Those Magazine Articles Were Meant For Me To Find

Okay, interesting story that once again suggests that something wants to me to do certain things. Thank goodness they always involve reading somehow and not mopping the kitchen floor (which hasn't been done in a very long time) or washing windows.

I recently subscribed to Publishers Marketplace, and I'm getting that Publishers Lunch e-mail newsletter thing they do every day. That's how I came to learn last weekend that the August issue of Gourmet carried an article about Margaret K. McElderry, as in Marget K. McElderry Books, the imprint at Simon & Shuster. I tried to find the article on-line, couldn't, and thought nothing more about it.

Until, that is, I went to the library on Tuesday. In order to get to the YA section, I had to pass the periodical racks (which is all we have now because of overcrowding) and what is staring, right at me, but the Gourmets! And I now have the August issue with the article, Lobster Lessons by McElderry's grand-niece-in-law (in my family we've discussed just how far you should go with the official naming of in-law relationships), Aleksandra Crapanzano.

Lobster Lessons would make a lovely movie, one of those "small films" I used to watch on weekends while all the guys were off camping and the testosterone level around here had dropped a notch or two. Crapanzano is a screenwriter and maybe she'll think so, too, and rework this material.

And by the way, the very night I read the Gourmet piece I reached the point in Minders of Make-Believe at which Margaret K. McElderry enters the picture.

So there you have one magazine story. Here's the next one:

One of my faithful readers suggested I look up some work by Erika Dreifus who has written an e-book on markets for essayists. As a result, I found Dreifus' blog, Practicing Writing, where she often writes about markets. Her July 24th post, however, mentioned The Atlantic's Summer Fiction Issue. That's nice, I thought. I've read that other summers. And I thought nothing more about it.

Until, yesterday, that is, when I was on one of the marathon hunting and gathering expeditions I go on every three or four months. I was walking through Barnes & Noble on my way to Panera to refuel for the next five hours of collecting sheets and lamps and towels, when what do I see but a magazine rack on which there is one last copy of The Atlantic Summer Fiction issue.

One last copy. It was so clearly meant for me.

So far, all I've finished reading is an essay by Tim O'Brien called Telling Tails. It is fantastic. Just wonderful.

I love it when it is clear that I am meant to do something, and I'm actually able to figure out what that something is and do it. No. No. What I mean is that I love it when it is clear that I am meant to read something, and I'm actually able to figure out what that something is and read it.

Note: In case you noticed this post hopping around the blog, I had trouble uploading it yesterday.