My La-La Land

When people ask me what I plan to do after graduation, I always pause. I love the way their faces crinkle in confusion after their automated statement of "Oh, so you're going to teach, then," is answered with a definitive "no." I sit back and smile as they think harder.

"Law school?" I shake my head.

"Journalism?" Not exactly.

I wait another moment and then put them out of their misery.

"I want to work in publishing. I want to be a book editor someday."

I watch their faces relax, their relief palpable that I'm not planning to write the next great American novel while living in my parents' basement and letting the thousands of dollars that went into my degree go to waste. They'll pat me on the shoulder and wish me luck, all the while wondering exactly what someone can do with an English degree.

I recently applied for an internship at a publishing house in Philadelphia, and while I anxiously await a response, I've found myself writing more than I have in a while. What I don't tell people is that their initial instincts are exactly right.

I do dream of being a writer, a true-blue, New York Times Bestselling author. I've recently started writing my first novel, and I'm trying to be as optimistic as possible. I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I've written poetry, short-stories, and songs since I was 14 years old. It's the one thing I've always been able to do. It comes naturally; I don't have to even think about it. My fingers just move.

My next semester will start in a week, and I know I won't be able to spend as much time free-writing as I would want. But I promise to keep at it anyway. It's my dream, my little la-la land.