I had to edit the story for grammar and clarity, of course, but I had a more basic purpose. I had to edit the story, period.
This wasn't how it worked in Tampa. There, when a story came on my computer screen, I could be reasonably sure that it had been read by a couple of other people. I knew its structure, its outline, had found approval elsewhere in the building. My job was to polish the story, detect any flaws and present it to the world in the best way possible.
I'm still learning this new, comprehensive approach. Yet once I started it, I knew that I had to write. I had to write for print. I knew that I had to put myself into the shoes of that person sitting to my right.
No, I didn't rush out and start covering fires. Instead, I began reviewing books. I've written a half-dozen reviews so far, and I've enjoyed the process immensely. It reminded me how difficult it can be to put words down. It reminded me how much pressure exists for an on-deadline reporter. It reminded me how it feels having someone pass judgment on a piece you slaved over to create.
Copy editors need to know this. We don't need to know it so we can pull or punches or somehow abdicate our responsibility as critical eyes. We need to know it so we can communicate with reporters. We need to know it so we understand the writing process. We need to know it so we don't heedlessly slash words that aren't essential but that make sentences better.
Blogs don't quite cut it. Neither does writing a diary or journal. The writing should be for print and ideally edited by someone else. That's key. Put the shoe on the other foot.
Although this revelation came to me at a smaller paper, there's no reason it shouldn't apply at bigger ones. In Tampa, I was more removed from the process, but that didn't make comprehension of it less important. For my colleagues in those environments, I would advise: Find something to write about. Pitch a story. Ask to cover a cops shift some night. You may not find the simple outlet I did, but you can find something.
Who knows? You might have fun along the way.
This wasn't how it worked in Tampa. There, when a story came on my computer screen, I could be reasonably sure that it had been read by a couple of other people. I knew its structure, its outline, had found approval elsewhere in the building. My job was to polish the story, detect any flaws and present it to the world in the best way possible.
I'm still learning this new, comprehensive approach. Yet once I started it, I knew that I had to write. I had to write for print. I knew that I had to put myself into the shoes of that person sitting to my right.
No, I didn't rush out and start covering fires. Instead, I began reviewing books. I've written a half-dozen reviews so far, and I've enjoyed the process immensely. It reminded me how difficult it can be to put words down. It reminded me how much pressure exists for an on-deadline reporter. It reminded me how it feels having someone pass judgment on a piece you slaved over to create.
Copy editors need to know this. We don't need to know it so we can pull or punches or somehow abdicate our responsibility as critical eyes. We need to know it so we can communicate with reporters. We need to know it so we understand the writing process. We need to know it so we don't heedlessly slash words that aren't essential but that make sentences better.
Blogs don't quite cut it. Neither does writing a diary or journal. The writing should be for print and ideally edited by someone else. That's key. Put the shoe on the other foot.
Although this revelation came to me at a smaller paper, there's no reason it shouldn't apply at bigger ones. In Tampa, I was more removed from the process, but that didn't make comprehension of it less important. For my colleagues in those environments, I would advise: Find something to write about. Pitch a story. Ask to cover a cops shift some night. You may not find the simple outlet I did, but you can find something.
Who knows? You might have fun along the way.