SOLSC 8: A Workday Poem

Tied to her laptop

The copy editor addresses language.

How to gracefully ID a writer

Whose first book has the same title

As his blog.

How to spell Uyghurs (or Uighurs).

Should she leave that list of names

In all caps,

Or normal upper and lower case?

Which version of the story she was sent

Is the one she should work on?

After an hour of work,

She takes a break,

Goes for a walk,

Stops for a Covid test,

Just in case.

 

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I’m participating in the 15th annual Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers. This is day 8 of the 31-day challenge.  It’s not too late to make space for daily writing in a community that is encouraging, enthusiastic, and eager to read what you have to slice about.  Join in!

 

 

Poem a Day, #8 (work)

What is work?

Is it work if you don’t get paid?

Is it work if it’s fun?

Is it work only if you’re obliged to do it,

As Mark Twain wrote?

When is work a joy and

When is it torture?

Is mindless, back-breaking work

a crime in the class war?

Will your back pain from waitressing

earn you a Purple Heart?

When is caregiving an act of love

for a family member, and

when is it work?

When is it both an act of love and work?

http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/the_carriage.png

Slice of Life, #27

            It’s the end of the week. How does that feel that’s different now from all the other end-of-weeks when I was working full-time? I wrote the other day about what I love and what I hate about this job. This is a different question.

            This past week has been like a time capsule. Can I still keep on top of all the many pieces that go into the magazine, and keep them moving so we can meet the deadline for the printer? There is always a moment on closing day, Friday, when I have to be doing three things at once: today it was double-checking the page proofs of one of the main features, finishing off two different color pages, and rewriting table of contents entries when one story dropped out and a new one was put in. This week was relatively easy; no major stories came in late; no editors disappeared when they were needed.

            And I feel nothing but relief that I do not have to go back next week and go through the process all over again. Next week, I can stay home, do some freelance work at my leisure, write, go for a walk, do some cooking, all at my leisure. And read the New York Times for as long as I like in the morning. Now that’s luxury.

Slice of Life, #24

            Working temporarily in an office where you worked for a long time but haven’t been in regularly for a while is interesting: it helps me understand why I liked the job so much, yet am very glad I no longer have to go there every day, week after week.

            The job is managing editor at a weekly magazine. Half the magazine is a set list of stories that go through the same process every week. The other half consists of a changing variety of news and features. Different editors are involved, different writers; some are good with deadlines, some less so. Someone always has a personal problem that has to be accommodated because we are human beings, not cogs – and this place appreciates our humanity and doesn’t try to turn us into machines. But the machinery of the weekly deadline is always there, and the printer needs our copy on time because he has his own schedules and other jobs to accommodate.

           

I love making it all work. I love deciding what the other copy editor should stop doing so he can work on another story that has a slightly higher priority. I love talking out with an editor whether a bunch of sidebars should be in one file so clumped at the end of the main story, or scattered throughout the main story so each being in its own file. I love catching writers' mistakes and saving them from themselves. I love working with language and making the stories be the the best they can be. Most of all, I love the camaraderie of this group of people, all fun to talk to, whether about work or life outside, movies, books, politics, where to eat lunch in the neighborhood.

            I hate having to deal with a software system that seems designed for cogs, not people. (Would I hate it less if it weren’t from a German company?) I hate it when the system won’t let me highlight a word, so I have to close the story, wait a couple of minutes, then open up again. I hate forgetting the new ways of doing things that my successor has devised. I hate having to decide at the end of the day whether the work I haven’t done yet can wait until tomorrow or do I need to stay late to get it finished. And I hate having to get up at the same time every day.