander to why I went into journalism in the first place. To write about home decorating or to be the next Sy Hersh? Or somewhere in between? And at 23, had I already sold out to some extent? And yes, I loved it, but I was growing tired of Des Moines, too. I just felt a calling to do something else.
I’d been to Portland only a couple of times before, most recently last summer for a press junket for work. I fell in love. It was so ME. So, when I saw an open position for this regional magazine on my Mediabistro job alerts, I applied that day. Wrote the cover letter, flew to Massachusetts for another work trip, and mailed the packet of information, thinking there was no chance on God’s green earth that I’d get the job. I don’t live in Portland! They’ll laugh at this Kansas/Iowa hybrid for her naivete!
Needless to say, when the editor called me for an interview, I was thrilled. I prepared a ton. I studied up on Portland like I was cramming for the next day’s mid-term. He called, we chatted, and I thought--all things considered--it went pretty well. Then, I got a second interview. Then, I flew out for a third interview. It was while I was on the plane that I had a come-to-Jesus talk with myself: If you get this job, hotshot, are you really ready to move to Portland? Are you ready to leave your cushy job at Meredith to work for a start-up magazine? Are you giving up on your dream to go back to New York? Wait, is that really your dream or just what you thought you were supposed to do? Huh? Figure it out!
I answered none of those questions on the plane ride (and I still haven’t, fully). I just continued to cram as though I was being tested (I tend to over prepare) and did the best I could at my all-day interview. At the end of the day, I got the job.
Giving my notice at Country Home was the hardest thing I’ve had to do, professionally. I had a great group of co-workers, mentors, and friends there. But I’ve burned no bridges and left on the terms of, “If the magazine folds, which we hope it won't, we suppose you can come back, wink, wink,” which is always comforting, I suppose.
I’m flying out Saturday. My cute apartment in Des Moines is all packed up and on its contents are on their way to Portland (I hope). I have an Aerobed waiting for me until all my furniture (and books and magazines and CDs and DVDs and artwork and every other worldly possession) arrives. It feels pretty darn good to start my 24th year on a brand-spanking-new note. I guess I essentially answered all my lingering questions when I bought the one-way ticket out west, huh? Wish me luck!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
What? Me an Expert On ...
A funny thing happened on the way to becoming a newspaper journalist. In my first semester at Drake, around the same time I started reporting for the Times-Delphic, I heard about a brainstorming meeting for Drake Magazine. I was intrigued. So I attended the meeting, queried for a story, and somehow, surprisingly, managed to land a feature story (about the moms of the crazy Des Moines-based band Slipknot, of all things). Tracking the moms down and getting them to talk wasn’t easy, but I loved every minute of it. Before long, I was editing for Drake Magazine (thanks, Lexi). And I was hooked.
That’s the funny thing with magazines. You never know where life will take you. After a stint as a communications intern at the Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation, an apprenticeship at Better Homes & Gardens, and a summer ASME internship at National Geographic Traveler in Washington, D.C. (yes, you can do all of these things as a Drake magazine student!), I spent my senior year interning for a small (read: one-person) custom-publishing company called Lexicon. And (lucky me) before I even got to that panic-stricken time senior year when most magazine students start flipping out because they don’t have jobs, my boss at Lexicon offered me a full-time position. And I took it, without a lick of trepidation.
Now I’m managing editor of the company, which has grown from just the two of us to five full-time employees and a couple of very capable interns (Drake students, of course). No, it’s not a big consumer magazine in New York. And it’s a long way from my dreams of Sports Illustrated or Newsweek. But you can’t beat the variety.
On any given day I might be writing or editing articles on everything from international travel and healthy eating to retirement living and how small businesses can increase traffic to their websites. On top of that, I regularly create editorial outlines for magazine and book projects, select photography for home design publications, work with graphic designers on a variety of web and print projects, assign articles to freelance writers, copy edit and proofread everything from book proposals to entire books, create proposals for new magazine or book projects, and pen posts for our blog. Whew.
Does this mean I’m an expert on any of these things? Not so much. I might edit stories on world travel, but I’m just now packing for my first trip to Europe (Italy, here I come). I’m not a small business owner and I’m certainly not retirement age. And I’ve written I don’t know how many stories and books on home design—bathrooms, kitchens, trimwork, decks and patios, you name it. But when I recently bought my first house and had to figure out what colors to paint the walls, did I rely on my expertise culled from hour upon hour of research on color schemes? Of course not. I called my mother.
