Don’t Start the Revolution without Me!

I’ve done it! I’ve gotten myself a computer and a printer—those “technojournalistic” wonders, which represent the third communications revolution that I have lived through.

Recording machines spawned the first. It began with wire recorders. I could save five hours recording “first drafts” orally instead of copying them—slowly and painstakingly—by pencil or pen. Of course, you then lost three of those hours (not to mention all of your patience) in the tedious job of untangling the snares that constantly beset this particular editorial convenience. Still, it was then that I made the momentous decision never to type again.

Photocopy machines, installed in every library and business office, marked the onset of a second revolution. “Xeroxing” transformed my methods of collecting data—although pocketsful of nickels gave my trousers an unprofessional baggy look.

There was no more laborious hand copying of notes and quotes from magazines, journals, and books! Even pictures and charts could be instantaneously recorded. Moreover, I could now have multiple copies of all my originals: Oh, the joy for students and unsuspecting editors!

And now comes this third revolution, complete with computers and word processors that spell, footnote, and print almost instantly.

It all sounds great. And it is. But at least for this editorial writer, there is more to getting copy down on paper than cassette recorders, a good copier, and so many megabytes.

Take writing editorials for CHRISTIANITY TODAY.

My hardest job is getting ideas—that is, ideas that are of interest to anyone besides myself and that deal with significant topics I know something about. I keep a folder of ideas constantly by my bedside and a pack of three-by-five cards in my vest pocket (for jotting a quick thought or two over lunch). I also keep manila folders, by topic, with photocopies of assorted articles (Revolution Two) to stimulate my thinking.

In writing editorials, I first string together my notes into what I like to think is some kind of logical sequence. Occasionally I write out a few paragraphs and drop them into the outline at appropriate spots. I then dictate a rough draft on my tape recorder. My wife (to whom I’ve been dictating since Revolution One) types this out triple-spaced on left-over syllabi.

My next job is to take the near nonsense of this rough draft and transform it into what makes some sense, cut it to appropriate length, and forge transitions that will bond it all together. Then it’s back to the word processor (Revolution Three) for a more exact line count and a final revision.

At this point, if I have time, I allow the manuscript to grow cold. That is, I forget about it. This enables me to edit it with more hard-headed realism. (It’s amazing how quickly you can fall in love with your own writing! In such a “stupor” I find it hard to see any ill-chosen words, unhappy phrases, or cases of twisted logic.)

From here on I am at the mercy of hard-nosed copy editors. They sieve out what appear to me to be brilliant jewels, elegant illustrations, and most of the solid, convincing logic. (Alas, only my wife is a true believer.) The residue they feed to you, the faithful reader.

Of course, when I review my past writings, I realize just how appreciative I should be to those blue-pencilers. Still, there is a part of me that says I would be a famous writer if only those editors permitted my unexpurgated copy to see the light of day.

But then, that would take Revolution Four.

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