An editorial response to Hamilton Nolan’s ‘Against editors’.
Nolan has some interesting points to make and some good language to make them with. But the article has a few weaknesses that limit and distort its impact.
Here’s a quick paragraph-by-paragraph summary:
- In publishing, writers are unjustly subordinate to editors.
- But don’t writers need editors?
- Well, OK.
- But writers who want career advancement have to become editors.
- Writing and editing are different skills, though, so the result is a loss of good writers and an accumulation of bad editors.
- Passing a story through a series of editors is wasteful and doesn’t help.
- Editing is subjective, and such a series could in theory go on indefinitely.
- These unnecessary editors feel the need to edit to justify their existence.
- Sure, some editing is necessary, but it’s not as important or as hard as writing – and it’s better-paid.
- Let’s keep the good editors but get rid of the needless, bad ones and instead allow writers to get raises and promotions as writers.
- Stories are what matter, and stories come from writers, so writers should matter more.
The first problem is near the start. Para 2 includes this imagined response to his opening shot against editors:
You’re one to talk. Your grammar is wronged, your metaphors are blunt bricks, and your similes are like a hot needle to the eyeball. Your infinitives are split, your participles are dangling, your spelling is eroneous, your cliches are old as time, your sentences are repetitive, and your sentences are repetitive.
You see what he’s doing. For example, “old as time” is itself a cliché and so on. But in fact, “old as time” is a short phrase that readers will harmlessly process in barely a second. The real cliché here is the whole paragraph.
An article about editing that makes a string of deliberate blunders in a list of those very blunders? Really? Come on. That technique stopped being cute around the same time Happy Days did. Readers of this article are likely to have read other articles about editing, and so to have seen this trick before.
The other downside of this is that it slows the piece down, just when it needs to pull readers in. After stating his case in only the vaguest of outlines, Nolan is already anticipating objections and hedging with caveats. Para 2 (and by extension para 3) kill his momentum. The caveats could wait until paras 9 and 10.
A second problem is that “editor” covers several very different jobs, and Nolan doesn’t distinguish. Titles and processes vary between publishers, but a crude typology might be:
- managing editors, who hire and fire, set the overall policy of the publication, and do all sorts of businessy things that have nothing to do with the articles themselves
- commissioning editors, who decide what articles should be written and who should write them
- developmental editors, who deal with tone, focus and structure; they may make changes themselves or feed back to the writer
- copyeditors, who look at clarity, accuracy, consistency, house style, grammar, usage, typos and suchlike.
These roles often overlap: managing editors may commission and may look over articles before publication; commissioning editors may do the developmental work; copyeditors may have licence to veer into developmental territory. But the editors who do the most wrestling with the words are usually not the ones with the money, power and status.
The higher-level editors may well be writers who have climbed the pole. But copyeditors generally didn’t get where they are by working their way up – up! – from being successful writers. So the career hierarchy Nolan sketches and the series of editors he confronts don’t match up.
By not being clearer about what he means, he risks misleading, confusing or annoying readers (depending on how much they already know).
A third weakness comes in para 10:
It is absurd that most writers must choose between a career spent writing and a career that offers raises and promotions.
This point – that writers should be able to make career progress as writers – is crucial. It’s the one thing he really wants. But he gives no detail. He must have been thinking about this for a long time; he must have ideas. Surely he can’t just mean getting paid a bit more as you get a bit better, year after year. What would these senior writing jobs be? I’m intrigued. But after this, all we get in para 11 is a peroration whose rhetorical force depends on blurring the chronology and importance senses of “first”:
Stories are, ultimately, what matter. Stories are what websites and magazines and media “brands” live and die on. Stories come from writers. Writers come first. They shouldn’t be second-class citizens in their own industry.
Nolan could have trimmed that and got rid of the earlier clichéd caveat, freeing up space to elaborate and clarify where it would help. The article would have had more focus, force and depth as a result.
He has things to say (never mind whether I agree) and a talent for saying them, but the extra perspective of an editor could have helped him raise his voice and speak more powerfully to his readers.
Because that’s what editors are really for: we’re for the readers. And we’re for the writers.