From Jennie Dorris, publisher:

Becky Giantonio and I hadn't talked for at least a year. When we finally traded e-mails, I had just gotten laid off from a marketing firm job in Colorado. Becky had just moved into New York City and was working at some job so heinous she wouldn't even describe it in detail to me.

I had just been dumped. She had just finally found a nice guy. A few months later, she would dump him, and I would ask out a new guy.

We were both, I believe, putting rent on our credit cards.

I don't completely remember, but I'm fairly sure we each called our parents with questions when we got our first benefits packages. We spoke tentatively of PPOs and HMOs.

We each had married friends that completely ditched us. They would leave bars early because they had picnics with in-laws and other odd old-people things to do.

Fine, you get the idea. We could've written this entire series ourselves. Luckily, we are way too lazy to do this.

The idea is straightforward -- trite, even, if you look at it straight in the face. "Let's whine about our problems and give it a legitimate psychological name!" we crowed.

And after long brainstorming sessions and presentations of broad, boring topics to writers -- "write about the shitty economy and not finding a job!" -- we were rewarded with extremely personal, poignant essays.

Essays which Becky and I have turned into a book proposal, a collection of all the essays you see here called At 25 it Falls Apart. The proposal is sitting in the hands of a lovely agent, Elisabeth Weed, who, for some wonderful reason, decided to take on the task of contacting publishers for us. And figuring out all of that odd legal shit.

Check back here for updates on the book, who will be lucky enough to publish it (ha!), and where you can find a copy.

And thanks to everyone for my favorite series on KnotMag to date. Damn good work, kids.

From Rebecca Giantonio, editor:

I realize Sex in the City comparisons are overdone, but many of the issues brought up on the show are so damn relevant. So, for lack of a better example, I recently watched an old episode in which Charlotte is training the woman who will assume her role at the art gallery. Charlotte has just directed the hanging of a piece, and the new girl suggests the art go elsewhere. "You're 22," Charlotte exclaims. "What do you know about life?" After a pause, she calmly corrects herself. "I mean art."

But the message is clear: Don't contradict me. I've been around way longer than you. And I have to say if I hear one more person say "You're 23, what do you know about life?" or "What kind of stress could you possibly have? Wait until you're my age" or -- my personal favorite -- "You haven't even begun to experience life," I'm going to scream.

In the past year, I graduated college, moved back home and desperately searched for a job in a flat market, relocated to New York City (quite possibly the most overwhelming place on Earth), settled for a job, dealt with one of the most evil bosses in the world, quit it and found another job -- all while struggling to pay bills on a next-to-nothing income, figure out college loans and insurance coverage, meet new people and maintain a social life. If that's not stress or a good ole crash course in Life 101, I don't know what is.

Needless to say, I survived my stressful experiences like so many other people in their 20s and early 30s. And it amazes me that, instead of giving up, sinking into a couch and growing a second skin of potato chip crumbs, we persevere and end up okay -- hell, some of us even become successful.

That's what I love about the Quarterlife essays. Not only can I and so many others relate to them, but they convey a sense of strength and survival. None of us whine; we simply tell our stories, and some of us even laugh at ourselves or the experiences. We're diving into life head on -- or in some cases, life is hitting us head on -- making mistakes, questioning ourselves and changing direction.

In editing these essays, I was struck by not only the high quality of writing, but the willingness of the Quarterlife writers to spill about some very delicate matters. I feel so lucky to have been able to see these essays at their start (though at the time, I worried about my ability -- and right -- to edit such candid and personal stories).

Editing these pieces lessened some of my neuroses, too. As a full-fledged Type A personality, I've always had a plan. So, when my plan to work at a high-profile woman's magazine upon graduation failed, I had some serious freak-out sessions. After reading these stories, I can now appreciate that, while your 20s and early 30s are a somewhat scary time, they're also incredibly exciting. We can make mistakes and move on, usually without much repercussion. Most of us aren't yet tied to homes or our own families; we haven't been at our jobs for years and years (nothing critical would happen if an assistant upped and left -- though some helpless bosses would probably consider it a crisis); and we've yet to enter the world of PTA meetings, Little League and other Good Suburban Parent obligations.

At the risk of this sounding like a coach delivering a "Yay Team!" speech, I'll close by saying I loved reading all of these essays and knowing other people have similar experiences, worries and thoughts.

And I definitely believe we proved Charlotte -- and everyone else who's older and feeling superior -- wrong.