The Grand Narrative of Alexander's Editing

 

The Grand Narrative of Alexander’s Editing

 

               When I was a young child, I enjoyed writing stories based on whatever tv shows or movies happened to inspire me, but I had no care for editing. Once I put a period at the end of a sentence, it was truly finished in my mind. When I went into high school, I started taking the editing process more seriously, and my journey with editing writing paralleled my journey learning to edit my visual art. My process of revision and editing in art has profoundly influenced my process for writing, whether creative or academic. After high school, I did little in the way of art, so the development of my editing became a solely writing-focused endeavor. That said, the journey of making art helped shape the way I approach editing in my writing to this day.

               The best way I can think to explain the parallel between the editing of my writing and art is to draw on a pair of examples. Though only the latter was creative in nature , I will draw on a sculpting project and a research project I completed in high school. The art project began with the gathering of all the materials and reference images needed to make a sketch. At this stage in the art project, I was only juggling ideas, themes, and focuses. Similarly, my research paper began with the harrowing quest to find sources and to brainstorm topics, forms, and structures. Both illustrate what I would consider my research and brainstorming phases of the writing process, and I used editing as a means of narrowing my focus and developing my ideas. From there, I constructed a wire skeleton for my sculpture and outline for my paper, organizing all my inklings. Then came the artistic molding of the sculpture’s puddy alongside the literary word vomit of my first draft. This established both bases for what I’d come to edit and revise.

               Once I had the rough figure and a rough draft, I began to trim away fat and add detail as needed. Sometimes a bicep needed more puddy, and sometimes the torso required trimming, just as my word salad of a draft had ideas worth nurturing and ones worth immolating. At this point, I was finding some main points were difficult to develop and backup or simply unnecessary.

               I’ve come to see my editing process as starting as soon as I have a first draft. Once my ideas have gained shape on a page, all else seems to me an act of editing. My extensive experience with visual art has led me to my methods of jerry-rigging a first draft. In art, a sketch is meant to be drawn over and painted over countless times to the point that it won’t show in the final piece. Because of the impermanence of this starting stage, I feel no pressure to perfect it. But the sketch is nevertheless important, as it lays out the general composition. This is probably why I value the process of outlining papers to the extent I do. It’s become a fun little prerequisite of mine each time I begin a new major writing assignment. It gives me a clear vision, keeping me from wandering aimlessly through the construction of the piece. I’m afraid my artistry has molded me into a perfectionist, even to a fault, as I tend to overly prepare before ever beginning the piece. Preceding the initial draft, I craft outlines and throw all my ideas down onto the page to more easily make sense of them. It’s important to me to always show my best work, so I give myself the gift of direction. It helps the writing process knowing where my writing is going when I start the first draft. Otherwise, I know myself enough to know I’d edit endlessly and pull out all my hair purposelessly.  

               Once I had the base of the piece sculpted, there was a classroom-wide workshop. This wasn’t a masterful collaboration of artistic visions, but it demanded I get my chuddy posterior off a chair and put my work in front of my classmates. This sculpture shaped up to be an honorable little space soldier with a laser gun. As I marched around with my masterpiece on display, I feared my classmates would forever see me after as a nerdy little four-eyed demon with stupid ambitions. When I stood in front of my class, let me tell you my boots were shaking, legs quaking to the tune of a category four. Despite this, I maintained my composure and had little negative to say reflecting back. After the walk of shame, I got to see the work of my peers. This little glimpse into their artistic processes eased the pressure and began to introduce me to the concept of receiving ideas and criticism on an unfinished piece. That said, this was mostly a means of offering kind words and encouragement, with the occasional idea for expansion. There was little offered in the way of criticism to help me improve as an artist, at least from my classmates.

               Later that year, I had a workshop for an essay in a dual enrollment college literature class. I felt like I was standing before a mighty beast with a hundred evil arms and a thousand nefarious swords. But I wiped the sweat from my brow and presented a draft of my essay to my classmates, this time a small group of three. This allowed us to cater more specific advice and criticism to one another. As much as I enjoyed a classroom boosting my ego, it was nice to receive feedback more constructive than sweet nothings whispered into a lover’s ear. I did my best to offer constructive criticism to my groupmates, but my experiences varied significantly over the year. Some days I would scour through a literary masterpiece looking for the slightest little thing to nitpick, and other times I felt like I was looking at a draft so evil, Jigsaw wouldn’t dare ask me to peer review it. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was slowly honing my cognitive sword, which helped me cut though all types of pieces in the future.

               Once I got to college, I pursued creative writing and entered into the entry level workshop for it. This was a return to class-wide workshop to edit and revise pieces, which could resubmitted at the year’s end for the final project. Unlike in high school, it felt like everyone was excited to engage with one another and offer useful feedback. That said, workshops often began with silence and not a soul brave enough to break it. I always felt the class was doing a disservice to a writer by not maximizing the brief workshop time, so I made the habit of starting off a lot of conversations and critiques. I learned that there is always something to say about a piece, even if I’m at a loss for recommendations or direct critique. Opening up my mind to the writer and letting them see their own piece through my eyes was genuinely helpful to a lot of people and trailblazed routes of conversation for the rest of the class. There’s so much of the writing process that frames the piece but is never directly included. Oftentimes a writer can leave pieces missing that they couldn’t effectively translate to the page. Knowing how people see your work when they don’t have all the context can be priceless in editing for clarity.

               Having gone through editing-related trials and tribulations for years now, I am revered by many as the best in the field. Though this is a heavy burden to carry, I willingly take the weight on my shoulders, along with all the responsibility that comes with it. Before her timely demise, Queen Elizabeth recognized my boundless talent and offered to knight me as Lord of Editing. In the end, the process of communication sadly took too long. But even in death, she serves as a muse, her small British hat drifting through the empty space of the page. Rest in peace, my friend, and thank you. Thank you for looking on my journey with pride, even when I could not.