It would not be entirely correct to say that, for some decades now, my “day job” has been as an editor. To say “day job” means that it’s significantly less important than my chosen vocation, writer, and is only there to pay the bills while I toil in secret on the Great American Novel. What’s inaccurate about that, for me, is that I love being an editor. In fact, my own attempts at writing have largely fallen away, and not because I was somehow driven out of the business, or anything like that. I spend most of my time as an editor and what frustrates me at the end of a week or month—or year—isn’t that I’ve spent too much time editing and not enough time writing, but that I’ve spent too much time on petty life distractions and not enough time editing and writing.
This week, I’d like to…
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