INTERNING IN LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP

I first met this month’s contributor, Alanna Rebbeck, when I was a bit overwhelmed by the endless waterfalls of self-employed writer/artist task lists. At some point in my life, I had decided that it would be a good idea to be the maker of some sort of creative cultural content each day I woke in order to make a living. What this really meant was that I was the CEO of a pocket-sized micro-economy, a marketing and distribution representative, the Vice President of public relations, senior sales associate, junior accountant, facilities manager, communications advisor, business analyst, project and tour manager, and break room janitor, among many other job titles. I had attended precisely one semester of business school before hastily making a left turn and changing my college major to Philosophy, so I had about 5% knowledge base to do this on my own. Otherwise, I was out there winging it.

Observing my internal windstorm, more than one person suggested I find an intern. At first, I balked at this suggestion because where would I even put an intern? I toiled out of my 200-year-old 1,000-square-foot house. My sofa was my main office. My secondary office was my studio, which contained all the crowding accumulations you might expect to find in any artist’s studio who works with found materials and just can’t let go of that collection of sepia-toned photos, latch hook rugs, plastic charm bracelets, Head of the Class game pieces, and bingo spinners, because who knows when they might be the catalyst for a new project?

Also, where on Earth does one find an intern? And what kind of an intern would be suitable for my circumstances and work? Well, it turns out I live near some colleges. And that is what college students do sometimes: they intern. I drafted an email that went something like, “Ideal candidate would have an interest in feminism, art, publishing, and queer culture,” with a list of dream qualities and skills. I sent that email to the six people I knew who worked at local colleges and hoped it didn’t go to spam.

I consulted with knowledgeable friends on best practices for interviewing a prospective intern. I had only ever been on the other end and felt at a loss for what to ask and say. I also genuinely believed I had NO IDEA how to supervise anyone. But I have brilliant friends I consistently turn to when I need to work things out. One of the best bits of advice came from my friend Irit (who, BTW, has a new book that is insightful and outstanding), who had overseen many project interns.

She said, “Don’t just make someone do the tedious crap you don’t want to do, like filing your receipts and stapling your papers; find out what excites them and work within that realm. And also take time each meeting to mentor them in some way.”

My email arrived in the inbox of my friend Eli, who wrote back moments later, saying something like, “I think your intern is sitting right next to me; she is an artist who was poorly matched with the biology study I am supervising.”

Later that day, I received this exact email from a student named Alanna: “I am a queer feminist artist, so already we have much in common. I am also in the early stages of making a children's book having to do with queerness, so your coloring books intrigue me. Just to sell myself a little - I'm good at working with people, I work hard, I have the skills you need, and I fantasize constantly about living in a matriarchy of cyborgs. Really, any matriarchy will do. That's why I like ants so much. My goal in life is to meet as many weird people as possible and make art together and talk about things and do things.”

If you know anything about me, you learn from this introduction that I needn’t look any further. There appeared to be more than a few crossovers here: matriarchy, weird people, ants. We had one giddy “interview,” and the rest is history. Alanna Rebbeck worked with me (on my sofa) for several years while studying sculpture at Bard College. To say we became close friends is an understatement. Alanna is family now.

We edited “work” videos that hurt our stomachs from laughing, most of which have never seen the light of day. We ticked off hundreds of tasks on my to-do lists that were a breeze for her and a nagging nightmare for me. We schemed up and implemented new projects. We shared favorite books and cathartically smashed hard drives in the driveway. I provided mentorship through heartbreak, imaginative artistic endeavors, and moves to other states. She took the wheel and played excellent driving music when Photoshop and InDesign made me motion sick. At some point, we began marking important events with each other’s families. I still thank Eli every time I see him.

Alanna & Jacinta found their younger selves in the popsicle aisle of the grocery store.

Long after the internship ended, Alanna was the one I turned to when I began imagining what the book LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP might look like. She had seen me through several revisions of three of my books. I loved how she worked; I knew she was fast, detail-oriented, filled with creative ideas, and a joy to work with. I would have just ended up with a photocopied black and white zine and called it a day, but Alanna stepped in and made this book look beautiful. You know I love zines, but Alanna’s photographs of the exhibit make the book something to behold.

Become a paid subscriber to read Alanna’s latchkey story or buy the book to have and hold the words in your hands. Read more essays in the LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP archive about the mirthful gully of capers that latchkey kids got up to while leading exhilarating, mischievous, and unsupervised lives.

---