A Day in the Life of a Freelance Editor

You might think what a freelance editor does all day is worthy of a blog post. That would be a classic example of wrong thinking. But for the sake of filling this space I’m going to tell you anyway and since I just established that a freelance editor’s day isn’t all that interesting, some of the details below will be complete fabrication. Feel free to decide which ones.

6:14 AM – Get urgent phone call from Stephen King pleading with you to be his editor for the upcoming sequel to Under the Dome, provisionally titled Under an Even Bigger Dome – a project that pays by the word. Say “yes,” then mumble something stupid like “my name is Stephen too, how cool is that!”

6:33 AM – Figure out how to defeat the army of dragons that got in through the open bedroom window before they storm the poster of an Irish castle on your wall.

7:41 AM – Wake up.

7:42 AM – Check your phone to see if Stephen King called. Check the walls for scorch marks. Close the window.

8:16 AM – Go to the gym. While on the treadmill, solve a plot problem in a book you edited a year ago that’s already in bookstores. While on the stationary bike, solve a plot problem in a book you’re currently editing. Decide never to use the treadmill again.

9:24 AM – Put leftover pizza from night before in the fridge so you can throw it away next week.

9:25 AM – Eat a donut.

9:27 AM – Eat another donut.

9:30 AM – You really shouldn’t eat another donut.

9:41 AM – Shower. While in the shower, solve a plot problem in a TV show you saw last week.

10:11 AM – Arrive at your satellite office: Starbucks. Reserve a table by dropping your laptop on it despite evil stares from the 27 bestselling-authors-in-waiting in line ahead of you. Order coffee. And a donut.

10:29 AM – Open file for the novel, Nothing But Dragons. Scroll to where you left off on page 139 and begin reading. Scroll back to page 94 to see if the mage on page 139 is telling a lie on purpose or if it’s a continuity error. Determine it’s a continuity error and order another donut. Make notes about how to solve the plot problem. Resume editing.

3:30 PM – Calculate number of pages you edited per hour. Calculate number of waking hours left until your deadline next Tuesday. Divide the second number by the first and get Divide by Zero error. Google “Divide by Zero error.” Follow random link to article about the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland. Pray they discover time travel before Tuesday.

3:35 PM – Realize you forgot to eat lunch. Decide to eat early supper instead. Go to the same restaurant you always go to and order the same thing you always order.

4:41 PM – Return home. Settle in at your desk.

4:51 PM – Re-arrange stacks of paper and unread mail. Rearrange work schedule to find more hours in a day. Bump editorial review of Hey Look, I’m In Love With the Wrong Guy But it Will All Work Out in the End until later in the month. Email author with explanation and apology and lots of affirming words about her writing that are absolutely sincere even though later in the month you’ll send her a 12-page document describing all the things that need work.

5:22 PM – Get back to the Dragons edit. Determine that Herman the Conqueror is not conquer-y enough. Make notes to that effect and suggest solutions.

9:35 PM – Get up from your desk. Try to ignore sucking sound as the chair breathes a sigh of relief.

9:39 PM – Fix yourself a delicious, healthy snack like fresh veggies or in-season fruit.*

9:49 PM – Turn on TV to watch 11 minutes of some show you can’t remember the name of but the actress looks familiar and wait didn’t she sign a book deal last week and what’s the deal with that?

10:01 PM – Drink something besides Diet Coke while catching up on DVR’d TV shows.

11:18 PM – Wonder where the time went. Wonder where the remote went. Wonder why there’s an empty wine bottle on the TV tray.

11:27 PM – Climb into bed with your Kindle. Look longingly at the list of books you purchased and planned to read before Armageddon. Select a client’s manuscript instead. Begin reading.

1:13 AM – Close Kindle. Check date on your phone and subtract one to figure out what day it was.

1:19 AM – Fall asleep and dream of dragons who fall in love with the wrong guy but it all works out in the end.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

 

*Or just open a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Minis and a can of Diet Coke.

 

 

 

10 Things Writers Can Learn from a Brick

All those “list” posts for writers annoy me. Especially the ones I’ve written. Most especially, this one:

1. A brick is skilled at staying on task. Put one in front of a computer, it will sit there for hours.

2. A brick doesn’t jump in front of a truck when it gets a rejection letter.

3. A brick understands the importance of structure.

4. A brick rarely complains on Twitter and Facebook about the unfairness of bricklayers.

5. A brick isn’t jealous of other bricks. (Except those at J. K. Rowling’s house.)

6. A brick doesn’t stress over its Amazon.com ranking.

7. A brick can build a bridge or start a revolution.

8. A brick isn’t perfect. It’s okay with that.

9. With a little help, a brick can fly.

10. Bricks never waste your time with “10 Things…” posts.


Vivisection

If you watch a writer in a coffee shop, you won’t be particularly impressed by her work. You might not even notice that she’s working. The external act of writing is a mundane thing. It is quiet, often deathly so.

ten fingers tapping

long sighs and silent swearing

insomnia cure

You have to slice a writer in half to reveal the invisible truth.

Writing is sudden bursts of brilliance racing ahead with yellow-jersey speed while you labor to catch up with tricycle typing fingers.

It’s a magnificent ache and pointless pursuit sandwich smothered in what-the-hell-was-I-thinking sauce.

It’s creation and destruction. Hope and despair. Love and love and more love.

And death. Lots of death.

It’s making friends and enemies. Then making enemies of friends with a press of the delete button.

It’s a whisper where a shout should be and a shout where the story is yelling at you to whisper.

Writing shrieks like that child screaming for another cookie. It cries like that old man who used to come every Sunday with his wife but now sits alone.

Writing is an empty balloon where your brain should be. It’s a world on the tip of your tongue. It’s a thunderstorm and a desert, a song and an empty stage.

It’s walls everywhere you turn…

You want to jump off a bridge. Wait…a bridge. Yes!

…and inspiration when you least expect it.

Writing is the reason “argh!” is a word.

Your wrists hurt, your head hurts, your heart hurts. You want to throw the computer across the room. You want to marry it.

Writing is a beautiful violence.

But you wouldn’t know it by watching a writer in a coffee shop.

ten fingers tapping

paradox of perfect calm

she is building worlds