On jobs

I've mostly avoided writing about employers on here in recent years. The last time I wrote about a job, the "comments" area of my post turned into a debate, drawn out over many years, over candles. Many personal insults were flung every which way, a number of confused people tried to enter in their orders onto this site, and I still regularly get hits from people searching for bad things about that candle company.

So I don't want to get into Google-able specifics, but I feel I would be remiss if I did not note that it was just about a year ago today (it was actually a year ago yesterday, but whatever) that I packed up my stuff and left book publishing behind. Forever.

I mean, no, not forever forever for sure. Certainly, I'd at least entertain a book offer if someone were to throw large sums of cash my way. But I am done with thinking I want to be an editor.

I feel a bit bad whenever someone talks to me about wanting to work in publishing. I'm either kind of vague and just say something about how it wasn't for me, or, if I'm in the right mood, I'll unleash a torrent of angry, spurned assistant woe, the kind that make for bad chick-lit. This is probably not the appropriate way to respond to a young, idealistic book-lover who just wants to pursue her dream, but I do have a lot of good stories. (Sadly, I'm not going to tell any of them here.)

There are so many things about book publishing as an industry that irritate me, but it's really not worth going into. It's filled with people who have only the vaguest ideas about business and very little common sense. It abuses underlings mercilessly, and pays them crap for the privilege. It's an ass-backwards business, based on wildly inefficient and totally antiquated models, and yet, thousands of resumes pour in for every entry-level job opening. I have a feeling it's a lot like academia.

On my last day of work, a certain former Vice President's assistant was still calling my cell phone, hours after I'd left the office. The manuscript pages (essentially a moot point, since the book had been sent to the printer earlier that morning) hadn't arrived. And we couldn't track them down. I left messages for people, did what I could, and tried pointing out that really, the pages were not that important since it was too late to make changes. But he still kept calling, frantic to figure out What To Do.

"Maybe I didn't tell you, but --" I paused, knowing perfectly well I had, "today was my last day. I don't work there anymore."

"Right, I know, but what do we do about this?" he said. "It wasn't my fault and I know it wasn't your fault. I'll tell them that. But --"

"Tell them whatever you want, honestly. I'd like to help, but I've done what I can and I. Don't. Work. There."

Eventually, he sighed and gave up on me, clearly disappointed that I wasn't the kind of person who cared enough about my job as to spend my Friday night wringing my hands about an irrelevant delivery. But I did care a lot about my job. I worried all the time, worked very, very hard, and I know I was a damn good assistant, and would have made a damn good editor some day. Except, really, what would've been the point? Even the books we published that I thought were in some way useful or good or important felt like a lie. (For example, the pages in question that evening? All about saving the planet. A nice cause, but if you really believe it, maybe you shouldn't request that unnecessary pages be printed and driven a hundred miles to you.)

I should point out that I'm really not an idealist. I am reasonably practical and fairly cynical, and I did not leave my job because I thought that I would save the world, save the children, or even save my soul. I just wanted to NOT work for the worst person I'd ever met, and I wanted to not hate every second of my life because of a toxic boss and a miserable paycheck. It's kind of pathetic that I actually make more money now, working for a charity, than I did working for a company that purported to make money. I also do a lot more writing and editing than I did in publishing. I don't know if it's what I'll always want to do, but for now, I enjoy my work, like my colleagues, and actually get to take lunch breaks.

In the end, I am actually grateful to my old boss for making it very difficult to delude myself into thinking it was what I wanted to do.