by Dr Rahim Said
Let’s get one thing clear, young editors: you have an undeniably important role in any publication.
Some might even say the quality of a publication lies squarely on your shoulders. (And shoulders, as we all know, get terribly sore carrying other people’s mediocrity.)
In the world of printed words — and their digital cousins — quality counts. It always has. Which means, like a royal food taster in medieval courts, it’s your job to decide what lives and what dies. Or as we call it in the trade: publish or perish (in the bin).
Over coffee recently, an editor friend confessed that some days, she’s caught in a dilemma: to mercifully reject a tragic piece of prose or spend hours performing literary CPR to make it publishable. Noble? Perhaps. Necessary? Not always. Obligatory? Absolutely not.
This brings us to the grand philosophical question: should an editor burn the midnight oil to make a content creator look good? I’ll save you a trip to Socrates’ cave — the answer is no.
In the immortal words of Philip Crosby (a quality guru with a name like a ’50s jazz singer), “Quality means conformance to requirements, not goodness.” If it meets the brief, you run it. If it doesn’t, it goes where all half-baked think-pieces belong — into the abyss of digital oblivion.
And this principle, dear young editor, applies to everything. From the masterpieces of tortured poets to those AI-generated listicles about ‘Top 10 Sandwiches That Changed History.’
You, my friend, are the gatekeeper. The literary bouncer. The winnowing robot programmed to separate the grains of brilliance from the husks of mediocrity. Your job isn’t to turn every sow’s ear into a silk purse. It’s to keep the sow’s ears off the shelf.
So take your job seriously — but not that seriously. Remember: if you’re spending more time fixing someone’s article than they did writing it, you’re no longer an editor. You’re a ghostwriter with commitment issues.
Now, go forth. Reject mercilessly. Approve wisely. And keep the literary husks out of my morning reading.
WE