It’s hard to think beyond the red pen. As she peers at the screen attempting to block out the world around her. She adventures into the story trying to find the meaning. But, it complicated. Shut up! She screams covering her ears the noise is just too much. There is no time to think about herself. Look at the mistakes in front of you. Solve the problem. Paint it red.
The gene editor was, perhaps, the greatest invention of the 22nd century. It allowed people the option to completely rewrite their genetic makeup from the smallest trait to their most defining features. This, of course, caused no small amount of controversy with religious sects and purists who believed that a person is only themselves, so long as they never tinker with their base genetic makeup.
The Gene Wars started off small, as they always do. Local acts of terrorism, fueled by growing numbers of people dissatisfied with their apparent lack of safety. Gene editing became a commonplace matter on one side, while the other took a more technological approach. In the end, both sides suffered.
The editor of some magazines are suppose to be the best at their job. However, I have still found many typos in articles, newspapers, magazines. This goes to show you that no one is perfect.
An editor is a person who edits text like newspapers and books and stuff. I doesn’t just have to be for written works, it can also be for movies and stuff like that. I think that this would be a cool job to have because you could read a whole bunch of stuff and learn about the style of how other people think. I believe that in a way, we are all editors to ourselves, and I say this in both a negative and positive way because we change ourselves based on what we think will make us better, and we use constructive criticism to help others be different without changing them. Editors are people who may or may not know what’s best because editors are around and in some way, the skills to edit are in all of us and have been the reason why society was created. We edited and continue to edit this world.
she stared at the words on her screen with a disgusted look on her face. what the heck was this garbage. it was as if someone looked at the alphabet and just scrabbled the letters in random orders and put them together. writing wasn’t supposed to be like that. well, that’s what i’m here for she thought. I edit. But she always thought of editor as edit and or. she could either edit or just throw your trash writing away. and this one was definitely out
She flicked her red pen across the page with such speed that it was crimson comet across the surface of my writing. I gulped and tried not to take that as a bad sign. I looked above her head at the framed photos and the pinned articles above her desk, distracting myself.
The hidden inner workings that make a star. The pruning of the rose so that it blooms just so; the removal of the greenfly, the blackspot, the weeds. The moving of the sunflowers to another part of the garden where they can soar.
I think everyone is an editor at some point, i’m a editor in my own way. Of course not doing editing stuff but i think drawing can be editing by erasing things or making them better, kind of what you do with your life. You change the story of your life and make it something new, after all, we all can’t have the same exact life! that would be boring. That’s what i think editing is, without the definition.
You can edit lots of things like you can edit a book, or a paper for class. You can edit movies making them shorter and cutting out the long and unneeded parts.
“Call the editor.” Mark yelled into the phone. “How did they miss this typo?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Alex laughed under his breath. Mark glared at him aggressively. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you should be.” He stared at the paper. “The presidents name isn’t Tronald Dump… This is the kind of thing that get’s us barred from the white house…”
They celebrate birthdays and they celebrate with gifts and greetings, but what if you forgot what day it was, there is always a reminder from the editor of a newspaper or daily journal, so I read alot.
The editor woke up one morning and misunderstood the current situation which he had been led into. He was not a happy man whatsoever and the only thing he appreciated in his life-situation was cutting open pigskins. An editor needs comical attributes to be able to act out his life on tape.
“Either that, or hire an editor.” And I wanted to ask him where one would find a trustworthy and sufficient enough editor, but I was afraid that my brain would hijack my fingers the way it always does and then I wouldn’t be able to stop asking him even more questions, like how do I know this editor knows what he’s doing and what if he doesn’t like what he reads and what if nobody likes what they read and what if I’m not actually as good at this as I’ve always believed? And I was afraid that a thousand and one questions later, M would type back in all caps, “OMG STOP.”
Editing after the fact is a look into the past, pointing at mistakes already staining the pages and promising a change, as discarded voices of the past rise from the shredder like ghosts. Correcting the wrong words, wrong strokes before pen meets paper keep the ghosts from reaching out in between the bladed mouth that sucked them down. The words are small, tight like a smile, controlled in the lines. Quotas met, grinding teeth, smiles tight, Ink on the arms and cheeks, bleeding into the skin, live-editing words, breaths, the slouch of the shoulders. Highlighting thoughts to be deleted, never dripping down into ink.
And when writer’s block comes, the pen freezes over the last sentence, shaking, and writes nothing at all;
the blank page is a banshee.
