Stitched up
Right, I've had a day to think about this, and I still feel the same. So here goes.
So those of you who aren't entirely sure of what I do, I'm a sub-editor; basically a glorified newspaper mechanic. It's my job to read stories, correct any mistakes - grammer, spelling, inaccuracies, etc - rewrite where necessary, cut the story so it fits into the allocated space, and then write the headline. Pretty simple really. Somehow - dumb luck, most likely - I nabbed myself a job in London for one of the best papers in the world. Go me, etc.
At the moment, I'm working in a general pool of sub-editors; rather than being attached to a particular department, we sub where needed, picking up stories from several departments, which means we cover a wide range of subject matter and a number of different needs and styles. So far, all well and good. It makes for a varied evening's work.
However, last night, my immediate boss, the head of the general pool - a really decent, down-to-earth Aussie - called me over for a little chat. Apparantly, five different people from one particular department had said to her that they didn't want me to sub copy for that department any more; I made too many mistakes, she was told, and I couldn't write headlines in that department's preferred style. I know, you're shocked that anyone could think that I am anything but perfect.
While you catch your breath, let me first consider the possibility of there being some truth in the accusation. On De Paper back home, we struggled with a nightly deadline struggle, as well as rubbish copy. On the department I was last on - a nine-month stint - we were under tremendous pressure, with three deadlines in as many hours. So, as my boss said, I do need to slow down; there's more time to 'finesse' the copy. However, what of this suggestion that my copy was littered with so many mistakes that this particular department found it necessary to take this drastic step? When my boss and her second asked for examples, they offered two stories that, in fact, I hadn't worked on. Rightly, my boss stood up for me. However, that doesn't entirely counter the accusation.
Now, I don't mind admitting that I could have made a mistake or few. Perhaps there is a particular style or idiom unique to this department that I've missed. Nor do I mind someone coming over and pointing out a style point that I've missed. I take fair criticism and direction quite well. But for all five of them to sit around together and actually let me make this (at the moment still hypothetical) mistake over and over, rather than pointing it out to me, until it looks like a congenital error, and then go over my head to my boss and suggest that drastic action needs to be taken, is not just unprofessional (it wastes their time, her time, and also mine) but a downright stab in the back. What were they thinking? That I'm such a badass that they feared to approach me and help me with this supposed problem? Or that I'm such a flower that the criticism might break me?
I've worked in newsrooms for six years, mostly at De Paper, but also here for a year and at three other newspapers and one magazine. They are often tense, terse places: there's never enough time, there's always a computer system, there's pressure from editors, missing stories, missing journalists. If the place isn't in a state of perpetual crisis, people begin to fret as to why this is not so. It's not a place for delicacies. There are clashes of personality, clashes of news values. There are fluid hierarchies - there have been times when I've had to shout down my own editor because, with 10 minutes to deadline, there's no way what he wants is feasible. However, everyone accepts that this is the way things are once they get into newsroom journalism - even the biggest ego is sacrificed on the alter of nightly deadline, daily publication - and rows are nearly always patched up over a pint later. I've had many's the nose-to-nose shouting match with Twitchy, my old night editor and mentor, and I consider him a good friend.
What's never happened to me in my six years, though, is being stitched up like this, though. In fact, I can think of only one occasion when I've been stitched up at all (I went to an all-boys' school, so hostilities were pretty open). I cannot belive that five of my fellow professionals, by far my senior in both years and authority, would act in such a low, cowardly fashion. And what's worse, my boss, rightly, didn't reveal which members of that department were involved, so I have no-one specific towards whom I can feel angry.
This isn't over, though. when I go back on the general pool next month, I will continue to pick up copy for that particular department. Let them come over and helpfully point out my errors then, because this time, I am going to be a fucking badass.
So those of you who aren't entirely sure of what I do, I'm a sub-editor; basically a glorified newspaper mechanic. It's my job to read stories, correct any mistakes - grammer, spelling, inaccuracies, etc - rewrite where necessary, cut the story so it fits into the allocated space, and then write the headline. Pretty simple really. Somehow - dumb luck, most likely - I nabbed myself a job in London for one of the best papers in the world. Go me, etc.
At the moment, I'm working in a general pool of sub-editors; rather than being attached to a particular department, we sub where needed, picking up stories from several departments, which means we cover a wide range of subject matter and a number of different needs and styles. So far, all well and good. It makes for a varied evening's work.
However, last night, my immediate boss, the head of the general pool - a really decent, down-to-earth Aussie - called me over for a little chat. Apparantly, five different people from one particular department had said to her that they didn't want me to sub copy for that department any more; I made too many mistakes, she was told, and I couldn't write headlines in that department's preferred style. I know, you're shocked that anyone could think that I am anything but perfect.
While you catch your breath, let me first consider the possibility of there being some truth in the accusation. On De Paper back home, we struggled with a nightly deadline struggle, as well as rubbish copy. On the department I was last on - a nine-month stint - we were under tremendous pressure, with three deadlines in as many hours. So, as my boss said, I do need to slow down; there's more time to 'finesse' the copy. However, what of this suggestion that my copy was littered with so many mistakes that this particular department found it necessary to take this drastic step? When my boss and her second asked for examples, they offered two stories that, in fact, I hadn't worked on. Rightly, my boss stood up for me. However, that doesn't entirely counter the accusation.
Now, I don't mind admitting that I could have made a mistake or few. Perhaps there is a particular style or idiom unique to this department that I've missed. Nor do I mind someone coming over and pointing out a style point that I've missed. I take fair criticism and direction quite well. But for all five of them to sit around together and actually let me make this (at the moment still hypothetical) mistake over and over, rather than pointing it out to me, until it looks like a congenital error, and then go over my head to my boss and suggest that drastic action needs to be taken, is not just unprofessional (it wastes their time, her time, and also mine) but a downright stab in the back. What were they thinking? That I'm such a badass that they feared to approach me and help me with this supposed problem? Or that I'm such a flower that the criticism might break me?
I've worked in newsrooms for six years, mostly at De Paper, but also here for a year and at three other newspapers and one magazine. They are often tense, terse places: there's never enough time, there's always a computer system, there's pressure from editors, missing stories, missing journalists. If the place isn't in a state of perpetual crisis, people begin to fret as to why this is not so. It's not a place for delicacies. There are clashes of personality, clashes of news values. There are fluid hierarchies - there have been times when I've had to shout down my own editor because, with 10 minutes to deadline, there's no way what he wants is feasible. However, everyone accepts that this is the way things are once they get into newsroom journalism - even the biggest ego is sacrificed on the alter of nightly deadline, daily publication - and rows are nearly always patched up over a pint later. I've had many's the nose-to-nose shouting match with Twitchy, my old night editor and mentor, and I consider him a good friend.
What's never happened to me in my six years, though, is being stitched up like this, though. In fact, I can think of only one occasion when I've been stitched up at all (I went to an all-boys' school, so hostilities were pretty open). I cannot belive that five of my fellow professionals, by far my senior in both years and authority, would act in such a low, cowardly fashion. And what's worse, my boss, rightly, didn't reveal which members of that department were involved, so I have no-one specific towards whom I can feel angry.
This isn't over, though. when I go back on the general pool next month, I will continue to pick up copy for that particular department. Let them come over and helpfully point out my errors then, because this time, I am going to be a fucking badass.
posted by exileonpatrickstreet at 10:29 pm
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