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You know, the problem with editing is that it�s someone else�s work.

As an editor, your goal is to make the story or the abstract of the text more accessible to future readers. You have a double responsibility: to the story or abstract itself, and to the author.

Where do you draw the line? When do you cross a word out, or move it elsewhere, or leave it as an example of the author�s style? When do you take the responsibility of taking that away from the author and doing it differently for the good of the story, or the text?

Presumably the author has given this work to you because s/he trusts you to help make it better. (Or you�re being paid to do it, which means that people trust you enough to remunerate you for your skills!) As an editor, you�ve been given a certain authority. Maybe I�m just authority-shy, but with every change I make I have to stop from second-guessing myself. I know I�m making the sentence easier to read, but am I taking away from the author�s personal style?

Trust me, if I wanted to rewrite a text and remove all trace of an author�s style, I could. So I know that I�m holding back; I know that I�m not obliterating the original author�s presence. A good editor shouldn�t be noticeable when you read the finished text. There should be a single voice apparent.

I suppose it�s just a degree of interpreting personal space. You know � how close you stand to someone at a bus stop, or on the metro. I want to give the author their room. It�s their work, after all. If I change a sentence, or the order of a set of words, or substitute another term for something that is unclear � how close can I get before I�m standing on top of them?

Of course, even just being aware of the potential for overstepping my mandate and questioning every edit that I make means that I�ll probably never have to really be concerned about suffocating the author. Which is sort of consoling, in the general overview of things, but not enough when you�re picking up the correction tape to correct your own edit.

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A friend sent me this link to an article by Philip Pullman called Voluntary Service, which examines the age-old argument concerning the effect that art has on society, and what purpose it actually serves. Does it change the world? Is it mere entertainment?

Along the way, though, Pullman numbers a list of responsibilities any writer has, to him/herself, society, his/heraudience, and, ultimately, the story. It’s one of the best articles on writing that I’ve ever had the fortune to read.

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A wonderful interview experience indeed at the CBC this morning! It ended up being more about alternative spirituality rather than Imbolc, but it was good nonetheless. Whenever I do an interview I�m always certain that I�m talking in circles, but both the host and the producer thanked me for expressing myself clearly and intelligently, so I must have done something right. I�ll be interested in hearing the final edit when it airs on Radio 1 Sunday morning between 8.30 and 9.00 AM.

That is, assuming the piece isn�t pre-empted by what we saw on the monitors when we walked out of the recording studio at 9.30 this morning. There�s a skeleton crew working the weekends, and with the producer monitoring my interview with the host, no one was quite sure what to do with the news of the shuttle as it came through and it seemed as if the main national news feed from Toronto hadn�t picked it up yet. I got a first-hand look at what happens in a newsroom when there�s a crisis � quick calls, calm re-evaluation of priority reporting. I also experienced the frustration that most reporters must feel: when there�s a catastrophe, people want information and answers, and there aren�t enough answers to go around. And yet, the people still demand, and the media must provide. We saw the footage of the break-up over and over as we put our coats on; this afternoon when we checked the news again I was glad to see the NASA publicity people giving frank and straight answers, being very open with their information.

It was a tragedy. For once, it was a tragedy that was a sorrow for all of mankind in our desire to explore, to broaden our horizons, rather than an event labelled as violence or aggression. I think that�s what hit me the hardest as I watched the footage for the first time at 9.45 this morning in the newsroom: every single person on this planet lost something this morning. All of us can mourn without pointing a finger, without making someone out to be the bad guy. We cannot direct our anguish, and thus, we unite in sorrow.

Imbolc Interview

We must be coming up to a major Neo-Pagan festival – I’m on the radio again.

Yep. Going in to the CBC tomorrow to tape an interview about Imbolc, or Candlemas, or Chandeleur, or Brighnassadh, or Feast of Saint Brighid, or whatever you want to call it.

Now, it’s been a year since I’ve done an interview about my spiritual practices. You can actually dig back through the archives and read my rant about the disrespect shown to me by the last jerk who interviewed me. I did plenty of pre-interview work with the producer this time, and at one point I must have hesitated a bit too long, because she asked about my comfort level using certain words. I admitted to her that my last interview experience regarding the general topic had taught me a severe lesson and made me a bit interview-shy, and she’s assured me that nothing of the sort will happen this time. She was quite horrified at the level of immaturity displayed by the man who put me through that mockery of an interview last February and offered her sympathy, although she didn’t sound surprised. Sensational journalism attracts listeners, after all, the same way sensational journalism sells newspapers. In general, though, I have a very good feeling about this interview tomorrow morning. Mind you, forty-five minutes of the producer doing pre-interview research did a lot to put my mind at ease, and I’ve never had a bad interview with the CBC, in all the years I’ve interviewed with them. I’m always treated courteously and with respect. Mind you, I thought the same about CJAD up until last year too.

No, this will be fine. Besides, this time I know to terminate the interview if it goes in a bad direction. We’re taping, after all.

Barring major disasters, it looks like it will air Sunday morning on CBC Radio 1, which in Montreal is 88.5 FM.

The Hours

I saw The Hours yesterday. As I expected, when I walked into my apartment afterwards, my husband looked up at me and said, “Good movie?”

Now, that’s such a misleading question. Usually it means, “Did you enjoy the film?”, but the phrasing also implies, “Was it a well-made film?”, or, “Is it a bad movie?”

So I kind of shrugged and said, “It was thought-provoking.”

“But did you have fun?” he persisted.

What kind of a question is that? The movie is about death, questioning the right to define acceptable quality of life, and who has the right to limit any individual’s choice to end his/her life at any time. No, the film was not “fun”. I didn’t exactly “enjoy” it. But it was excellently directed, edited, and acted, and I could appreciate that, and appreciate the feelings it evoked from me, and the ensuing self-examination that began as the credits rolled.

I gave up. It was a quarter to midnight, and my husband was almost asleep, anyway.

“Yeah. It was a good movie,” I said.

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I dreamed this morning that I pulled out the sleeping bags we took on our camping trip to Pennsylvania last summer, and inside I saw something moving that looked like a little stuffed animal. I unrolled the sleeping bag and found three cats: a full-grown cat, a kitten approximately Nix’s age, and a tiny, tiny kitten about the size of a mouse, with black paws and gingery fur.

“More cats!” I said. “And a tiny foxy cat!”

Evidently my mind was either (a) remembering our return from Pennsylvania to discover Scarlet’s temporary feline boarder giving birth to kittens, or (b) afraid that I haven’t cleaned out my camping gear correctly. Or both.

I haven’t been sleeping well. Maybe that’s all it is.