Emma, editor extraordinaire
A scientifical fact that I have just made up with my mighty robot powered brain is that there is a direct correlation between how much work I have to do and how much enthusiasm I have to do it. The more work I have, the more I want to do anything else other than the work. When things are quiet, I have oodles of it – I become a mass of “c’mon c’mon I can do THIS and I can earn THAT and I can edit THAT and write THIS if only if were right here in front of me” energy, powering through the universe on my Enthusias-o-matic 3000 scooter.
Until it is right in front of me and I morph into “beh, what’s TMZ pimping out today … that rubbish should be taken out … I need to stare at the wall for an hour or so, maybe … I wonder what would happen if dogs had thumbs …” energy. Or un-energy, which is probably more accurate.
Guess which form I am today?
One of my clients seems to regard me as a 24/7 on call ‘write shit out of thin air’ kind of resource. She just sent through something that needs to be done by last Friday for her son – an answer for an award he’s going for.
“What was the driving force that inspired you to start your own business?”
With two lines of answer. Consisting mostly of instructions like ‘can you fill this out a bit and expand it and maybe put a quote in that sums up my point’.
Two lines.
What point? I think you’ll find there’s no point. And expand what? The request to expand what’s not there? And if it was due last Friday, what the hell is the point of doing it today? And if you can’t answer it yourself, maybe you shouldn’t be entering the comp buddy.
There’s a blank space where the payment goes on these types of jobs. Because, obviously, I just love doing this so much that I was going to be writing an answer to an asinine question like that anyway today, just in case someone needed it answered.
What about this:
“I was motivated to start my own business by the lack of real jobs for people with qualifications like mine and I like working from home in my jammies and being able to fart about until 3 am before a deadline when I start typing madly with a twitchy eye.”
Oh wait, it’s why HE does, not me.
Maybe:
“I was motivated to start my own business by my inability to get another job and my insatiable greed and the example of my mother who runs a business without knowing or caring about the industry and rips people off by charging 80% on top of what her beautiful yet modest editor charges for her work. It looks so easy I thought hey, why not do it too.”
Hmm, perhaps too honest.
I don’t even know what his business is called, and only know it’s something to do with computers and data. And that he rides a motorbike and sometimes gets blond tips in his hair. I don’t think that’s the kind of info they want though.
The most annoying thing is that I can pull answers to asinine questions like this out of my arse. I don’t like to, but I can, and quite well – well enough to make people sound so flash they actually win these things, all along knowing that they are lies – damned lies – I’m writing.
It’s a bit like the press releases I write from time to time for the bumcake books I edit that shouldn’t really see the light of day. And yes, I’m an elitist, and yes, I would kick postmodernism’s no absolute truth reader response theories in the face with my energy legs too. Go the canon kids – it’s a canon for a reason.
But what’s a girl to do? It pays the bills, and I assuage my literary guilt by telling myself that everyone has a right to be published if they want to be and pay to be. I am there to make their books less bumcake-esque and if you saw the original you would see how much ‘better’ I inserted into it.
And by the way, all you people who conveniently ‘forget’ I worked on your book? Even though I’m right there at the launch, standing around being peered at by your friends and family with my fantastic hair? Even though you find the time to thank the printers, the illustrators, the typsetters and the project manager, and can’t include me WHO REWROTE YOUR BOOK FOR YOU SO YOU DIDN’T EMBARRASS YOURSELF WITH THE SORRY DRIBBLE YOU HAD WRITTEN, I’m fine with it. Really.
When people ask who I am and why I’m there, I tell them exactly who I am and what I did for the book.
Not really. I just smile and stuff my face with the free food and smile some more.
And then write rants about you behind your back while I add extra hours to your invoices.
