After receiving MAs in English Literature and Publishing from UCL, Emily worked as Managing Editor for the UK, recruiting brilliant writers and making beautiful books for our British clientele, before heading west to start up StoryTerrace’s US office in Los Angeles. As one of the original members of the StoryTerrace team, Emily has worn many hats! As US Managing Editor, she recruited writers from coast to coast and scaled book production to keep up with StoryTerrace’s tremendous growth. After taking a brief sabbatical to fix up an old Spanish bungalow she shares with her wife, son, and two labradoodles, Emily returned as the Writer Recruitment and Development Lead, a role that focuses on supporting and developing our insanely talented and wonderful biographers. In her latest role within the company, Emily is working hard to improve and update our approach so that we can successfully complete a growing number of projects for our clients.
The Dog Bite of Betrayal
When I was little, my next-door neighbors had two Saint Bernese Mountain dogs in their backyard, a large and slobbery breed. One day, my brothers were sitting astride the 8-foot wall that separated our yard from theirs when my oldest brother Richard, who dreamed of becoming the next Steven Spielberg, proposed a new game in the spirit of Indiana Jones. My other brother David, perched next to me on the wall, had a crippling fear of dogs, especially very large ones like the two he could see in the distance. Having no such fear, I eagerly volunteered to be the Indiana Jones.
Taking my hand, Richard lowered me down into our neighbors’ yard and began to swing me back and forth along the wall. Soon, David gathered his courage and leaned down to grab my hand from Richard’s. I was swinging from Richard’s hand to David’s hand and back again along the wall, as if I was swinging from vine to vine. Perhaps it was more like a Tarzan game.
Soon, the burly dogs took notice and bolted towards us. Richard’s plan: wait until the last, most dramatic moment to pull me to safety. Instead, his glasses fell from his face into the yard below, and he dropped me like a rag doll into the jaws of the gigantic guard dogs. David screamed at the top of his lungs. “It bit me!” I shouted. “Run for your lives!” Eventually, Richard managed to lean down far enough to grab me.
All in all, it was a pretty bad bite, and right on the bottom. Richard made me take a solemn vow not to tell our parents what happened, but instead to say that I merely scraped myself against the wall. But as soon as my mom came home and Richard told her the lie, I just couldn’t help it. Smirking, I asked her, “But do you want to know what really happened?”