The Editor

Thursday morning and the Mac is fired up. I’m lining up a post that I’ve been thinking about for a while. 

Trouble is, it’s a bit odd. I’ve tried to write it several times before. Then I thought: Nah, don’t write that, it’s mad. But like these things do, it wouldn’t let go. 

So, here I am, about to write the bugger. 

I have an editor. Well done, lucky you, I hear you say. No, not another human being. One in my head. That is so powerful, he feels like a real person. 

I did warn you… 

But listen, I reckon most writers have got an internal editor. As powerful as mine? Could be. I dunno. But the point is, mine is this bloke. Older than me. Grumpier that me (Mary said that’s unlikely) and opinionated. Jeez, opinionated is not the word for it…

—Oi! Watch it, you. 

—What? 

—I stop you from writing rubbish. 

—Er—

—I do! So, mind how you’re describing me. 

Yeah, I have actual conversations with him. This editor. Who lives in my head. I know, right? 

Anyway, the point is: being honest, I quite like having him around (I named him, Arthur, don’t judge) because he does help. 

Not only with the writing. But also the ideas. Sort of like this:

—I was thinking about writing a piece about getting old. 

—Right. Yeah, well yer are. So, crack on. 

—What’s the angle? 

—Try thinking about the things that get harder to do. 

—Right. Topic? 

—Keeping the weight off. Yer struggle with that, like. 

—Are you calling me fat?

No reply to that one. But it did give me an idea. Several, in fact. So, thanks, Arthur. 

Now, like I said: I reckon most writers have an internal editor. Whether they are quite as “alive” as mine? No idea. But if yours is, don’t worry about it. 

It’s normal. Honest.