Quality-Cut Edits, Worth its Weight in Gold

I am going to come right out and say it. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No excuses.

I do not tolerate mediocrity.

That is not to say I do not realize that I, too, am mediocre, but I genuinely, completely, and unequivocally dislike sub-par production. I come with my own barrel of monkeys in the form of my perfectionism, which essentially means I get nothing creative of my own done. In a way I'm the pot calling the kettle black. However, that is not what I'm talking about, here. I am talking about the competition of production, the publication of an essay by a writer who flat out refuses to revise it because it would change the initial integrity of the thing. And because she doesn't want to "completely re-write it."

Now, laziness of the author aside, I use the term "initial integrity" very, very lightly. Whatever integrity of this essay the writer has disillusioned herself of, it is so shallow you couldn't drown in it. No, I'm too busy drowning in the excess flourish of semicolons (not even used properly most of the time), the schizophrenic dash from idea to idea, the unrelenting and irrational jumps in [who-knows-what-kind-of-]logic and the haphazardly created mask of an "experiment" to hide the true nature of this soapbox scandal.

I know I am being melodramatic here, but it is completely necessary. I don't want to give too much away about the work because, even though I feel the utmost disdain for this piece, I know the author and she is a good person, and humiliating her is not my intent. However, that being said, even the title of her work does not actually relate to it. One of the words she uses in the title has the definition of "the scientific description of the customs of individual peoples and cultures." Unfortunately, that has absolutely nothing to do with the paper, despite what the author may think.

Not only does the lack of quality of this paper makes me want to pull out my hair, but the professor I am editing with essentially has written me off as co-editor. He told me to tell the writers the overall edits they need to do, and then he would tackle copy-editing by himself. I don't know if he thinks I am not a credible source, seeing as I'm only a student and all, or if he's trying to make himself look good. He seems new this year, and half of his office was still full of cardboard move-in boxes. My frustration mounted when I went to see him last week; he even seemed to like this paper! Not only that, after the short retort from the writer about her "initial integrity," he sent me an email saying, "well, if she is truly unrelenting about her paper, I suppose we'll have to leave it the way it is."

Wait, WHAT? Are you crazy? This paper is in no condition to be published and you are going to let it be printed "as is" simply because the writer puts herself on a golden alter and is too perfect (and lazy) to edit her work? What the fuck kind of editor are you? Seems to me he just doesn't want to deal with a stuck up, irate author. He's just as lazy as she is, in my book.

In a way I am wary of even putting my name on this book. This may sound cold and shallow, but if this essay is published as is, or even with only a few edits, I don't really want to be associated with this edition of the WC Review. I look back at the old editions and they were all full of truly quality work, at least in terms of the essays. The poetry has since improved since the 90s, but man, those essays back then were the real deal. End notes ranging in the 50s to 70s, bibliographies running on for pages...these students were truly that: students. There is passion, effort and style running rampant in those old volumes. Not so much these days. Because students are "perfect" when they come into college and don't really need to be taught anything.

Before I slip too far off topic, I just want to say that even though I sound crazy with rage about this paper, I really do want it to get better. Maybe it's for my own reputation, maybe it's for the college' reputation, or maybe it's just because I want to see the proper use of a goddamn semicolon once in a while.

The Most Morose Editor

Sometimes seeing the greatness of others depresses me. It's not in the sense that I am jealous and that I wish I could be like them (because I am, and I do) but because the talent and skill these people play with appears so genuine, meaningful and universal. Anyone who reads or sees or feels those works is affected and knows it. The thought is so startlingly beautiful.

In the other room, as I write this, they are talking of "projectile shitting."

This is how I see myself; sitting in a room in between one where many people sit, and another in which only a few sit. There is a glass window built into the wall. I stare through it every day, watching them speckled sporadically around the room, drinking in their blank expressions and savoring their bored twitches. I want to speak with them, hear about their days and their conversations with one another, but I can only hear the roar of people from the room behind me. They stuff my ears with their loud voices. The sound feels like cotton balls drenched in hydrogen-peroxide. It hisses and hurts, but I know it is good for me.

