When I started my internship at The Iowa Review this summer, I was nervous. I'd been peeking in the door every time I walked by, wondering what made TIR tick. I have been a fan of the magazine for years, moved and inspired and occasionally intimidated by the level of literature between the covers.
As a teenager, I'd cope with nerves by visualizing every possible outcome of a new situation and preparing myself. No matter how much time I spent, though, reality was never what I imagined. I'm glad I don't spend much time imagining scenarios these days because I couldn't have guessed this one, either.
What I found in the offices of The Iowa Review was an unassuming group of brilliant people who have forgotten that what they do every day is extraordinary.