When I was a kid I never hankered after being a fireman or a footballer. I can’t remember even wanting to drive a truck like my dad – I recognised early on that manual labour was noisy, dirty, dangerous, and best avoided. From early on all my heroes did nothing more arduous than put pen to paper. On my tenth birthday I decided I wanted to be . . . an editor.
I’d read Catcher in the Rye in the school library and asked my English teacher if Salinger had written anything else. She wrote a title on the back of my wallpaper covered E J Arnold school book and whispered something about it being “a bit advanced for your age . . . ” Ten year old boys rarely hear a teacher reveal information quite so intriguing and I was off like a shot to find out what the fuss was about. Of course, Mrs Greene was right, my pre-pubescent brain didn’t really get it, but I loved the fact that I was reading something way beyond my comprehension – I knew all the words, in fact just like Zooey I had a “vocabulary on an exact par with Mary Baker Eddy’s” – a book that wouldn’t reveal it’s secret to me without a struggle – or at least till the hormones kicked in.
The one bit I did understand was the dedication; “As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Slinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors, to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book.”
I was hooked. I wanted to be like William Shawn. I wanted some long shots to love, some unprolific to prompt, and most definitely some flamboyant types to flaunt. I wanted to edit and mentor – though I hadn’t the foggiest what that meant – and I longed to work for The New Yorker.
Well, you can’t have everything . . .
Anyway, what the heck is this editing malarkey about anyhow? Now that there are a dozen or so editors at the Culture Vulture – technically we are a coven – I thought it about time to give a little thought to what it is we do (or should be doing . . . ) Put in simplest terms, editors help make writing happen. They help in three ways: one, they help suggest what to write about in the first place; two, they help accompany a writer through the difficult stages of writing to the final draft (collect, compose, cull, as an old teacher told me); three, they help make it presentable, good enough to post.
Most traditional editors focus on the first and third stages. I’m most concerned that we get the second right on Culture Vulture.
We have it pretty lucky up North. We live in exciting, vibrant, cosmopolitan cities, full of interesting people and fascinating goings on. We aren’t short of stories. It’s not just about reviews in exchange for tickets! And the best thing about living in a place like Leeds – the place I know best – is that there’s no fixed, settled, generally agreed cultural narrative. It’s an undecided city. We have a chance to speak and write about it in new, more expansive, imaginative ways . . . and I can’t resist a quote from one of my favourite (New Yorker) writers, E B White, about the purpose of writing;
A writer should concern himself with whatever absorbs his fancy, stirs his heart, and unlimbers his typewriter. I feel no obligation to deal with politics. I do feel a responsibility to society because of going into print: a writer has the duty to be good, not lousy; true, not false; lively, not dull; accurate, not full of error. He should tend to lift people up, not lower them down. Writers do not merely reflect and interpret life, they inform and shape life. (Writers at Work, Eighth Series, Penguin, 1988)
I think we do need to polish the presentation on Culture Vulture, and edit for consistent spelling, punctuation, and grammar. This doesn’t meant we call in the grammar police – or even the community constables of correctitude. But writing is a gift. Nobody enjoys receiving a gift that’s badly wrapped, poorly presented, and rattles like it’s broken. Grammar is just the way to make sure what’s inside the gift box is solidly constructed and has no missing parts, and punctuation is like gift wrap, best when the folds are tight, the tape is neat, and the ribbon not too gaudy. Also, we should be editing for strained and silly metaphors such as the one I just employed.
The second function of editors is more psychological than literary. Lots of people have great ideas for posts, most of these could contribute a great piece of writing, and almost all do not. This isn’t due to lack of technical skill or time (let’s not use time as an excuse for not writing, please!) People are scared to commit an idea to print in case they are exposed as ignorant, foolish, lightweight, or credulous. Or at least that’s what they say in private. But Culture Vulture isn’t about opinion, knowledge, balanced judgement, expertise, special insight, critique, condescension . . . actually it’s just about experience. That’s all. And the great thing about experience is that it’s radically democratic. You can’t avoid it. In the next twenty four hours you’ll have exactly the same amount of experience as I or the guy down the road or anyone on Celebrity Big Brother. It’s what you do with it that counts. You can make an interesting experience dull, or a dull experience fascinating, it’s all how you choose to write about it. I’d like Culture Vulture editors to see themselves as encouragers rather than critics, mentors rather than mavens, confederates and confidantes in the writing process rather than commissioners and closers. This is how the great Max Perkins, one of my editorial idols, who worked with Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Wolfe, and many other amazing writers, worked;
Max Perkins . . . was famous for his ability to inspire an author to produce the best that was in him or her. More a friend to his authors than a taskmaster, he aided them in every way. He helped them structure their books, if help was needed; thought up titles, invented plots; he served as psychoanalyst, lovelorn adviser, marriage counselor, career manager, money-lender. Few editors before him had done so much work on manuscripts, yet he was always faithful to his credo, “The book belongs to the author.” (A. Scott Berg, Max Perkins: Editor of Genius. E.P. Dutton, 1978)
I’d agree with everything in the above – except perhaps money lender, before anyone gets any ideas that’s not gonna happen – but I wonder what my fellow editors think? What at we offering and what is it that contributors want from us?
