My life as an editor is over.
Or, at least interrupted. The critique group's anthology,
"Reckonings", by Quixotics, is on the street through Amazon.
It has been quite a slog for me - a different experience playing
Editor for this work. An indelible memory. It's not a role I'll repeat real soon.
But I do have a deep appreciation for those real editors who make
the writing life richer and better managed for us scribblers. Cat herders would
recognize the activity, the variability, the inopportune timing - they and editors
do much the same thing. They both try to reach a desirable result with a
modicum of effort, most of their hair, and reasonable sanity.
Reaching the 'finish' line with something to show for the couple of years
involvement has been frustrating and educational. Normally, obtaining
single pieces of work from writers has not been an issue. Going for a
collection of stories from seven authors has been eye-opening. I've had
to replace my scrivener guise and assume a lively, semi-Type A persona
to collaborate, encourage, plead, hassle, beg, cajole, demand, and soothe.
I'm not a Thesaurus of motivation. I notice I didn't mention 'threaten', which
is a good thing. All I had was carrots, not a stick in sight. Fortunately, the
"Quixotics" wanted to be in print again, and that made the task easier. Any
tardiness to ink was my doing, from my unfamiliarity and ignorance with
the editorial process in this day and time.
Yet, we got it done. Sentiment any and all editors identify, akin to "Hallelujah",
"Hooray", "Rejoice", "Amen"; "Let's all go get... paid". I lift my hat to
them, respectfully, and say Bring Them On [until I subject my next piece to 'em].
