Editor Cage Match

Rant, rant, rantity-rant.

Today, readers, we're going to talk about publishing. Since I want to be an editor, I try to keep up on the changes the publishing industry is undergoing; specifically how it's adjusting to the explosion of the ebook market (which includes a dreaded s word: self-publishing).

Writers: I know that the e-publishing/self-publishing world is as intoxicating as the smell of a new book, but LISTEN for a moment.

There are rabid supporters of self-publishing, and a few of those wolves have made heinous accusations against me and my people (editors, for those readers who are feeling a leeeetle slow today).

I mean, as far as I'm concerned this a full on dynastic/species clash. Monsters vs. aliens, vampires vs. werewolves, zombies vs. unicorns. Sarah Palin vs. American History.

DO NOT, AND I MEAN NEVER, SAY THAT YOU DON'T NEED AN EDITOR. YOU DON'T HAVE A QUICK QUOTES QUILL.

Specifically, I've seen it said on the internet that editors choose books based on what is or could be the next Twilight/DaVinci Code/Harry Potter clone. Like, so much commercialism? Many other editors, authors, and agents have argued against this claim, and explained why good editors are necessary. They are more intelligent and eloquent than I.

So let me present my opinion in a different form: The monologue. Three of them, to be precise.

Clone #1

Editor 1: "Could you maybe make x people an alien race? I don't know...maybe, like, make them glitter or something? Oh, and also, I want Eduardo to want to destroy Linda-Bonny-Bella while simultaneously loving her obsessively. Great. Get me those revisions by next week."

Clone #2

Editor 2: "Okay, Jimmy. Loving the cowboys. Man, are they hot or what? Yeah, I know how much you like them too...Listen, kid. Got some hard news for you. This isn't going to sell. Nope, it's just not going to sell. No one wants cowboys these days. What the people want are caves with secret paintings and religious artifacts. And labyrinthine mysteries with a few wacky murders thrown in for kicks and giggles. So let's say that the main cowboy is actually an art historian. [Thinks a moment]. Yeah, I'm liking that. Make him an art history professor. Then he needs to meet a pretty American Indian guide. Oh yeah, and her grandfather, you know, the one that raised her [wink, wink], he hid those religious artifacts somewhere for his granddaughter to find. But he can't tell either of the main characters because he's been brutally murdered on top of some hieroglyphs. Anyways, you get the picture, so vamoose. Ta!"

Clone #3

Editor 3: "I'm loving this existential quest your protagonist is having with the kitchen table and math book. It's genius.

Yeah, so I just talked with marketing, and they're asking for something with more pizzazz, right? So, I'm thinking that the kitchen table--or the math book, you choose since it's your novel--yeah, so either the kitchen table or the math book turns into a magical portal and takes the main character to a school for Magical Design. You know, avant-garde decorating ideas with a little something something extra in the making, and all that. We'll call it "Poghaus". Excellent. One more thing: Molly Painter is gonna to need a couple of trusty sidekicks. And a rich, snotty frenemy. And definitely, definitely a BIG BAD. Oh, I've got just the name. Shopradamort! Great. Whose book is gonna be the best bestseller out there? Yours is, that's whose! What, no, I can't hear you. Must be your end of the line. Send those revisions to my secretary to look over! Goodb-"

The End

NO. Just no. Not gonna happen.

Get real naysayers, and stop blaming editors for the fact that commercial publishing hasn't worked for you yet. And furthermore, I don't really care how gifted you are as a writer, YOU NEED AN EDITOR.

OH, and P dot S dot

This is what a good editor looks like:

You Are a Failure

Just another manic Monday...except it's Wednesday.

Yo, peeps. It's been a while. All nine of you miss me a ton, I know. I get your fan mail; I even read it. Sometimes. Stop crying yourself to sleep at night and listen.

'Cuz Gadd's back.

I think it's time for another post about things that are funny. Or not funny. You decide.

Today in my soul-sucking-brainpower-draining theory class(I think the teacher calls it Eng 452: Modern Critical Theory or something like that) we had a full on verbal battle. And by we, I mean NOT ME.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't like contention. Contention is so AWKWARD.

God bless our teacher...for something. I'm sure there's something God can bless him for. I want to like him. Really, I do! He seems like a cute, eccentric old man. But I can't, repeat, cannot, accept his teaching style.

February 2, 2011 (Based on REAL and TRUE events. No postmodern critics were harmed in the making of this dialogue. Even though I tried real hard).

Professor: "Class, you are all woefully underprepared. The system has failed you."
Student 1: "So, you're saying we're stupid?"
Professor: "No, you're not stupid. The C+ I gave to all of your papers [I know right? First C+ in my entire life] means that English students in other countries actually know what they're talking about when they open their mouths. You idiots resemble widemouth bass, for crying in the non-existent bucket. Have you guys even heard of Derrida?"
Student 2: "But I just don't understand how you can grade us like this when we haven't even talked about the critic or his essay and you told us before we started that you'd be shocked if any of us actually understood him. I mean, how is that fair?"
Professor: "So you're saying that you don't think this is fair?"
Student 3: Loudly and passionately: "Well, I think that you guys should just stop worrying so much about your grades. I mean, they're not that important. You should just stop whining and pay attention. Gosh."
Professor: "I mean, I didn't even read your papers. I knew you all failed abysmally and I didn't even bother on most of them. Sometimes I just wrote, 'Tough isn't it?'"Professor chuckles to himself.
Megan to her friend: "OMG. That's what he wrote on mine!"
Friend: "Me too."
Megan shrugs. Class grumbles. So on and so forth.

Yes, this is what class was like today. I wasn't making that dialouge up. I was quoting. Ridiculous.

But you know what? I don't care. I've accepted that I'm a product of a failing educational system. And you know what? You should accept it too. You are a failure.

Then THANK your teacher for the C+ and for making you realize just how stupid you are. I mean, when you think about it, he's being totally merciful. Saves you a lot of embarrassment in the end with the whole "smart" thing.

Pssh, yeah.

Megan

Soon to Come...

...this new social phenomenon called "hipsters" that we must discuss.

How do I feel about them, what is their place in society, and how do I talk to them?

Yes.

Until then (then being when finals are over. Specifically, when 30 more pages & 5 more tests are over), here is something to consider.

How many hipsters does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
You've probably never heard of it; it's a really obscure number.
(Courtesy of my coworker, Cora)

Con affetto,
Megan