The privilege of learning
Most people are aware of the black hole of research a writer must follow in order to write their book. It’s a never ending pit of Google search after Google search after Google search. All so you can simply know exactly what that medieval table you’re referencing is made from. One thing leads to another, and then you’re suddenly an expert in medieval carpentry. This insane research process is basically a rite of passage all writers must experience, regardless of how much of your research actually ends up in the book. The research grounds your book to reality and allows the reader to believe in your storytelling.
Writing allows authors to learn and absorb new and interesting knowledge. It’s a gift and a privilege to be able to learn so freely. For some it’s not so easy. Information isn’t so readily accessible to others.
Editors have this same privilege. As an editor you’re exposed to countless different topics at any given time. It’s your job to make sure that the author’s own research is accurate. You become the gatekeeper between fact and fiction. Depending on the kind of editor you are, you could go from editing a high fantasy novel about immortal elves and stubborn dwarves to an instructional manual on designing saddles. You have less control over what you work with, but you must become a temporary expert in that field for the duration of the project. You could even go so far as to call an editor ‘the jack of all trades’.
During this year’s photobook editing project, I worked with a unique photographer exploring a topic I had never encountered before. Cetiya’s photography explored the lives of three Thai Buddhist monks living in Australia. Upon starting this project, I realised this topic was going to take me far outside the borders of Australia and straight into the heart of Thailand. Initially this made me very nervous — being admittedly quite naive about Thai culture and religion. I felt out of my depth and afraid to start because I didn’t want to make a mistake.
I didn’t feel like the right editor for Cetiya.
As I dove into the project, I learnt that I would be relying on Cetiya as much as she would be relying on me. We came to lean on each other a lot throughout the project — she needed me for the writing, I needed her as my guide while learning about Thai Buddhist culture and religion. Half the discussions we had weren’t even about the words or images on the page, but of temples, monks and meditation.
There was an instance when the word ‘Pagoda’ came up in her draft. When I first read it, I looked at Cetiya with a baffled expression. ‘What does this mean?’ I asked, hoping that it wasn’t something I was supposed to know already. She tried explaining it to me over the next five minutes, and eventually I learnt about a whole new aspect of Thai temples. A Pagoda is a particular part of a temple, a smaller temple often in the form of a many-tiered tower.
I had a similar conundrum with the word ‘abbot’. I came across it initially when I read Cetiya’s first written document. After researching it, I learnt that its meaning is similar to a priest: ‘a man who is the head of an abbey of monks’. After learning this, I began to understand how I should treat this word in terms of capitalisation. I decided that when standing alone abbot should be lowercase: ‘The abbot walked down the street’. But when used as part of a name or title, abbot should be capitalised: ‘I learnt about Abbot Luang Por Dhammajayo’.
There were many instances just like these. It was a constant matter of edit, clarify, edit, clarify and repeat. I had to slow down my reading to about half the speed I usually edit at, because I was so often coming across names like ‘Wat Phra Dhammakaya’ and ‘The Master Khun Yay Ajan Mahā-ratana Upasika Chandra Khonnokyoong’. I had to keep a close eye on all these words, so my Google page was open constantly. My style sheet grew and grew and grew every time Cetiya sent me a new page of writing.
As this happened, I felt the editing process gradually transform into something else beyond simply ‘editing words’. I wasn’t only learning for the purpose of the project, but instead learning for the sake of learning.
I’ve always been a strong believer in the idea that if there was ever a great meaning to life it would simply be to learn as much as you can while you can.
Learn about new cultures, new people, new experiences. Learn from your mistakes, your triumphs, your actions.
I don’t mean to turn this into some preachy philosophical thing, but all I want to say is that the process of editing lends itself effortlessly to this concept, the same way writing does. Every time you open up a new manuscript you open an entire new area that you now have the privilege to learn about. Because not only do you have something to offer the author, but they have something to offer to you — the privilege of learning something new.
The lesson I’m taking away from this project is never complaining about having to learn new things while editing. There are people all around the world whose only wish is to do what I can. I’ll never again take my education for granted and continue to learn and learn and learn.
