Let it go
My journey to stop making someone else’s creative piece about my own interests.
When dreaming of being an editor, it’s very easy to fall into a fantasy world. You’re sitting in a well-lit, warm study. It’s homey, full of books and you are poring over your latest editing project, going through a 400-page manuscript by hand (my fantasy pushes me back a few decades of technology; it’s more romantic). You’re working closely with the writer, moulding and chatting and engaging with the work until it’s something you are both enmeshed in and proud of. Then you let it go out into the world to make stupid amounts of money and fame. And it was all because of you.
I’m sure there are a few editors cackling at me from the back row, but I know I’m not the only one with a false vision of editing. Across my degree in Professional Writing and Editing, where we were told the editors ‘aim is to make each book the best conceivable version of itself… for the reader ’ (Mandy Brett, Stet by Me: Thoughts on Editing Fiction). But that little fantasy still burns on, excitement for what our careers could be.
I’d like to preface that what I’m leading to isn’t a smashing of editorial dreams, but more a merging with reality. An understanding that ‘While there will be times (I hope!) that we create something that we are personally invested and interested in, there will also be times where we are working on something very new, confusing and have different thoughts of angle to the author.’ But hopefully, both will leave us deeply proud nonetheless.
‘While there will be times (I hope!) that wecreate something that we’re personally invested and interested in, there will also be times where we are working on something very new, confusing and have different thoughts of angle to the author.’
My reality meshing moment was my Photobook assignment.
When starting the project, I had absolutely no experience with the topic. The photographer is a long-time skater and wanted to showcase skating as a community sport. What they had was a series of shots that were beautiful, interesting, and well-framed; but lacked a story or angle. At first, that was terrifying — with all my lacking knowledge in skating, how on earth was I meant to create anything interesting for this audience? But that fear became a very clear answer.
What I kept forgetting (and definitely had been told numerous times in my degree), was to always think about the audience. Audience is everything. And a second key thing. I am not always the audience.
‘Audience is everything. And a second key thing. I am not always the audience.’
I found myself instead latching onto one key part of the photography. Women were excluded from the space and are now being brought in through women and non-binary only classes. What does that mean for women in skating? In male-dominated sports? What do the teachers and students of these classes think about it? Has it actually improved? I was in a whirlwind of excitement, this was the angle! How could it not be?
When we caught up a second time, however, he’d decided on his storyline — community spirit. How the Skate park was creating community. I felt let down, disheartened, and a million other synonyms that gave me a sense of injustice. I was being ignored! As the editor of a project! Am I not the authority here?
A quick answer to that question: no, a little bit, but no. As Renni Browne, founder of ‘The Editorial Department’ aptly states, my goal as an editor is ‘to help the author make the work as good as it can possibly be.’
Was I doing that? Honestly, at first I thought I was. I’m sure there’s a part of me that still thinks that my angle might have been stronger, more appealing to a new demographic of non-skaters. But that’s not what this project was about. This was in part a puff piece for the skate park, given my photographer was keen on continuing this as a profession with them and they will get a copy of the book. Basically, digging into how good (or likely bad, based on reviews of the place) was never going to fly. It was also in part, for the skating community. The photographer clearly wanted to share how much he loved the skating community through the third-person lens of a camera. Neither of these would align with my angle. And therefore my angle, wasn’t the strongest or best route to take.
I doubt this will be the last time I feel unwarrantedly sad as a writer takes a different angle, storyline or character arc than I wanted. But at the very least I can hope that I can remember the feeling of completing this photobook, my first major editing project. Because when it did come all together, I was incredibly proud of it and had let go of my original idea to let my photographer's vision become its best self.
Though I may keep my angle filed away, just in case I work on a skating piece again.
