Yesterday, I posted about how publishing a lit mag is not a great way to make money. Though obviously, I don’t live under a rock and thus have known for a while that things aren’t as cushy as they once were with the ‘big’ publishers–and my definition of ‘big’ means a publisher significantly larger than TNQ, which boasts a one-room office and 1.5 salaried staff, so probably includes publishers that would probably call themselves ‘mid-size’—I still, on occasion, sigh over certain luxuries they must have that we do not. For example, I sincerely doubt, but would be thrilled to be proven wrong, that the managing editor of a ‘big’ publishing house assembles her own office furniture, or replenishes her own supply closet, or even, for that matter, makes her own coffee. (Not that I’m complaining…I’m just saying).  She probably has her own office, with her name on the door. This is surely the most cliche and unabashedly aspirational of my various career-related fantasies, but I’ll be honest, it’s one I cherish. When (spoiler alert, for anyone who’s yet to embark on Season Three of Mad Men) Peggy gets hers, I did a few celebratory cartwheels and shot some whiskey. Okay, okay, the first part of that sentence is a blatant falsehood—I possess zero gymnastic ability—but I was exceedingly happy for her.

So, it was with some surprise, and admiration, that I saw this public service announcement in the fabulously redesigned SubTerrain.

Perhaps us ‘smalls’ have a little more in common with ‘big’ publishers than I thought. Well done.

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