9) I e-mail the publisher about her typo, nerdy and supplicant- “Sorry to be annoying, but I’m an editor by day, etc.” I finish by singing her mag’s praises.
10) Leah responds pleasantly and we start a chatty back-and-forth. This exchange evolves (like magic) into an appointment at her apartment, to discuss the future of her website and online newsletter.
11) I bike to her place on a Tuesday morning, in a semi-heinous high-rise complex in Long Island City (Queens, natch). Spectacular views, surely, though I don’t make it farther than the ground-floor community room.
12) Leah doesn’t remember who I am or what I’m doing at her house. I wait in the lobby for 20 minutes; when she finally comes down she says she has lost my resume and has an important conference call in 15 minutes. “But we don’t have much to talk about, do we?”
13) Unfazed, I lay out a list of things I could do for her magazine. I pepper my resume with glorious visions for the future of Edible Queens. It helps that my spiel is sincere. Leah forgets she had a pretend conference call and we talk for over an hour.
14) She tasks me with a proposal- send her a list of prospective stories for the next three months. Then we’ll talk.
15) I attack the project with gusto. My finished proposal has around 30 story ideas, ranging from “Samosa Bowl” to “Parts of a Pig.”
Time for work. More later.