in things that happen "off-stage," i write book reviews for money. 2-3 a month. i'm not saying this pays well, but it does pay, and sometimes that's all that matters.
this month i thought i'd hit the big-time when my editor asked for a 700 word review. meaning it would be a feature rather than a sidebar. this seemed a great honor until i sat down to do it and realized it's a hell of a hard thing to write 700 words on a memoir comprised of essays in which a woman ponders her old family photographs.
in handing the finished product over to my editor, i admitted that it had been "difficult"- elliding the fact that, at times, it felt like squeezing juice from a rotted lemon.
my editor wrote back with what may be the most faintly damning praise i've ever received: "great job; it might have been better at a shorter length, but this will work well, too."