Archive: October 2009

The following post is my contribution to the third — Halloween-themed! — edition of Nancy Pearl Wannabe’s Choose Your Own Blogventure. Start at the beginning and then follow along, choosing as you go. Have fun!

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“Get out of there, Annelise!”

I clapped my hands over my mouth. Who really screams at a movie, anyway? Maybe no one heard. If I just sit very quietly —

“Kate!” Mom’s figure appeared in the stairway, and she peered down at me in the glow of the basement TV. I looked up sheepishly from hugging a throw pillow while the black-and-white scenes from Haunted Happenings gave me away. “Up here, right now. You always get spooked from those movies.”

“Ugh, Mom, I’m fine. People are supposed to watch scary movies on Halloween.” I clomped up to the kitchen and grabbed the duct tape to finish my costume.

“If you’re young enough to trick-or-treat, you’re too young for those movies. Do people even give high-schoolers candy?”

“Mother, please.” I shot her The Look. “Julie’s on her way over right now! Besides, we have such awesome costumes!”

Mom eyed my all-black ensemble with stuffed cats duct-taped to my limbs. “What are you supposed to be, again?”

“A cat burglar!”

“Right.”

Just then, Julie barreled through the front door in her matching burglar get-up, and we grabbed our pillow-case candy sacks and ran off into the night.  I asked her right away if she’d ever seen Haunted Happenings.

“Yes! The trunk, ohmygod. And that creepy old professor! He is totally the scariest part of the movie, the way he always — wait, have you seen it? It is so good! But way scary.”

Rats! I began crafting a scheme to watch the movie somehow when Julie turned to me and whispered, “But maybe you shouldn’t watch it. Every time I see a big old chest now, I get freaked out. There’s one at my grandma’s house, and I can’t sleep in that room any more.”

“Scaredy cat burglar!” I made a twisted face and lunged at her, but I stopped when I saw that she was transfixed by the scene in front of us.

Every neighborhood has it: The Halloween House. There are elaborate decorations, recorded ghost sounds, someone who’s going to jump out of a dark corner, and best of all, killer candy as a reward for surviving the front lawn.

“Look, they did an old library,” Julie said softly. “They even made an outside fireplace and stuff.”

It was pretty impressive. There were two shabby armchairs grouped around the fire and stacks of books piled next to candles and cobwebby vases. They had even set up an old-looking map, a chess set, and a gramophone playing tinny music. Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of hiding spots for whoever was waiting to scare us.

The shortest route to the candy was through the library, but Julie grabbed my arm. “I can’t. Look over there.”

I followed her pointed finger and saw a giant, dark trunk right next to the front door of the house. It was easily large enough to fit a person.

“It’s okay. Let’s just go really fast.”

That’s when I noticed a book propped up straight ahead: Haunted Happenings in New England.

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If you think Kate and Julie should brave the library, click here.

If you think Kate and Julie should devise some other way of scoring the candy, click here.

Walking briskly down a Dallas sidewalk, I chatted with a woman from the session I had just attended. To my relief, she had  jumped at my timid suggestion to visit the original Neiman Marcus store, and we made our way there during the lunch hour despite the gloomy weather. The sun was making a valiant effort to show its face, but the gusty winds batted my hair all around and motivated us to keep a quick pace.

Once we arrived, the store had an eerie stillness among the willowy mannequins and glittering jewelry cases. I felt awkward and conspicuous, as though I were walking too loudly or being too bourgeois, and a salesgirl was mere moments away from swooping in and escorting me out of the place. It didn’t help that my companion and I had no idea where we were going, but finally, we found a store directory by an impressive bank of elevators encased in sleek, gray marble.

We took an elevator up to the sixth floor to Zodiac, a suggestion from Slynnro. The host station was immediately outside the elevators, and again, there was a hush. This time, it was punctuated by the clink of glassware and flatware, and people’s conversations composed a dull murmur. The decor was modern and upscale, full of black and white and chrome. The host seated us at a small table on a raised platform, and it was all I could do to refrain from taking pictures of the silver napkin ring, sassy menu, and miniature floral arrangement. The waiter brought drinks and enormous popovers with accompanying strawberry butter that sported the Neiman Marcus logo. Darn! Another picture I didn’t take!

