On Spending a Lot of Time with Old Women

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I round the corner into my cubicle and toss my coat on my chair. I chat with April as my computer starts up, and then check my Threads calendar, which is riddled with deadlines. My day could be filled with writing blog posts, driving over to help at the studio, or maybe crafting an art project that will become the background for the next photo shoot. Every day, I cross the threshold into The Taunton Press not knowing what to expect or what my job will be. That is probably the best part of working here. When the deadlines get closer, you can practically see the energy buzzing in the air: that's when the editors appreciate me more than ever, because I thrive on that feeling. On the internship evaluation I completed at the end of my first year of working at Threads, the only complaint I could think to write was, "I wish I could work more hours." This really has never been a job to me. It's a privilege.

When I look back at my years in high school, I have found that I spent an abnormal amount of time being the youngest one in the room by about 40 years -- and I loved it. For as long as I can remember, people have been telling me that I fit in all too well with the older crowd since I am wise for my age: I like sewing, knitting,...

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