The secret to surviving in the world of magazine publishing is that you have to be willing to research. To be a generalist. To have a passion for learning new things, even if they’re things you never in a million years thought you’d care enough to write about. Say yes to those assignments that don’t interest you in the least and an even bigger yes to the ones that do. And along the way, you just might find out where your passion lies and what you want to be when you grow up. (When I figure it out myself, I’ll let you know.)
That’s the funny thing with magazines. You never know where life will take you. After a stint as a communications intern at the Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation, an apprenticeship at Better Homes & Gardens, and a summer ASME internship at National Geographic Traveler in Washington, D.C. (yes, you can do all of these things as a Drake magazine student!), I spent my senior year interning for a small (read: one-person) custom-publishing company called Lexicon. And (lucky me) before I even got to that panic-stricken time senior year when most magazine students start flipping out because they don’t have jobs, my boss at Lexicon offered me a full-time position. And I took it, without a lick of trepidation.
Now I’m managing editor of the company, which has grown from just the two of us to five full-time employees and a couple of very capable interns (Drake students, of course). No, it’s not a big consumer magazine in New York. And it’s a long way from my dreams of Sports Illustrated or Newsweek. But you can’t beat the variety.
On any given day I might be writing or editing articles on everything from international travel and healthy eating to retirement living and how small businesses can increase traffic to their websites. On top of that, I regularly create editorial outlines for magazine and book projects, select photography for home design publications, work with graphic designers on a variety of web and print projects, assign articles to freelance writers, copy edit and proofread everything from book proposals to entire books, create proposals for new magazine or book projects, and pen posts for our blog. Whew.
Does this mean I’m an expert on any of these things? Not so much. I might edit stories on world travel, but I’m just now packing for my first trip to Europe (Italy, here I come). I’m not a small business owner and I’m certainly not retirement age. And I’ve written I don’t know how many stories and books on home design—bathrooms, kitchens, trimwork, decks and patios, you name it. But when I recently bought my first house and had to figure out what colors to paint the walls, did I rely on my expertise culled from hour upon hour of research on color schemes? Of course not. I called my mother.
The secret to surviving in the world of magazine publishing is that you have to be willing to research. To be a generalist. To have a passion for learning new things, even if they’re things you never in a million years thought you’d care enough to write about. Say yes to those assignments that don’t interest you in the least and an even bigger yes to the ones that do. And along the way, you just might find out where your passion lies and what you want to be when you grow up. (When I figure it out myself, I’ll let you know.)
Saturday, September 15, 2007
My Dot Com Beat Up Your Magazine
Before you skip over this post entirely because you’re a mag major completely uninterested in anything not bound, glossy, and sold for $3.99, let me say this: I was you. Ok, maybe not you, exactly—I don’t know what beverage you’re smuggling into Carnegie to finish up Drake Mag, or what fight you’re having with the copyeditor of your capstone pub, but basically you, if you ever thought, “By the grace of Sallie Mae, I will never lame out my career to some preachy website when there’s prettiness and profit in the world of magazines.”
I never intended on becoming a web editor. In fact, when I took Wright’s web design class my senior year and barely waded through Flash (project extraordinaire: 12 poorly image-mapped pages about my cats), all the while I thought, This is why I have a magazine internship. I used the internet for my job, relied on it for class, Friendstered until my fingers were numb—but I was a magazine gal, through and through. Chicago style. Breaks of books. BRC cards. “Drafts in my inbox by 8:01.”
But three years into my Meredith Integrated Marketing internship (duties: getting bagels for photo shoots; phone-heckling PR hacks; writing sidebars), I landed a full-time position there writing new magazine proposals and managing the production of an infant formula’s brochure and mini-magazine campaign for new and expectant moms. (I also studied child development in school; I’m not just a stickler for punishment.) And in between trips to LA to talk with formula management folk and begging Des Moines copyeditors, often literally on their doorsteps and many times my own Drake J-profs, to rush-CE my Xerox proofs, something incredible happened: The damn web snuck onto my to-do list.
I was to write copy for the formula company’s website, promoting their new product, but only insofar as it related to typical formula choices. Mini service articles with incognito product endorsements. I loved it. To be honest, I loved every part of that crazy job: Its wackpack pace, its seriously smart editors. But this web stuff was especially neat: Writing punchy copy snippets that would be live by the end of the week? O-kay!