The editor handed back my article. Mediorce, is the word that came out of his mouth. I look in dismay at what i had wrtten the past week. I put my heart and soul into this, and I thought I had finally come away with something profound and good. I was wrong.
The Editor listens to all we say. We are entitled to free thought, but free speech is a distant figure of history. I’ve read about it in books where The Editor has no reign. It cannot Edit our sight. It cannot Edit our ears. Only our speech is restricted by The Editor, throats slit by The Node. But that will not last long. Notes from The Writers, our underground, say that The Editor’s reach will extend if we do not act quickly.
When he thought of an “editor”, he thought of books, writing, he certainly didn’t think of an “editor” being related to someone’s feelings, his lover’s feelings.
He didn’t edit to change, he edited to improve, to shift, to help the hard times be a bit easier. Editing wasn’t the right word, he knew that, but with what he and Connor had, it sure was a start.
The editor of my life must have missed a step. My life story is a complete and utter train-wreck. There are too many villains and the hero just pales in comparison to all the side characters. Not to mention the complete disordered narrative that is the story. Honestly, that editor should be fired.
My editor Felicia hates when I forget to turn in my drafts. It drives her absolutely crazy. I feel like she is planning to murder me in my sleep. She has that crazed look in her eye whenever I mention setbacks. It’s terrifying. I hope I live to see the publishing of my fifth book. Felicia might just murder me and hide my body in the woods for the coyotes before that happens.
You don’t have to sit at a desk and tap away at a computer, or touch the point of a pen to paper just to change a few details in your favor. All you need is a voice, apparently – a vote of confidence in your power, a voice, and a face everyone can trust. Speaking in black ink, it makes the whole story seem flawless doesn’t it? No one can see everything you crossed out, misspelled, mistook – laid in front of you with no errors, and nothing to be faulted for. When you put pen to paper you embrace your errors and make something better of them. Can the same be said for whispering words in into the air?
Emma Rockham had become the editor of her college’s literary magazine after years of toiling as a lowly staff member, and, she had to say, she was loving the privilege that came along with being editor. She could look pretentious asshole dudes in the face and reject their shitty, sexist poetry, and she felt fucking great about it.
I need an editor for my life. Someone who can cut away the old pieces, possibly improve the good ones. But if, after careful assessment, I’m too much of a screwup then leaving things as they are should be good enough.
“Mm? What do you mean by, mm? Is it good enough to be published or not?”
“Look, kid,” the editor sighed, “I’ll be honest with you. I can’t tell the difference between half of your characters, and your writing style is a little…” He made a so-so gesture with a hand. “…fan fiction-y.”
The girl stared at him, eyes wide and face falling. John kept up his smile. “However, you’re in luck, because while this needs a whole lot of editing, you’ve come to the right place.”
I was the writer, the editor, and the publisher in this world. I ran the companies and the distributors and all of the bookstores. I used every single pseudonym I could think of to cram the shelves with tomes all of my own. And no one reading them – no devourer of words, no so-called scholar or pendant of literature – would be able to tell the difference.
They said that books were a lost art. I had revived them. And now I brought every existing page to life.
I am editing a movie right now. It is a very good movie that I am editing, I hope that you will like it, I know I do. The movie is going to have lots of great things in it.
They say everyone needs an editor. I think they slow you down and steal your work.
Well, one of them does. Don’t sign any piece of paper that has the name “Patricia Dance” on it anywhere. Trust me, it will be the worst decision of your writing career.
The man sat quietly at his desk, staring down at the stacks of useless words before him. These people barely knew how to form a sentence, let alone write a coherent story, and he found himself hating the way that they wove these pointless scenes and flat characters. Sighing, he picks up his pen, marks another line with a check mark, and returns to reading the poem before him.
I tend to be a closed minded editor when I don’t mean to be. Some times when I am trying to enjoy myself with a little light reading of a book that i picked up randomly somewheres I find that i tell myself not to edit it but it’s something i can’t do.
The girl all her life wanted to be an editor , but she had to go into the job of her moms. her mom commanded her to be always what she was. Now what her mom was doing was telling her to be was her own self. she was confused very confused.
It’s hard to think beyond the red pen. As she peers at the screen attempting to block out the world around her. She adventures into the story trying to find the meaning. But, it complicated. Shut up! She screams covering her ears the noise is just too much. There is no time to think about herself. Look at the mistakes in front of you. Solve the problem. Paint it red.