I ordered the lobster bisque, and it was silky and comforting, just what I needed after a morning in frigid meeting rooms. I racked my brain trying to think of the “proper” way to eat soup. Do I scoop away from me or toward me? Is it okay to tilt the bowl to get the last bit?

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed two tall, impossibly thin women making their way through the dining room. One was wearing a flowing, leopard-print dress with sky-high heels, and the other had on a gray, pin-striped suit cut closely to her frame. They stopped at each table and gave a little spiel, and their listeners nodded agreeably. Were they models? I wondered. No, that can’t be. They must work for the store. Maybe they are making sure everyone is satisfied. Maybe everyone here dresses like that.

Before long, the two women came to our table, and the one in the leopard-print dress said, “Hello, we’re modeling [a designer I can't recall], and we’re having a reception on the second floor for the new collection. There will be complimentary champagne and desserts, so we hope you can join us.”

What!

We nodded placidly — hey, no big deal, we get asked to stuff like this all the time — but inside, my brain was fluttering. They were models! Who just invited us to a reception!

At first, we were all fired up to go, but sadly, the next session was all too soon, and we had to factor in walking time. Oh, well. At least I can look back fondly on that time I had the chance to get free champagne and dessert at Neiman Marcus.

When I told people that my job was sending me to Dallas for a conference, they would ask excitedly, “Ooh, for what?”

“It’s a medical writing conference.”

“Oh.”

I know, it doesn’t sound thrilling, but it was such a good experience for me. In the beginning, I was really overwhelmed, and I had a few spurts of panic that made me wonder if I could hold my own. Everyone seemed so much more put-together, experienced, and savvy, and I was keenly aware of my novice. I found myself describing my job as “just editing manuscripts” because I was so intimidated by all of the PhDs, regulatory writers, and veteran freelancers. During the opening reception, I drifted between clumps of already-established conversations, too afraid to break in.

The second day, a freelancer from my area swept me up and bolstered me with pep talks. I wasn’t “just” an editor! I could make my own way! Everyone has something to learn! She introduced me to people and encouraged me to talk to others. By the end of the weekend, I had become much more comfortable with starting a cold conversation and asking, “Do you mind exchanging business cards?” If I can attend the conference next year, I hope I don’t take nearly as long to find my groove.

While I waited for my flight back to Philadelphia, I had the best of intentions to synthesize the pages of notes I had taken and create a list of action items in three categories: work-related (like filling out my expense report), networking (contacting everyone who had given me a card), and research (looking up publishing standards). In the hour I spent with my laptop and surrounded by paper, I hardly made a dent in my notes, which only confirmed how much information I took away from three days of talking with other medical writers.

My work is cut out for me this week and for the rest of the calendar year. I want to become more informed about the industry, secure freelance jobs, and pursue certification. That list of to-dos is long and imposing, but I can do everything on it, and I will.

Erin asked:

What’s your favorite book?

I usually dread answering this question because it’s like choosing a favorite child, but I have come to what I hope is a satisfactory response. My favorite author is Madeleine L’Engle, and my favorite book that she has written is Two-Part Invention, a memoir about her forty-year marriage. I’ve already waxed poetic on this one, but seriously: read it.

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Heidikins asked:

What is your favorite flower?

and:

What are your top 3 favorite recipes?

My favorite flower changes every so often. For a long time, I liked tulips the best, but now I have a shine for mums. I love how many petals each bloom has, and that they are so hardy. They seem like a humble, reliable flower to me. Plus, I can get a nice-sized bunch of them at the grocery store for maybe $4, so there is really nothing not to like about them.

I am choosing to interpret this recipe question for the top three things I like to make and eat:

• Sour cream cookies (after the jump): I made these cookies all the time with my mom when I was a kid, and I think the original recipe is from The Joy of Cooking. These days, I use the 4×6″ recipe card my mom wrote out for my bridal shower, and the cookies come out just how they did in my childhood. It’s also the batter I use to pipe out pi-shaped cookies to celebrate Pi Day.
• Portobello lasagna: Although this is one of the least healthful things I make, I love it deeply. It is so ridiculously delicious, and I don’t even mind burning off my fingerprints when I lay out the hot lasagna noodles.
• Chili (also after the jump): There are few things I love more than throwing a bunch of stuff into a slow cooker and magically producing enough food for a dozen people. For me, chili is the perfect combination of ease and comfort food.

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Unrelatedly, Happy Mole Day!

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