Because what I loved about magazines, and you are a Liar McLiar Pants if you say you disagree, is that at the end of the process, MY NAME was going to be on something in someone else's hands. And even when it wasn’t my name, it was my stuff, my golden pearls of copy, my photo choices and dumb pull-quotes buried in the depths of a newsstand (or a pile of mail, à la Integrated Marketing). And on the web, it was still all mine—I just didn’t need to wait 94 light years and three issues later to see it there.
Fast-forward a year. Over lunch with a Totally Awesome Editor at A-Dong (8C, 3C), I’m told of a job in New York City: the editor position of American Baby magazine’s website. Am I interested? She’s heard of my work on web sites, and few people had interest in editing baby copy and had experience on the web —can she recommend me? I’m hesitant—I spent a good chunk of my childhood in New York and have never been jazzed by subway schlepping—but agree. Literally three weeks later, I am unpacking a UHaul in Park Slope, Brooklyn, two days (and 53 outfit try-ons) away from starting at AmericanBaby.com. (TIP: When hiring managers ask how fast you can be there, calculate in hours, not weeks.)
I spent two years at AmericanBaby.com, spelunking through content management systems, search engine optimization guidelines, and web-writing tutorials. Some days, I missed magazines something fierce: Languid editing! Deadlines that stretched for months! Flourishing headlines and prize-worthy prose! It was a tough transition to writing for search engines, clipping the decks and intros that I knew my old editors would have applauded but web folk saw as a hindrance to the pacing of the story. Whaddya mean, no closing paragraphs? AP STYLE!?
But I latched onto something huge—enormous, really, but painfully cloying. I realized that I was finally contributing to the something I was using every day. (Ok, not breastfeeding logs, but you get it.) I’d spent years using the internet to get done what I needed. And finally, I was adding to that pot of information and service goo. (This was pre-Wiki, which could have sailed me past this milestone without taking a web job, I know. I also know how lame this all sounds, but bear with me.)
And the stuff I was putting out there was fun, and, as reader feedback relayed, useful. I created a virtual nursery, full of safety hotspots that gave babyproofing advice. (I didn’t understand load times then.) I wrote weekly newsletters, had dialogues with Mom-readers who thought I had answers. I took classes, but in web and child development know-how; all my editors were serious about me knowing my field. I started looking at story ideas in bigger ways: Could I make this topic an e-mail newsletter course instead of an article? Could we add links within slideshows to increase page views? And meanwhile, all the rules were changing: How fast could I reprogram stories so Google picked them up easier?
And then, on a limb (and the promise of contributing to a start-up), I left NYC and went back to print. And it was … print. A brilliant magazine, with super-talented people, but not the job or industry that I’d spent the previous years excited about—and pretty good at.
Enter the Totally Awesome Editor from A-Dong (TIP: Never, never lose touch with good colleagues, even if you just send a "Happy Tuesday!" once a year), and I’m now back on the web, a senior editor at a great parenting website that’s been around long before the dot-com bust whose infamy probably turned you off to the web in the first place. I write about all types of shit—literally—and help build new tools. Everyday, I’m tasked with taking story kernels and making them pop—a new link-optimized quiz? Interactive checklist?
Basically, I love working on the web because it stretches my brain—and actually pays my bills. Full disclosure, though: I still subscribe to 16 magazines.
I never intended on becoming a web editor. In fact, when I took Wright’s web design class my senior year and barely waded through Flash (project extraordinaire: 12 poorly image-mapped pages about my cats), all the while I thought, This is why I have a magazine internship. I used the internet for my job, relied on it for class, Friendstered until my fingers were numb—but I was a magazine gal, through and through. Chicago style. Breaks of books. BRC cards. “Drafts in my inbox by 8:01.”
But three years into my Meredith Integrated Marketing internship (duties: getting bagels for photo shoots; phone-heckling PR hacks; writing sidebars), I landed a full-time position there writing new magazine proposals and managing the production of an infant formula’s brochure and mini-magazine campaign for new and expectant moms. (I also studied child development in school; I’m not just a stickler for punishment.) And in between trips to LA to talk with formula management folk and begging Des Moines copyeditors, often literally on their doorsteps and many times my own Drake J-profs, to rush-CE my Xerox proofs, something incredible happened: The damn web snuck onto my to-do list.
