Most of the
time, my work requires me to abbreviate rather than edit. The words have to fit
into a fixed area, for a particular space at a specified location! And they are usually the words of two young clerics.
One writes
exuberantly, flamboyantly, extravagantly – he pours his heart out and the words
flow in a torrent over the page. I have
to restrain them, fit them into an impossible boundary and yet retain the
vigour, the essence and the message.
Challenged and frustrated, I arrange and rearrange. I find substitute words that people will
relate to and I chop, chop, chop.
The other’s
writing is more restrained, even dignified.
It is lovingly researched, explained and draws the reader in to a
personal encounter through posit or gentle questioning. There is information here
and also insight and, perhaps, an angle that is new. Again, I have to distill and bottle. The minimum number of words – give or take a
few – hangs over me like the executioner I must become. And I go chop, chop, chop.
My
reputation is now such that, if anyone wants something curtailed, they turn to
me.
My new nickname
– by default - is ‘Bobbit’ and I am truly discombobulated!