The gene editor was, perhaps, the greatest invention of the 22nd century. It allowed people the option to completely rewrite their genetic makeup from the smallest trait to their most defining features. This, of course, caused no small amount of controversy with religious sects and purists who believed that a person is only themselves, so long as they never tinker with their base genetic makeup.
The Gene Wars started off small, as they always do. Local acts of terrorism, fueled by growing numbers of people dissatisfied with their apparent lack of safety. Gene editing became a commonplace matter on one side, while the other took a more technological approach. In the end, both sides suffered.
The editor of some magazines are suppose to be the best at their job. However, I have still found many typos in articles, newspapers, magazines. This goes to show you that no one is perfect.
An editor is a person who edits text like newspapers and books and stuff. I doesn’t just have to be for written works, it can also be for movies and stuff like that. I think that this would be a cool job to have because you could read a whole bunch of stuff and learn about the style of how other people think. I believe that in a way, we are all editors to ourselves, and I say this in both a negative and positive way because we change ourselves based on what we think will make us better, and we use constructive criticism to help others be different without changing them. Editors are people who may or may not know what’s best because editors are around and in some way, the skills to edit are in all of us and have been the reason why society was created. We edited and continue to edit this world.
Editor is a good job for hire. and I have no idea about this word.
the editor in chief was fired on Sunday because he didn’t edit the script for the show
The word editor gives me chills because i hate writing but I still need to write papers :(
i’m no editor at all i always fail.
she stared at the words on her screen with a disgusted look on her face. what the heck was this garbage. it was as if someone looked at the alphabet and just scrabbled the letters in random orders and put them together. writing wasn’t supposed to be like that. well, that’s what i’m here for she thought. I edit. But she always thought of editor as edit and or. she could either edit or just throw your trash writing away. and this one was definitely out
She flicked her red pen across the page with such speed that it was crimson comet across the surface of my writing. I gulped and tried not to take that as a bad sign. I looked above her head at the framed photos and the pinned articles above her desk, distracting myself.
The hidden inner workings that make a star. The pruning of the rose so that it blooms just so; the removal of the greenfly, the blackspot, the weeds. The moving of the sunflowers to another part of the garden where they can soar.
I think everyone is an editor at some point, i’m a editor in my own way. Of course not doing editing stuff but i think drawing can be editing by erasing things or making them better, kind of what you do with your life. You change the story of your life and make it something new, after all, we all can’t have the same exact life! that would be boring. That’s what i think editing is, without the definition.
You can edit lots of things like you can edit a book, or a paper for class. You can edit movies making them shorter and cutting out the long and unneeded parts.
“Call the editor.” Mark yelled into the phone. “How did they miss this typo?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Alex laughed under his breath. Mark glared at him aggressively. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you should be.” He stared at the paper. “The presidents name isn’t Tronald Dump… This is the kind of thing that get’s us barred from the white house…”
Deleting. Rephrasing. Rewriting. Correcting. If we could edit our lives, backwards.
Someone who edits something that someone wants to delete or revise the mistakes that they’ve done.
They celebrate birthdays and they celebrate with gifts and greetings, but what if you forgot what day it was, there is always a reminder from the editor of a newspaper or daily journal, so I read alot.
Right there, she said.
No, just a bit higher.
The editor woke up one morning and misunderstood the current situation which he had been led into. He was not a happy man whatsoever and the only thing he appreciated in his life-situation was cutting open pigskins. An editor needs comical attributes to be able to act out his life on tape.
“Either that, or hire an editor.” And I wanted to ask him where one would find a trustworthy and sufficient enough editor, but I was afraid that my brain would hijack my fingers the way it always does and then I wouldn’t be able to stop asking him even more questions, like how do I know this editor knows what he’s doing and what if he doesn’t like what he reads and what if nobody likes what they read and what if I’m not actually as good at this as I’ve always believed? And I was afraid that a thousand and one questions later, M would type back in all caps, “OMG STOP.”
Editing after the fact is a look into the past, pointing at mistakes already staining the pages and promising a change, as discarded voices of the past rise from the shredder like ghosts. Correcting the wrong words, wrong strokes before pen meets paper keep the ghosts from reaching out in between the bladed mouth that sucked them down. The words are small, tight like a smile, controlled in the lines. Quotas met, grinding teeth, smiles tight, Ink on the arms and cheeks, bleeding into the skin, live-editing words, breaths, the slouch of the shoulders. Highlighting thoughts to be deleted, never dripping down into ink.
And when writer’s block comes, the pen freezes over the last sentence, shaking, and writes nothing at all;
the blank page is a banshee.
