Chapter 36
November 9, 2023
The Paris Review Internship writing task
Please provide a personal statement of approximately 500 words describing your goals and interests, and how an internship at The Paris Review would help you achieve those goals.
Since I arrived in New York from Australia in July, I’ve written 500 job applications. For the first few, I followed a structure that detailed my education (Bachelor of Creative Writing and Master of Writing, Editing and Publishing from Queensland University); experience (five years of marketing and communications at Greenslopes Private Hospital, two years of editing at a vanity publishing house); and my enthusiasm for working in a publishing house/literary magazine/bookstore/clothing store/coffee shop/doggy daycare.
When the standard letter didn’t work, I resorted to ‘creative’ applications (I will never not be ashamed of my essay to Magnolia Bakery about cupcakes changing the world).
Creative didn’t work either and I want this internship, so this time I’m going to be honest.
I’m Brynn Wallace. I am a Bigambul woman—which means I belong to the Bigambul Aboriginal people of the country you know as Australia. I am the daughter of a single mum who was also the daughter of a single mum. My nan helped Mum chase her dream of becoming a ballet dancer all the way from a regional city outside Brisbane, in Queensland, to New York City when she was seventeen. Though Mum’s life didn’t turn out the way she imagined, she always believed in big dreams and moved heaven and earth to get me here to New York to have my own magic moment.
When I was ten, I struggled to read and fell behind at school. My cousin Bridie gave me a hand-me-down copy of one of Ann M. Martin’s Baby-Sitters Club books, a super special called New York New York! And I fell in love with both reading and New York City. I know Ann M. Martin isn’t exactly the sort of writer The Paris Review would feature in the Writers at Work series, but she is the writer who awoke my love of reading. It is because of the way the Baby-Sitters Club opened doors for me that I think every piece of writing can change someone’s world. I want to have a hand in creating and publishing work that does exactly that.
Being in New York has been different to what I expected. I harboured high ambitions of cool, open-plan offices full of books; deep conversations about literature; and some shallow things about clothes and shoes that you can probably guess without going into too much detail. Instead, I’ve been working in a doggy daycare, building a life in this city and waiting for the chance to submit this application.
Anyway, you want to know how an internship at The Paris Review will help me achieve my goal of becoming an experienced, talented editor. While I know that working with you could set me up for an incredible job when I go back to Australia, or even help me get a visa that would allow me to stay in the United States, the truth is I don’t know what to expect.
I just know it could be amazing.
The morning light spills through the window. The super has let the heating run overnight, so the room is cosy and warm. For the first time in months of waking up in the bubblegum bedroom, I feel truly content. It might have something to do with Sienna, who has been a warm weight next to me in the bed every night this week. The pink wall casts a glow over her blonde curls, and I shift back so I can take in her sleeping face; the long lashes and a swipe of mascara under her eyes, the gentle part of her lips; the quiet sigh of her sleeping breaths.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her as I wrap my dressing gown, grab my laptop, and sit on the floor under the window. I still don’t have a writing desk here, but I’ve made a little nest of pillows and blankets to mark its spot. With Sienna sleeping in front of me, this view is way better than the one outside anyway.
Today is the big day and while I’m tempted to open the interview assignment and make more adjustments, instead, I check my email and send one of two drafts: to Bridie and Dotty.
Email sent, the sun begins to rise. But I close my eyes and concentrate on the swirl of thoughts in my head until an image of Mum appears and pushes everything else aside. I see her in her leotard—starkly pink against her brown skin—dancing in the studio while I sat on a blanket and watched. Teaching ballet in suburban Brisbane wasn’t Mum’s dream, but she never made me feel as though she regretted giving it up. The image of Mum stops dancing and looks over, her eyes soft. ‘Chase what you want and be delighted at where you fall,’ she says.
‘I will, Mum, don’t worry,’ I say out loud, as though I’m back in the studio too and it’s just me and her. It’s a warm, comforting memory and though I ache for it to be real, it’s okay that it’s not.
When the image of Mum pirouettes from my mind and I open my eyes, Sienna is sitting up looking at me. ‘Morning,’ she says, her voice thick with sleep. ‘You okay? It’s a big day.’
I shut the computer. ‘Yeah, I’ve done everything I can do to prepare. All that’s left is to get through the actual interview.’
‘Oh,’ she sighs.
I’m confused at her expression. ‘What? Why?’
‘Well, it’s great that you’re good, but I guess that means you don’t need me to take your mind off your interview for a little while?’ She grins, flips the covers back, and sits up. She bites her lip and runs a finger over her collarbone, teasing.
‘I mean ... some distraction might be nice.’ I cross over to the bed and reach out, tracing my fingers over the curve of her breast. ‘But it might be hard, I’m quite anxious.’
‘Oh no,’ she grins. ‘Well, let’s see what I can do about that.’ She pulls the tie of my robe and pushes it over my shoulders. ‘Lie back and close your eyes.’
And as she trails kisses down my body, I do exactly what she says.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Corey asks a few hours later, as the three of us walk through the park. ‘What happens if you, like, break your leg or something right before the interview?’
The sun has stuck around and while there’s a chill in the air, it’s warmer than it’s been since the blizzard. As we get closer to the Wollman Rink, the sound of Christmas carols floats out over the ice. I squeeze Sienna’s hand.
‘Yes, I want to skate, and no, I will not break my leg, because this is the New York moment that comes right before I do the thing and get the job. You of all people should know how it goes.’
‘All right, well, you heard her, Sienna. If she falls on her ass I am not taking the blame.’
‘Noted,’ Sienna replies, squeezing my hand in return.
Strapping on the blue rental skates a few minutes later, happiness fizzes through me. Sienna is on one side of me, Corey the other, and we are going ice-skating, which is one of the last missions I have to tick off the list.
We step onto the ice and once we’ve all got our balance, we take off around the rink. The Zamboni has just been and the ice is slick and smooth beneath my skates. The noises of the city whirr over the carols, and the steady hum of traffic, the wail of sirens bouncing off the tall buildings and kids calling out all become part of the soundtrack. The cold bites at my nose and cheeks and it’s wonderful.
Corey stops every few steps to look up at the trees, the Plaza hotel, and the Christmas lights, and I can hear her sighing happily whenever I pass her. Every so often she takes out her phone and films a few clips that I can use for my TikTok, but mostly we all just stay in the moment.
Sienna looks adorable in a pink fluffy coat and matching earmuffs. She kisses me and I catch hold of her mittened hand in my gloved one. The three of us spin around and around the rink for what seems like forever.
‘I lied,’ I say when we stop for a break.
‘About what?’ Sienna asks, her brow furrowing.
‘The other day, when we ... you know, I said it was the best New York moment?’
‘Yeah?’
I look around our little circle: at the girl I’m dating and my New York best friend. I am far, far from home, but I feel the protective gaze of Mum and our Ancestors circling us and my body thrums with the understanding that I’m in the right place and time.
This is a New York moment to knock out any other and it doesn’t matter what happens at the interview this afternoon.