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most editors receive, to say nothing of the welter
of non-editorial tasks that most editors have to perform, including
holding the hands of intensely self-absorbed and insecure writers,
fielding frequently irate calls from agents, attending endless and vapid
and ritualistic meetings, having one largely empty ceremonial lunch after
another, supplementing publicity efforts, writing or revising flap copy,
ditto catalog copy, refereeing jacket-design disputes, and so on -- all
these conditions taken together make the job of a trade-book acquisitions
editor these days fundamentally impossible. The shrift given to
actual close and considered editing almost has to be short and is growing
shorter, another very old and evergreen publishing story but truer now
than ever before."
I commiserate with the guy. Editing is tough. And I know a few
other reasons I would never want to be an editor again. (Yes, I once toiled over books, magazines, and even
daily newspapers on the editorial side of the desk.) Quote the
Writer, Nevermore. At least not so long as I can help it,
because…
1.) You're constantly kissing hiney. That executive publisher didn't
get the big desk in the front office by making nice to his hired hands.
When a problem falls on his desk, a problem falls on your desk.
2.) You're constantly defending yourself to your peers. Lots of
people would like to second-guess your judgments and help put your butt in
a sling so they can use you as a stepping stone to grab control of your
401K. It's called office politics, and it's no fun.
3.) If you're a man, you have to dress the part. That means wearing
a rumpled suit that looks as if you've slept in it for a month. A
clean white shirt and a wrinkled tie wouldn't hurt, either. You have
to look corporate, but you can't look better than the boss.
If you're a woman, you should wear basic black, no
pearls, sensible shoes, and a shroud over your head. After all, if
your boss thinks you're moonlighting as Mother Theresa, what's he going to
do, fire you? Does the phrase, "religious persecution," ring a bell?
4.) You'll need to get fat and develop a heart murmur (probably from being
fat). That's because editors don't have time to work out. If
you're fit and trim, somebody somewhere is going to think you're slacking
off.
5.) You have to learn to speed-read. Comprehension doesn't matter:
it's the number of pages you can burn through in the shortest amount of
time that counts.
6.) You have to learn the lingo. When giving an editorial report to
your board, keep it simple: "While I find this book mildly engaging
without being Teutonic, I see its market share hovering below average and
its desirability factor as borderline." If you're talking to the
author, keep it optimistic: "Well it's well written and engaging, but not
right for us. Good luck!"
7.) You have to learn to speak Editorese. "Really quite good"
actually means I read the first chapter and couldn't stand it.
"Tautly written with detailed characterization and a beefy story line"
means I read the first three chapters and couldn't stand it. And "A deviously
crafted twist on a time-tested story filled with the foibles and
idiosyncrasies of the human condition" means I read the complete thing and
I really couldn't stand it.
8.) Finally, you have to become a drunk. If no man is an island, no
self-respecting editor is sober. "Mar-two-ni" becomes your new
favorite synonym for "Martini," and you know the names of all five of your
favorite bartender's kids. And you recite them out loud after every
other drink just to prove that you still have all your faculties.
Smoke if you got 'em.
D. J. Herda
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