Reading an unpublished work is kind of like going backstage after a show. Backstage lacks the polish of the finished product. You can see the mechanics of the magic, and yet somehow it doesn’t take any of the magic away. The ropes and pulleys, the props and cast-off costumes betray the hours of hard work that the show concealed so well.
Manuscripts have the same essence as what lies behind the stage door. They are not perfect, but with a little work they have the potential to be just as beautiful and heart-wrenchingly good as any Broadway production.
About a week into my internship, I was asked to read some of the manuscripts in our submissions portal. I was thrilled. This, I thought, is what publishing is all about. My excitement died down a little bit as I began sifting through the entries and didn’t immediately discover the next Harry Potter. Nonetheless, I was reading unpublished material, and it fulfilled every dream I’d had of interning at a publishing company in New York City.
I’ve been honored to be able to work with a few manuscripts over the course of the summer. As an intern, I’m not making big changes or drastically shaping the future of the American novel à la Maxwell Perkins—don’t worry. Most of the time I’m just an extra pair of eyes to look over the edits and make sure they were made correctly. But even in such a small capacity, I’m still incredibly excited every time I’m asked to help with one of the books. For one thing, I love reading more than anything, so it could never be boring. For another, even though I’m providing only the smallest help I still feel important. I’m saving the world one Oxford comma at a time. Most of all, it is a privilege to see an artistic process take shape as the manuscript becomes a book. I imagine a stage manager or a producer feels the same way, watching their play go from script to stage. For publishers, it all begins with a manuscript.