In reality, I am sitting in front of a computer worth more than my car pouring through essays for the Review. Right now I feel like a critical bastard because these essays, supposedly the cream of the crop of this years contestants, are utter shit. Okay, okay, maybe not "utter shit," but they are pretty bad. Not beyond help or editing, mind you, but in the "this-is-my-first-draft-but-I'm-pulling-an-all-nighter-since-it's-due-tomorrow-so-I-just-gotta-get-this-shit-done" sort of range or, the "look-at-me-I'm-such-a-great-writer-and-you-should-be-so-impressed-because-look-at-how-many-semicolons-I'm-using!" sort of mindset. I don't know which style bothers me more (I admit that I am guilty of both types in my own right). It annoys me that this level of caliber is let into the Review, yet another essay was originally let in but then later rejected because it needed "too much editing". I simply don't understand. This is probably going to be the shortest Review they've seen in years, I guess because not a whole lot of people submitted work, or because so much was rejected. But if these are the essay that made it in, I'd hate to see the work that wasn't. Yeesh.

However, it's hard for me to take myself seriously (or maybe I'm taking myself too seriously...dun dun dunnnnn!) when I haven't submitted anything for the past two years and I'm only editing. Editing is easy. Editing is something I'm good at. But writing essays from scratch is hard. I know that. As I'm reading through the unbelievably huge number of TWO. WHOLE. ESSAYS. I'm trying to figure out what exactly the prompts were for them. Is this the final essay for an introductory art history course, or is it an in-depth compare-and-contrast essay given in the middle of the semester for a higher level Greek and Roman Sculpture class? Is this essay for Children's Literature or for Germanic Culture?

I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing that I can't tell.

A Week of Driving

It's been a week break here in Internland, but I've now got a fellow-intern to bumble around with: Alice! But before I introduce her into this working summer, I'll digress into what I call my One Week of Complete Travel Around Maryland and Lower Pennsylvania in a Car with a Broken Air-Conditioner. And it's not over, yet!

It began last Friday, with my itching to leave work and jump onto the highway to Ocean City. I was shaky as I threw clothes into my travel bag, antsy to get out of my room and onto the road. Gotta beat traffic gotta beat traffic...

Truth be told, I did not beat traffic. Not one little bit.

I finally made it to my grandparent's trailer on 52nd street, but I had little rest, because the next day I was on my way to Travis' house, to the south of Ocean City. The following day I was off again, this time late at night to really beat the Memorial Day traffic, and soon I found myself in and out of Baltimore, thrown into the twisting and winding roads in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.

After slipping off to bed early, and feeling old, Emily drove me down to the historic district of Ellicott City the next day, Monday. I fell in love with the place. I made believe I was in a small European Town nestled into the mountains. And I finally realized the true meaning of "nestled into the mountains," with the streets bumping up to the building's faces, with boulders and rock pushing into sidestreets and alleyways and the mountain head looming up above us all. It was truly breathtaking. My desire to see Europe has increased tenfold.

On Tuesday, after a grand sushi buffet, Emily and I drove up to York, PA to see our good ol' graduate friend, Alyse. We fell asleep to Daria, excited about what the next day held: Hershey Park.

Now, I had never been to Hershey Park before, and I was not the biggest fan of roller coasters. I have been on a few before, but they still scared the crap out of me. However, with a lot of cajoling and jokes, Emily and Alyse finally convinced me to go on one the older and more tame coasters: The Comet. Thankfully there were no lines that day, so I didn't have a chance to sit there and bite my nails, wondering if I could actually do this. I just did it.

And despite the good brain-rattle I received, it was a lot of fun! Throughout the rest of the sweat-soaked day, I rode as many coasters as I could handle before succumbing to the dehydration and the nausea. I slept as much as I could on the ride back to York, but had to wake myself up for the drive back to Windsor Mills, and then to Baltimore.

On Thursday, I drove back to Chestertown so I could settle in with Alice, my suitemate and as I mentioned before, fellow intern. We had a nice heart-to-heart over Procs, thunderstorms and vodka.

Today, Friday, I will soon be leaving for Ocean City once again, this time with Ellen to go to Travis' before we travel to Selbyville for Corey's Graduation Party on Saturday. I will be returning on Sunday. After this week I don't think I'll ever want to travel EVER AGAIN.

...but of course I'm lying. I love traveling! I'm just glad I don't get carsick!

And there is a happy ending to this story! At the end of this ordeal, I've finally found out my wages for this summer! Hoorah for gettin' paid!