The Editor

Early Friday morning and I’m sitting in the kitchen with the first brew of the day. I have to rub my eyes to clear the grit to see what I’m writing.

I’ve been wondering if I should tell the story about my editor.

Nah, bad idea. But wait, why not? Writers will know. They’ll get it.

I’ve got an internal editor. I call him Arthur. Bonkers, I know. But show me a writer that doesn’t have one.

With mine, I take him to a fuller extent. He and I have full debates about what I’m writing.

–Aye, and this is shite.

—Hello, Arthur. Constructive criticism then—

—I say it how it is lad. Yer know that.

What I do know is: riffing with Arthur like this gives me the chance to develop certain skills.

Character creation. Dialogue. And even a way to test my ideas. He’s a grumpy bugger. But that’s fine—

—Oi! Yer can cut that out fer a start.

—You are grumpy.

—whose fault is that? If I’m a figment of your imagination…

Ah. He’s got a point. But don’t tell him I said this, I like having him around.

See, writing is hard enough. The whole thing, ideas, first draft, the edit. It’s easy to lose yourself—

—Aye, happen yer do that all the time.

—Do I?

—Yep. I ‘ave to pull yer back from the weeds, so to speak.

I can show you how this works. I’ve read back what I’ve got. Now I’m worried. It’s not coming over how I thought. Panic mode is on. Hang on. It’s not bad. Stop panicking, it’s fine.

—Aye, it is. Fer you.

—What’s that supposed to mean?

—What I said. It’s alright.

I’ll take that. If Arthur reckons it’s alright? It must be.

But there’s one other thing I should mention. The stream of consciousness. I use it a lot for first drafts. Get the words down. Worry about the order later.

Arthur will be sitting grimacing. But that’s grand. I need to get it down first. He knows that.

I’d make sure your editor knows it, too.