I was to write copy for the formula company’s website, promoting their new product, but only insofar as it related to typical formula choices. Mini service articles with incognito product endorsements. I loved it. To be honest, I loved every part of that crazy job: Its wackpack pace, its seriously smart editors. But this web stuff was especially neat: Writing punchy copy snippets that would be live by the end of the week? O-kay!
Because what I loved about magazines, and you are a Liar McLiar Pants if you say you disagree, is that at the end of the process, MY NAME was going to be on something in someone else's hands. And even when it wasn’t my name, it was my stuff, my golden pearls of copy, my photo choices and dumb pull-quotes buried in the depths of a newsstand (or a pile of mail, à la Integrated Marketing). And on the web, it was still all mine—I just didn’t need to wait 94 light years and three issues later to see it there.
Fast-forward a year. Over lunch with a Totally Awesome Editor at A-Dong (8C, 3C), I’m told of a job in New York City: the editor position of American Baby magazine’s website. Am I interested? She’s heard of my work on web sites, and few people had interest in editing baby copy and had experience on the web —can she recommend me? I’m hesitant—I spent a good chunk of my childhood in New York and have never been jazzed by subway schlepping—but agree. Literally three weeks later, I am unpacking a UHaul in Park Slope, Brooklyn, two days (and 53 outfit try-ons) away from starting at AmericanBaby.com. (TIP: When hiring managers ask how fast you can be there, calculate in hours, not weeks.)
I spent two years at AmericanBaby.com, spelunking through content management systems, search engine optimization guidelines, and web-writing tutorials. Some days, I missed magazines something fierce: Languid editing! Deadlines that stretched for months! Flourishing headlines and prize-worthy prose! It was a tough transition to writing for search engines, clipping the decks and intros that I knew my old editors would have applauded but web folk saw as a hindrance to the pacing of the story. Whaddya mean, no closing paragraphs? AP STYLE!?
But I latched onto something huge—enormous, really, but painfully cloying. I realized that I was finally contributing to the something I was using every day. (Ok, not breastfeeding logs, but you get it.) I’d spent years using the internet to get done what I needed. And finally, I was adding to that pot of information and service goo. (This was pre-Wiki, which could have sailed me past this milestone without taking a web job, I know. I also know how lame this all sounds, but bear with me.)
And the stuff I was putting out there was fun, and, as reader feedback relayed, useful. I created a virtual nursery, full of safety hotspots that gave babyproofing advice. (I didn’t understand load times then.) I wrote weekly newsletters, had dialogues with Mom-readers who thought I had answers. I took classes, but in web and child development know-how; all my editors were serious about me knowing my field. I started looking at story ideas in bigger ways: Could I make this topic an e-mail newsletter course instead of an article? Could we add links within slideshows to increase page views? And meanwhile, all the rules were changing: How fast could I reprogram stories so Google picked them up easier?
And then, on a limb (and the promise of contributing to a start-up), I left NYC and went back to print. And it was … print. A brilliant magazine, with super-talented people, but not the job or industry that I’d spent the previous years excited about—and pretty good at.
Enter the Totally Awesome Editor from A-Dong (TIP: Never, never lose touch with good colleagues, even if you just send a "Happy Tuesday!" once a year), and I’m now back on the web, a senior editor at a great parenting website that’s been around long before the dot-com bust whose infamy probably turned you off to the web in the first place. I write about all types of shit—literally—and help build new tools. Everyday, I’m tasked with taking story kernels and making them pop—a new link-optimized quiz? Interactive checklist?
Basically, I love working on the web because it stretches my brain—and actually pays my bills. Full disclosure, though: I still subscribe to 16 magazines.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
La Lohan Launches Me at EW
My first few days at Entertainment Weekly—now more than a year in the rear-view—should have clued me in to the challenges and constant craziness that awaited me in my new position. But I was naive then and thought that my first assignment—stalking everyone on the set of Lindsay Lohan's latest train-wreck flick, Georgia Rule—was a rare occurrence. Ha! Boy, was I clueless.
