We've discussed in the past (I think) that I work as an editor. And I like that gig a lot. It may not be exactly what I was thinking I'd be doing when I was in school for 6 years getting my degrees, but at least it's in my original field. And, really, how many people with English majors can say that a few years down the line?
The wacky thing about it, though, is that you never really know what is going to come across your desk on any given day.
I've worked on ranting political treatises, Christian romance novels, books on mortgages, and children's picture books. There have been some mysteries, and some books for which it was a mystery to me why they were written. Books on love and relationships, books on time travel and war. And lots (LOTS) of memoirs.
Yes, it's cliche, but truly the only thing consistent in the books is the inconsistency. (Sadly, that's both in subject and ability - but that's a different topic.)
In the past couple of weeks, though, I've worked on a book of essays about sex slavery, something about a guy who woke up one day able to talk to his aloe vera plant, and a really good book of folk tales. It's kind of cool that way.
Of course, when I come home and Christopher asks me about my day and I say something like "Well, I was working on sex again, today..." he looks at me a little strangely. But that's nothing compared to the looks I got this week when the 16-year-old intern walked in as I was talking about one of those essays.
Stressful? Sometimes. Frustrating? Frequently. Boring? (Sadly) Often. The same thing day after day? Never.
So what are you reading?