Tell me I’m wrong
Fix my disposition
Mark my words
With red slashes
And unhappy faces
FIX ME
The editor handed back my article. Mediorce, is the word that came out of his mouth. I look in dismay at what i had wrtten the past week. I put my heart and soul into this, and I thought I had finally come away with something profound and good. I was wrong.
The Editor listens to all we say. We are entitled to free thought, but free speech is a distant figure of history. I’ve read about it in books where The Editor has no reign. It cannot Edit our sight. It cannot Edit our ears. Only our speech is restricted by The Editor, throats slit by The Node. But that will not last long. Notes from The Writers, our underground, say that The Editor’s reach will extend if we do not act quickly.
When he thought of an “editor”, he thought of books, writing, he certainly didn’t think of an “editor” being related to someone’s feelings, his lover’s feelings.
He didn’t edit to change, he edited to improve, to shift, to help the hard times be a bit easier. Editing wasn’t the right word, he knew that, but with what he and Connor had, it sure was a start.
The editor of my life must have missed a step. My life story is a complete and utter train-wreck. There are too many villains and the hero just pales in comparison to all the side characters. Not to mention the complete disordered narrative that is the story. Honestly, that editor should be fired.
My editor Felicia hates when I forget to turn in my drafts. It drives her absolutely crazy. I feel like she is planning to murder me in my sleep. She has that crazed look in her eye whenever I mention setbacks. It’s terrifying. I hope I live to see the publishing of my fifth book. Felicia might just murder me and hide my body in the woods for the coyotes before that happens.
The editor had a funny smell, I don’t believe he showerd but I still needed my paper checked.
You don’t have to sit at a desk and tap away at a computer, or touch the point of a pen to paper just to change a few details in your favor. All you need is a voice, apparently – a vote of confidence in your power, a voice, and a face everyone can trust. Speaking in black ink, it makes the whole story seem flawless doesn’t it? No one can see everything you crossed out, misspelled, mistook – laid in front of you with no errors, and nothing to be faulted for. When you put pen to paper you embrace your errors and make something better of them. Can the same be said for whispering words in into the air?
Emma Rockham had become the editor of her college’s literary magazine after years of toiling as a lowly staff member, and, she had to say, she was loving the privilege that came along with being editor. She could look pretentious asshole dudes in the face and reject their shitty, sexist poetry, and she felt fucking great about it.
I need an editor for my life. Someone who can cut away the old pieces, possibly improve the good ones. But if, after careful assessment, I’m too much of a screwup then leaving things as they are should be good enough.
I have a friend who works here as a editor.
“Mm,” said John.
“Mm? What do you mean by, mm? Is it good enough to be published or not?”
“Look, kid,” the editor sighed, “I’ll be honest with you. I can’t tell the difference between half of your characters, and your writing style is a little…” He made a so-so gesture with a hand. “…fan fiction-y.”
The girl stared at him, eyes wide and face falling. John kept up his smile. “However, you’re in luck, because while this needs a whole lot of editing, you’ve come to the right place.”
I was the writer, the editor, and the publisher in this world. I ran the companies and the distributors and all of the bookstores. I used every single pseudonym I could think of to cram the shelves with tomes all of my own. And no one reading them – no devourer of words, no so-called scholar or pendant of literature – would be able to tell the difference.
They said that books were a lost art. I had revived them. And now I brought every existing page to life.
I am editing a movie right now. It is a very good movie that I am editing, I hope that you will like it, I know I do. The movie is going to have lots of great things in it.
They say everyone needs an editor. I think they slow you down and steal your work.
Well, one of them does. Don’t sign any piece of paper that has the name “Patricia Dance” on it anywhere. Trust me, it will be the worst decision of your writing career.
Oh my STARZ!!!!!! My editor forgot to correct my wordz! How can i be a world-famouz writer if he alwayz forgetz the “z”z?!
The man sat quietly at his desk, staring down at the stacks of useless words before him. These people barely knew how to form a sentence, let alone write a coherent story, and he found himself hating the way that they wove these pointless scenes and flat characters. Sighing, he picks up his pen, marks another line with a check mark, and returns to reading the poem before him.
I tend to be a closed minded editor when I don’t mean to be. Some times when I am trying to enjoy myself with a little light reading of a book that i picked up randomly somewheres I find that i tell myself not to edit it but it’s something i can’t do.
The girl all her life wanted to be an editor , but she had to go into the job of her moms. her mom commanded her to be always what she was. Now what her mom was doing was telling her to be was her own self. she was confused very confused.
fictional story