If I'm remembering correctly, my third day at EW was a Monday. On the previous Friday, a letter from Georgia Rule's producer reprimanding La Lohan was leaked to TMZ.com (if you don't read this site, you should—it's a one-stop shop for all things celebrity!). The scathing missive, which was meant only for Lohan and her bevy of handlers, reprimanded her for partying, missing days of shooting, and generally causing distress to the entire production. When scandalous things like this happen, no one officially attached to the project—producers, actors, crew—are usually allowed to talk to the media. Obviously, the case here, too. So little old Tanner, who thought he knew how to report, was given a call sheet. (I'd never seen anything like this before—every cast and crew member from the flick and any numbers we could dig up for them.) My assignment? Call every single person on—from Lohan's publicist to the caterer. Oy.
I was intimidated. Were they really asking me to call every grip and lighting specialist working on the project to see if they'd dish on Lohan? Yes, exactly. They might as well have asked me to call Dick Cheney—I was frickin' scared.
So I put in the calls. No one was answering their landlines of course—most likely under the instruction of the publicist for the flick. (I've since learned all these little things.) But calling just once wasn't enough. Call back, the editors urged! Try again—it can't hurt! I mean, maybe that production assistant won't realize it's someone they don't know calling their personal cell phone! Oy, again.
But success was mine—eventually. A guy in lighting got back to me and spilled a few of the beans about Lindsay. Score!
Thinking about it now, the whole thing—and mostly, my squeamishness about it—seems trivial and silly. A typical day now consists of me putting in constant interview requests, covertly calling producers and talent to try to get a few quotes to make a story juicer, and urging the sources I do have to talk to me "off the record," "on background," or "not for attribution." (Terms that, honestly, I had never heard before I showed up at EW. Every journalist with a newsy bent needs to know about the difference—they can really help you!).
For instance, just this week, I was writing a quick story about the Creative Arts Emmy Awards (the more technical awards given out a week before the Primetime show). Anyway, managed to score a chat with Kathy Griffin (wait, is that really a score? ha!) about winning for Outstanding Reality Program for her hilarious show Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List. (Honestly, if you don't watch, you must. Now.). Anyway, this was Monday—the day after Britney's disastrous VMA performance. Kathy's bread and butter is trashing everyone else, so she was more than happy to go on a bender about Britney. Simply put: Score! The next day, the top editors decided to make the Britney story a cover story, and the writer used my reporting. Random questions about current events can always come in handy in a story.
Day three or day 414—this is my job. Luckily, I just know what the heck I'm doing now.
If I'm remembering correctly, my third day at EW was a Monday. On the previous Friday, a letter from Georgia Rule's producer reprimanding La Lohan was leaked to TMZ.com (if you don't read this site, you should—it's a one-stop shop for all things celebrity!). The scathing missive, which was meant only for Lohan and her bevy of handlers, reprimanded her for partying, missing days of shooting, and generally causing distress to the entire production. When scandalous things like this happen, no one officially attached to the project—producers, actors, crew—are usually allowed to talk to the media. Obviously, the case here, too. So little old Tanner, who thought he knew how to report, was given a call sheet. (I'd never seen anything like this before—every cast and crew member from the flick and any numbers we could dig up for them.) My assignment? Call every single person on—from Lohan's publicist to the caterer. Oy.
I was intimidated. Were they really asking me to call every grip and lighting specialist working on the project to see if they'd dish on Lohan? Yes, exactly. They might as well have asked me to call Dick Cheney—I was frickin' scared.
So I put in the calls. No one was answering their landlines of course—most likely under the instruction of the publicist for the flick. (I've since learned all these little things.) But calling just once wasn't enough. Call back, the editors urged! Try again—it can't hurt! I mean, maybe that production assistant won't realize it's someone they don't know calling their personal cell phone! Oy, again.
But success was mine—eventually. A guy in lighting got back to me and spilled a few of the beans about Lindsay. Score!
Thinking about it now, the whole thing—and mostly, my squeamishness about it—seems trivial and silly. A typical day now consists of me putting in constant interview requests, covertly calling producers and talent to try to get a few quotes to make a story juicer, and urging the sources I do have to talk to me "off the record," "on background," or "not for attribution." (Terms that, honestly, I had never heard before I showed up at EW. Every journalist with a newsy bent needs to know about the difference—they can really help you!).
