Writing to Persuade: How to Bring People Over to Your Side - Trish Hall 2019

Becoming an editor
Lessons from my story

After the euphoria of that byline, I still had to show up every day between 10 and 6 and edit the words of other people. Was it my day job, or did I love it? I wasn’t sure. Was I meant to be a writer, or not? As John McPhee makes clear in Draft No. 4: On the Writing Process (2017), writing is a torment, especially when doing the first draft.

If you procrastinate and think your work is terrible and yet are convinced that you want to write, you’re not alone. Despite the agony, the upside of writing is big. The glamour goes to writers. No one ever says, when she gets a compliment on a big story, “Oh, this was junk until my editor got ahold of it.” Good editors are scarce, and it is important to your own writing to seek out people whose feedback will make you better, just as you should embrace any teacher who pushes you to improve. There is endless craft in both writing and editing.

Although writing drew me, editing seemed easier to me than reporting, and there was less competition for the good jobs. The advice that you simply follow your bliss isn’t always realistic and needs to be paired with an understanding of what the world will actually pay you to do. Not that I was a born editor. Anyone who can’t stop reading and writing is likely to be a decent editor, but everyone needs teachers, and my best editing teacher at the Journal was Fred Zimmerman. He demanded relentless editing, the kind it took to make the paper both sophisticated and easy to read. We had to deconstruct complicated ideas until they were understandable yet not distorted. We rewrote and rewrote and rewrote, referring to a list of words that Fred never wanted to see in a story because they had become clichés or were meaningless business babble.

A finance expert might write this in an article about the economy:

Following the global reflation and synchronized global growth upturn of the past year, many believe that a normalization of the global economy is underway, with the U.S. leading the way out of those structural doldrums.

A business editor might simplify it to say this:

Many people think that the global economy, led by the United States, is flourishing and that we have returned to normal following the 2008 recession.

I was terrified of displeasing Fred. He had given me no reason for confidence. When he hired me, he said that he wasn’t sure I could do the job. He would let me try, and if I failed, I would be out. No surprise that I was scared. But I watched and I learned. After I revised a story, he would go over it, fixing anything out of order, cutting out jargon and overused words—anything he did not consider conversational language. Because of Fred, I still cringe when I see grow used as a transitive verb, or utilized when used would do. In writing anything, avoid tired words and jargon. I thought of Fred recently when I read that the owner of an East Village bar was going to throw out any customer who used the word literally. It was meaningless, and he’d had enough.

Be mindful of using business jargon, which includes words like these:

end user

win-win

verticals

thought leaders

scalable

synergize

disrupt

pivot

curate

drill down

incentivize

core competency

You can improve your communication by giving these tired words a rest:

monetize

optimize

impactful

paradigm

bandwidth

mandate

compelling

momentum

innovate

dynamic

literally

influencer

Reporters at the Journal worked hard, but some of them relied on jargon or presumed too much knowledge on the part of the reader. Business reporting is a tough job. Interviews with executives as well as official materials and press releases were always larded with words intended to obscure reality. Companies rarely told reporters that they had laid off people, lost money, been caught misrepresenting their numbers, or been sued for something despicable.

We editors were fierce about eliminating jargon and making complex business and financial ideas understandable to readers so they did not have to struggle to get through the stories. As editors we made sure the writing was tight not because that was “better” in some abstract way, but because we knew a business reader wanted to get information quickly and efficiently. At the Journal, I learned the value of understanding your audience. Executives were busy people. Plus, we were what we called the second read. Our readers were buying other papers as well and would drop us if we didn’t prove our worth.

I liked working with reporters and manipulating their words, but I missed the experience of encountering strangers and asking them questions, digging into their lives. And of course there was the lure of having your name out there, of being known. So on the side, I continued to write stories; and after three years as an editor, I became a reporter at the Journal. I covered food, alcohol, and tobacco, a beat meant for the less financially astute. That assignment suited me, and three years later, it led to a job reporting on food at the Times.

Maybe I’m just inherently restless. Even blessed with what seemed a dream job—reporting and writing about food and chefs, going to wine tastings and fancy restaurants—I was drawn back to editing. If editing is the path for you, it’s probably because like me, you enjoy the challenge of making something as clear and as simple as possible without distorting the meaning. It’s fun.

And so I found myself running food coverage at the Times. Each editor transforms the publication he or she leads. I can always tell when a website or publication gets a new editor, because that editor’s biases and interests are reflected in what runs, even as most editors remain invisible while the writers are known. I was interested in sociology and in nutrition, and the section reflected my taste. During my tenure readers got many more stories about eating habits and studies on the healthiest food choices. Other Times food editors have been more interested in chefs and recipes. All valid approaches.

As I grew into being both an editor and a manager, I tried to be different from the bad bosses I had had. One important lesson I learned from them: Don’t be domineering, but do be decisive. There’s nothing worse than a boss who can’t or won’t explain what she wants. Or one who waits forever to let you know whether to go ahead with a certain project or idea. Or just as bad, one who won’t listen to other points of view and forces employees to carry out weak ideas that reflect her whims. When you’re stuck with a bad boss, you have to maintain your passion for the work and force yourself to move ahead while knowing you also need to keep your supervisor happy. It’s a tough situation. Probably the best decision, when you work for someone who isn’t helping you learn or develop, is to find a new job.

I liked being in charge; and day to day, I liked editing more than writing. Writing was agony, especially when it involved facts. I never wrote a story without worrying endlessly about whether I had gotten something wrong. That thinking probably began during my college days, when I saw how even good reporters mangled facts. Those who knew would know. I worried even after I had gone over every word and checked it to be sure that it was correct.

I found editing relaxing, like the reading that filled my childhood. While my father and brothers had played bridge, I mostly sat in a corner chair, reading. When my stepmother did crossword puzzles, I was mystified. I tried, but just found them frustrating. Editing was my version of a crossword puzzle or bridge. It was a game, a mental activity that did not come with terrifying stakes, like reporting.

At least, that’s what I thought until I was put in charge of the Op-Ed section of the Times.