Editing a Show-and Tell Gone Wrong
Engaging in superfluous s-wordplay
Good editing is economically feasible.
As well as good for the bank account.
Who knows how much cash I could have earned by now. If I had only been aware of …
The Economy of Editing.
The key to editing is economically disciplined ideas and thoughts.
In his book Keys to Great Writing, Stephen Wilbers says, “the more economically you use language, the more powerfully you will deliver your message.” He explains, saying you must “get the full value out of every word you write. Recognize the power of a single well-chosen word.”
But, when I think of editing, I think of
a dysfunctional show-and-tell.
Because for some reason, I have blocked out all my childhood show-and-tell experiences from my memory. And, thus, they must have been pretty bad. Morbidly forgettable. Extremely dysfunctional.
For the only thing I can remember about them at all is the feeling of terror and an anxious fear about being laughed at.
Like the editors were surely doing when they read the first manuscript I ever sent out. For even though they never said anything to me directly (never said one word for or against), I have to laugh at myself. Because I think back on how hopeful I was, and how much I had yet to learn. And it now seems ludicrous that I could have even thought that it would be published.
The Horror of Wordiness
And when I am editing a piece now, I often find myself experiencing feelings of horror and the temptation to rearrange and remove huge chunks of words that I now deem as a show-and-tell gone wrong.
For I know I often commit the crime of wordiness. But I can’t seem to help myself. I am as addicted to words as my late husband was addicted to alcohol.
He couldn’t quit drinking and I’m having a hard time
giving up my loquacious thirst for words bubbles.
Certain kinds of word bubbles.
Even though I am aware that readers today thirst for speed. Long to skim info off of the top as fast as they can. And that is probably why my reading times are suffering. For I am suffering from an inflamed case of flamboyant wordiness.
Despite my recognition of my lack of economy when I reread what I publish …
I still haven’t been cured.
I haven’t kicked the habit.
And it all goes back to my basic research pattern.
It all begins when I start looking for something to write about. For I am an acronym-aholic. I can’t seem to stop trying to come up with acronyms.
No matter how hard I try.
For I go through my rhyming dictionary and try to find acronyms to write about. And that acronym usually starts the ball rolling.
Starts the keys clicking.
This time the acronym was AMISS, Altering mistaken interpretations of self-sabotage.
Like this habit of mine of mistakenly interpreting my acronym-aholic tendencies as great writing … when really it is self-destructive. Self-delusional. And self-swagger.
And a total lapse of good judgment.
For when I get on an acronym roll, I can’t seem to stop. I don’t just settle for one acronym. I go on and on, mixing and meshing words together.
I often find myself in acronymic bliss,
with blabbering literal images stimulating my senses.
Where bundled lingo infiltrates my speaking systems. And bungled language infests as senseless soundbites.
Oops!
There I go again.
My expensive word habits have once again taken over.
And even I don’t know where it will lead to. I don’t know if I will be able to stop before
bystanders and listeners initiate suggestions for substitutions.
Or if I’ll be able to begin a logical immediate scan of my soundboard.
Hopefully then I can switch my soundtrack. And select a symphony. Instead of slinging s-words.
But if not … if I can’t stop swinging swords today … it’ll just be another chance to brush up on my editing skills.
Or I’ll just have another show-and-tell gone wrong under my name.
I don’t know how many more dysfunctional show-and-tells I can take.
I must be the record-breaker by now.
Anybody know a good editor?
Maybe she can supervise and subvert my subliminal stream with some supersonic synonyms. If you know someone who’s a good word economist, point her in my direction.
Hopefully she doesn’t get in sync and succumb to my superfluous s-wordplay.