For instance, just this week, I was writing a quick story about the Creative Arts Emmy Awards (the more technical awards given out a week before the Primetime show). Anyway, managed to score a chat with Kathy Griffin (wait, is that really a score? ha!) about winning for Outstanding Reality Program for her hilarious show Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List. (Honestly, if you don't watch, you must. Now.). Anyway, this was Monday—the day after Britney's disastrous VMA performance. Kathy's bread and butter is trashing everyone else, so she was more than happy to go on a bender about Britney. Simply put: Score! The next day, the top editors decided to make the Britney story a cover story, and the writer used my reporting. Random questions about current events can always come in handy in a story.
Day three or day 414—this is my job. Luckily, I just know what the heck I'm doing now.
Monday, September 10, 2007
I live in New York now? Wha??!!
At first glance, I'm sure the apartment broker saw "naive" stamped on my forehead. The form I filled out for the agency said it all: a 21-year-old girl from the Midwest, fresh out of college, with no rent history. I can't blame the guy. I was beginning to wonder if I'd taken too big of a risk. Find an apartment in Manhattan before my first day of work at Reader's Digest? That gave me four business days. Naive, certifiably insane-take your pick.
Well, I wasn't naive. I had brought all the paperwork I needed to New York so I was able to sign a lease on a fantastic find two days before I started my job. Two months before that, my post-graduation plan was to get a job in Des Moines. Any job. Now, I live in NYC and am a research associate editor at RD. Wondering how the heck I pulled that one off? Let me explain...
In late October, I was an anxious college senior looking forward to my December graduation. Memories of my ASME summer internship at RD were still fresh in my mind as I juggled interning at Lexicon (an editorial packaging company), working in the Magazine Center, editing the capstone magazine, freelancing for Meredith publications, and attending classes. In my "spare time," I desperately sent out resumes and clips to Des Moines companies. Oh, and I was planning my wedding (see "certifiably insane" above).
In the midst of all this craziness, an HR rep from RD e-mailed me: There was an open research position-would I like to apply? A few phone interviews and a research test later (and a conversation with my fiance in which he basically said, "If you get offered a job at Reader's Digest, there's no way we're not moving to New York"), I accepted the job offer. I added "coordinate a move across the country" to my schedule and plowed through the rest of the semester on pure adrenaline.
Thankfully, my first day at RD was a fairly smooth transition since I already knew most of the staff from my internship. Learning all the research procedures and guidelines was a bit stressful, but it was nothing compared to the huge gamble I took trying to find an apartment.
Sound like a whirlwind, stressful way to move to New York and start your first full-time job? Well, the rest of the year didn't calm down much. My fiance moved to NYC in May and job-searched while working two internships. It paid off, though, because one of his internships just hired him as a full-time employee. And, our wedding is finally here-September 15, in good ol' Des Moines.
So, here's a question for you: What else do you want know? I'll reply to all comments, I promise! -Bridget
Well, I wasn't naive. I had brought all the paperwork I needed to New York so I was able to sign a lease on a fantastic find two days before I started my job. Two months before that, my post-graduation plan was to get a job in Des Moines. Any job. Now, I live in NYC and am a research associate editor at RD. Wondering how the heck I pulled that one off? Let me explain...
In late October, I was an anxious college senior looking forward to my December graduation. Memories of my ASME summer internship at RD were still fresh in my mind as I juggled interning at Lexicon (an editorial packaging company), working in the Magazine Center, editing the capstone magazine, freelancing for Meredith publications, and attending classes. In my "spare time," I desperately sent out resumes and clips to Des Moines companies. Oh, and I was planning my wedding (see "certifiably insane" above).
In the midst of all this craziness, an HR rep from RD e-mailed me: There was an open research position-would I like to apply? A few phone interviews and a research test later (and a conversation with my fiance in which he basically said, "If you get offered a job at Reader's Digest, there's no way we're not moving to New York"), I accepted the job offer. I added "coordinate a move across the country" to my schedule and plowed through the rest of the semester on pure adrenaline.
Thankfully, my first day at RD was a fairly smooth transition since I already knew most of the staff from my internship. Learning all the research procedures and guidelines was a bit stressful, but it was nothing compared to the huge gamble I took trying to find an apartment.
Sound like a whirlwind, stressful way to move to New York and start your first full-time job? Well, the rest of the year didn't calm down much. My fiance moved to NYC in May and job-searched while working two internships. It paid off, though, because one of his internships just hired him as a full-time employee. And, our wedding is finally here-September 15, in good ol' Des Moines.
So, here's a question for you: What else do you want know? I'll reply to all comments, I promise! -Bridget
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