I shall end with my favourite editorial anecdote. When Harold Ross, the founder of The New Yorker and it’s first great editor, met an up and coming writer called Wolcott Gibbs – one of the best reviewers that ever lived, he eventually made way for Kenneth Tynan who couldn’t really match him, he was that good – Ross is meant to have boomed his famous advice for hiring editors, “just don’t fuck the contributors!” Gibbs said that was the closest Ross ever got to enunciating a coherent editorial policy. Gibbs, I believe, occasionally misbehaved. His writing did not suffer. The New Yorker survived.
This post is unedited. Volunteers are welcome.
A good blog should be a balance between ‘reviews for tickets’, which should reach those outside the local cultural elite, and stream of consciousness blogs about your own experiences which can sometimes be illuminating.
I’m never sure what it is that makes a good blog so I’d never be so prescriptive about the right quantity of subjective rambling to add to the objective reporting mix. I’m generally unbalanced.
Agree about reaching outside the usual cultural suspects though . . . question is, how?
I think the recent upsurge in blogs is very encouraging including stuff I wasn’t aware of. I think all you can is is put stuff up and hope pepple – new and old – support events or start thinking about what the bloggers are saying.
BYW…keep rambling as it is a real talent and an important community service.
I think it’s good to get off Twitter sometime and talk to the punters in the pub. Not everyone thinks 140 characters at a time.
And I never realised my babbling had edifying social consequences . . .maybe I could apply for an Arts Council Grant?
I’m really looking forward to your pub series…it could run and run.
I would when you see some of the utter shite that get grants.
Alas, that old-school type of editing barely exists today.
With regard to CV, it would be a shame if potential writers were lost because they were embarrassed about their English, so why not offer to edit their posts if they wish, but otherwise just correct really bad spelling? It is scary to put one’s opinions up for all to see and judge, so I’m sure a helping hand from the editors would be welcome.
Then maybe it’s time to bring it back?
Surely we can do better than simply act as a glorified spell checker? Editing could be more positive than adding the final polish . . . I’m more interested in how we get people to commit to the journey of writing in the first place. That’s where the real difference is made.
Certainly your new editorial positions seem more the commissioning type, so long literary lunches are probably obligatory. Old-style publishing should never have been allowed to disappear, but that’s what you get for putting ex-bankers in charge of media companies.
Seriously, though, how about blogging/writing workshops or brainstorming for themes at the next Friday picnic? There are plenty of amazing bloggers in Leeds who could be asked to give good advice, and if anyone wants info on the pure copy-editing side, I’d be more than happy to help.
For those who couldn’t attend that, perhaps put up intriguing questions on CV and get people to use the comments box for their response? Hook them in to write a little bit and they’ll see how easy it is…
I’m all for the long boozy bookish lunch.
We have been thinking about workshops for quite a while, it’s just getting the practicalities sorted.
And thanks for the offer to help with some copy editing . . . just don’t let Emma hear you else you’ll never have a free moment again!
In my experience, and it relates to what you wrote in the post, that a lot of people would actually like to write for blogs but they are nervous not only about the content but about their actual ability, and it is in building this confidence through the “second stage” that can be the most important.
With my own website, as you say about CV, it should be about the experience – and there are plenty of people who do not see themselves as writers who have something valuable and interesting to say. It is the editors job then to help them say it.
I think it’s probably harder writing for a site like CV than for a personal blog – there’s the nagging anxiety that someone may actually read the damn thing for a start. And there’s the added responsibility of knowing that it’s someone elses reputation on the line if you write something illiterate, foolish, or litigious.
But you’re right about the job of an editor . . . just how do we help people to find their voice and be confident to write about what moves them? It’s obviously more than just correcting the odd Oxford comma.
The real question is can we really teach people to have ideas and opinions? Of course we can’t, no more than we can give them the confidence to publish those ideas and not care what people think.
Yeah, we can support people a bit with grammar etc but something like CV is about ideas and discourse which is not something we can -or should – teach.
My job as an editor is not to hack people’s thoughts – that is far too easy – but to make sure it is coherent, and in something like the right order. The rest is about ideas.
I don’t think I’ve ever taught an idea in my life . . . not even sure if I’ve had any ideas to speak of.
