This life wasn’t what I’d expected. It was supposed to be perfect. I’d paid for perfect, but I got … less so. Now I was stuck in my imperfect life, with no way of contacting the Editor and no way of getting out until I’d played it through to a reasonable death. Dying was the easy part, though. It was life that felt so insurmountable.
Kathleen M.
When people say that they want the truth, that’s not usually what they mean. And when people say they want TRUTH, that’s not usually what they mean. What they want is a story without obvious artifice. They must be outsmarted by the artifice in order not to see it.
Truth is banal, chaotic, full of tedium and irrelevance.
But an editor knows just enough truth to make a lie enjoyable.
There was an editor who liked to write stories. The only problem was, he wasn’t very good at it. One day he wrote a story about cats. The cats read it and didn’t like it, so they ate him. The end.
Dave Beehre
youtube video, looks at lots of videos, makes descisions about whats good and whats not so good, spends many hours watching badly produced things
levi
She tried to think through all the steps. She couldn’t have imagined it would come to this, but here she was. She blinked the words away for a moment and looked at the margins, the scribbled notes becoming tangled and unreadable in her exhaustion.
An editor is someone who makes changes to the way the words work to communicate various messages to an audience. Editor’s are involved in fine-tuning punctuation, grammar, spelling, ideas and a
sashelle
He sat at his desk, watching the light flicker slightly and reflect onto his screen. He sighed, feeling the exhaustion finally set in. He had been working for hours. This movie wasn’t going to edit itself, he thought. But he just couldn’t carry on. His eyes were heavy, his breath was unsteady, he needed to rest. Tomorrow was the deadline.
tay
editor in chief. overlooking, crossing, finding a story hidden in facts.
in fact i don’t think i could do it.
Cat
editor. oh right i am an editor at heart of poets . you can find us on instagram. we promote awesome writers and authors and try to boost their following with our daily posts by featuring their best works on our platform.
Sweedle D'souza
So I stare at the screen, the voices in my head which usually drag my mind this way and that are curiously silent for once as a numbness overtakes my brain.
Editor. What the hell to write about that? Hm. Have to have more practice I think…
Paul J Fleming
Wish I could edit my life.. I could cut off the unpleasant parts.. cut cut cut.. chop chop chop
You would be gone from my life then.. completely gone!
Reshmi
There was something oddly relaxing about sitting in my father’s dusty blue easy chair, sifting through folder after folder of papers, listening to the way they crinkled like a two-dimensional stranger’s nose. What intrigued me, however, was when I got to the letter. It was addressed to an unnamed editor – for a newspaper? A publishing house – and was written in shaky penmanship. Purple ink, oddly enough.
Belinda Roddie
I hate my internal editor. Always negative. Always slashing and cutting my ideas down. Always limiting my responses and feelings. I don’t know how to stop it any longer. I used to. What happened? When did I get like this?
This life wasn’t what I’d expected. It was supposed to be perfect. I’d paid for perfect, but I got … less so. Now I was stuck in my imperfect life, with no way of contacting the Editor and no way of getting out until I’d played it through to a reasonable death. Dying was the easy part, though. It was life that felt so insurmountable.
When people say that they want the truth, that’s not usually what they mean. And when people say they want TRUTH, that’s not usually what they mean. What they want is a story without obvious artifice. They must be outsmarted by the artifice in order not to see it.
Truth is banal, chaotic, full of tedium and irrelevance.
But an editor knows just enough truth to make a lie enjoyable.
The editor was a hag. Ellie huffed, stomping step by step by step down to the street. She’d show her. She’d show them all.
There was an editor who liked to write stories. The only problem was, he wasn’t very good at it. One day he wrote a story about cats. The cats read it and didn’t like it, so they ate him. The end.
youtube video, looks at lots of videos, makes descisions about whats good and whats not so good, spends many hours watching badly produced things
She tried to think through all the steps. She couldn’t have imagined it would come to this, but here she was. She blinked the words away for a moment and looked at the margins, the scribbled notes becoming tangled and unreadable in her exhaustion.
I’m in search of an editor.
Someone to organize the flow of information — the undulating circulation of knowledge — that propels me.
Help. That’s what I need.
Someone who can make it make sense.
that guy who proof reads….may be a woman, but this person checks the things I forget ….well not me, a friend of mine…….
An editor is someone who makes changes to the way the words work to communicate various messages to an audience. Editor’s are involved in fine-tuning punctuation, grammar, spelling, ideas and a
He sat at his desk, watching the light flicker slightly and reflect onto his screen. He sighed, feeling the exhaustion finally set in. He had been working for hours. This movie wasn’t going to edit itself, he thought. But he just couldn’t carry on. His eyes were heavy, his breath was unsteady, he needed to rest. Tomorrow was the deadline.
editor in chief. overlooking, crossing, finding a story hidden in facts.
in fact i don’t think i could do it.
editor. oh right i am an editor at heart of poets . you can find us on instagram. we promote awesome writers and authors and try to boost their following with our daily posts by featuring their best works on our platform.
So I stare at the screen, the voices in my head which usually drag my mind this way and that are curiously silent for once as a numbness overtakes my brain.
Editor. What the hell to write about that? Hm. Have to have more practice I think…
Wish I could edit my life.. I could cut off the unpleasant parts.. cut cut cut.. chop chop chop
You would be gone from my life then.. completely gone!
There was something oddly relaxing about sitting in my father’s dusty blue easy chair, sifting through folder after folder of papers, listening to the way they crinkled like a two-dimensional stranger’s nose. What intrigued me, however, was when I got to the letter. It was addressed to an unnamed editor – for a newspaper? A publishing house – and was written in shaky penmanship. Purple ink, oddly enough.
I hate my internal editor. Always negative. Always slashing and cutting my ideas down. Always limiting my responses and feelings. I don’t know how to stop it any longer. I used to. What happened? When did I get like this?