I have been a writer for well over a decade now, and I’ve been paid to do it for most of that. For the past five and a bit years I’ve also been working as editor-in-chief for a magazine I established, raised investment for, and continue to run as managing director. Through this I work with several writers, many of whom have gone on to win awards for the work they’ve produced for us. A thrill, honestly. It’s ridiculous when you think about it. A magazine about pints and pubs and nice things I like, and people pay for it, so it keeps on going.
Through Pellicle I have learned more about writing than I ever thought possible. It’s made me a better writer in the sense that I understand, intimately, what editors mean when they say they want clean copy. Having a good idea is one thing, making sense of it is another. I am a much better editor, too, than I was five years ago. I think (and hope) I’m a bit more compassionate in my methods. I have in my head a very clear vision of how I want pieces we publish not just to read, but to vibe. But before they can vibe they must flow, and editing for me is a process like making sure the pipes are properly connected before opening the sluice gates.
Flow is a term I use a lot to describe the creative process, too. It’s both the best and worst thing in the world, because when you’re in it you can feel godlike, with words hitting the page like you’re a fully automated production line in complete command of your art. When you emerge from it, however, you can feel drained, like you’ve spent every last penny you have, and you are drenched in mud from the swamp that you found yourself within once that flow met its inevitable end.
When a piece of writing emerges from this flow it might be good, but it before it can be great it needs polish. That’s where editors come in. It’s a different process, more technical, like the product from that production line is going through a rigorous QC process so it can be precisely tuned before it is fit and safe for human consumption. The latter is where my head lives most of the time these days, but recently I have found myself with an unstoppable urge to climb back into the swamp. Not least because one of the most common pieces of advice I give to new writers is to start self publishing. Maybe it’s time I take some of my own advice. I can be stubborn.
Yes, I still write. For lots of publications in fact. Not as many as I would like, but a writer is never satisfied. What I crave is that unpolished, flow-state writing, the kind that feels like stretching a limb, or the freedom of trying something new that might be absolutely terrible but you’ve done it anyway and calmed that twitchy section of your brain. Writing like this, which I’ve written in 10 minutes, proofed once, and hit the publish button. I just have a need for a space, a scratchpad, to try a few things out once in a while.
I want to write basically, so that’s all I’m going to do. No newsletter, no subscription, just a place to take things out of my head and put them on a page. Writing that can be about whatever the fuck I want, honestly, because that’s what a blog is for, after all. I miss it, so here I am, back in the swamp, until I maybe decide to climb out again. We’ll see. I enjoy playing in the dirt.
The above photo is an outtake from a recent shoot at Newcastle’s Donzoko Brewing for an article published on Pellicle that you can read here.