Aren’t ideas secondary on CV? I still think we are much more about experience – which of course can encompass reflection, critique, even polemic – and writing is just a way to think clearer and harder about our own personal experience. I think we can, and should, be helping people to do that.
How do we know as an editor what coherence looks like, what order is right, which is a narrative skill, if we can’t “hack” their experience?
I do think we should be fixer uppers of grammar gaffes, but that is secondary to supporting, encouraging, exploring new voices; we can’t foist ideas onto people or indoctrinate them into the correct opinion, but we can offer to help clarify and shape their experience into words that connect with the readers of CV.
I think the title ‘editor’ can be problematic. It implies there’s already something there to be tweaked, fiddled with and made clearer. It sort of implies that your job begins once you receive the copy, which isn’t the case. I think some people can’t see past the word, though.
Maybe we need to think about rebranding the position?
I’m more interested in how we generate the writing – no matter how flawed or incompetent – and helping people to become better writers. Fixing the copy comes later and is a lot less fun . . . there are plenty of grammaphiliacs out there who enjoy the stab and slash of the red pen.
Formats and templates help. As does the sense of having an audience or a purpose. Blogs are great because they encourage all of that. Of course, the keenest adopters have been those – only some of them with big egos – with a strong drive to communicate.
Editors help by shaping the purposes most relevant to audiences (spotting the story, the opportunity, sometimes the ‘angle’).
They can help, too, by helping potential contributors to discern the patterns (formulae, formats) that underly the most effective contributions.
Blogs have spawned many useful formulae or rules. Sure they are there to be broken but they are very useful in encouraging wider contributions.
Editor should be used to engage people to write – to find stories – to offer stories. To shape the pages, not necessarily the style or language of the pieces.
Leigh once invited me to write a piece, my only piece, on here. He had an idea, a theme, I ran with it – we both seemed to agree that it worked.
Crowd source ideas. Fire those ideas out. See what comes back.
Be fishers of words, talent – which could then lead on to self-generated ideas.
Well, I’m not sure I like the idea of being used – never “utilised” by the way, that would bring out the worst of my dictatorial editorial tendencies – but I think you’re right.
So, what you gonna write next Mr King . . . I have a couple of ideas.
My blogging is no more than a series of brain dumps upon rotating themes. These rarely approach cultural debates, but who is to say I can not step up when asked?
If you have a subject matter that I can offer a slant on, that goes beyond scratching of a surface – that offers an opinion that could be worth reading. Then naturally I am always willing to take on the chance to air my views.
The difficulty has always been where invites to group events have clashed, or where there is a doubt that I could write a more engaging piece than one of the better, regular writers on here. But that’s for you to decide.
Share your ideas and I will share my time.
Hey I know how hard it is to dump on anything when you’re in rotation . . .
I’m not that interested in events as such anyhow, more just general experience of living in a city – and there I go again on the idiocy of rural life – and I know you have things to say about that.
Let’s have a natter soon, see what we can come up with.
Oh man, general experiences of living in a city – Leeds – and you’d want that splattered over this site? Ha!
I am constantly at odds with what it means to be a Loiner – if such a person truly exists. I am an outsider. I always feel I will remain an outsider. My life is in that mid-point flux where running around town clashes with a sensible approach to family life, to fatherhood – to look at one’s lot and wondering if could I have more. Should I want more. Could Leeds provide more?
Passion is one thing that unites and drives this site. Passion of the subject matter doers conveyed through the words of the subject matter lovers. A passion for their subjects. A passion to see their loves in their city. A passion for Leeds, Sheffield and beyond. We don’t all have that passion. Where do we find that passion?
It’s why I read this site. To ignite the burnt out flame. To unearth some unknown stirring. To want to accept not my lot, but my life in this city – beyond staring out of windows and wondering what lies on the other side of the horizon.
Maybe I should hand my twitter existence over to the People of Leeds – but fear I may be ran out of town on the end of a pitchfork if I do.
Meeting sounds like a good, first step.
Looks like we got the beginnings of a great post already Chris . . . Beer’s on me.
Great Post. I’m far from an editor, I simply do not have the kind of attention or knowledge that comes with the territory. I do think they have such a big part to play though. i’ve begun to discover this recently in trying to edit my own work and coming across obstacles time and time again.
As someone brought up with sport, i liken the editor to the anchor man midfielder in football. they often get te raw end of the deal and rarely get the praise they deserve. Look at the stats though and you begin to see what they offer. Have them miss a game or two and realise ow much you need them.
The writer on the other hand is te striker. The person with the flair and creativity to make things turn on the head. They get the praise and they can create moments of genius. But without the work horse how would they get in the position to create anything worth while?
Matt (Turndog Millionaire)