By Apple Parry
For every issue the Horizon prints, it is my responsibility to write a Letter from the Editor. A L’editor, we call it. I can write about almost whatever I want to. However, it’s currently 6:42 pm on production day, and what you see above is all I’ve got.
This will be my sixth issue as the editor-in-chief, and I can’t think of a damn thing to write about.
I’m willing to admit that in the past—exclusively, actually—I have written the entirety of my L’editor in the day it is due. So if anyone interprets my writing as casual, unclear, or incoherent, you’re not wrong.
I haven’t yet published a completed Letter. My brain goes just over a thousand thoughts a minute, and trying to get those thoughts into a cohesive L’editor, where all my points are clear has proved to be impossible.
Of course if I wrote more than a few notes before the final day, I might actually get somewhere, but I think I’ll save that tactic for the next issue.
Everything I write is filled with sentences that I hate, including this. When I read my previous L’editors, I cringe. I typed that sentence, read it, read it again, and published it? On my own watch? Who is my editor?
Oh my god, there’s a f—— hole in my sock.
Don’t get me wrong, I have tons I could talk about. I have ideas up the wazoo.
But are they important enough? Not usually, no. Are they going to be long enough? Only if we use size 20 font. Can I even explain my point of view in 700 words?
Never.
My process so far has been to find something that made me mad, and then somewhat professionally attack it.
But the proof is in the damn pudding, I don’t get hangry, I get sad hungry. Tonight I am sleep-deprived and famished and my original idea for a L’editor was giving me the death stare.
Besides, I’m afraid anger is a tired old routine anyway. So I figured I’d write about the only thing I’ve been able to think about all day, writing this thing.
Lately my brain has been essentially useless when it comes to forming sentences and pronouncing words correctly. As an editor (I’m the editor, if you didn’t know) that’s…pretty ironic.
As I glared back at my document I realized how much it was going to suck. If I hate it before it’s even out of the bullet point phase, I’m sure as hell going to hate writing it.
So here I am, listening to Marooned, sitting on the newsroom floor, wishing I had written this yesterday like I said I would.
I just want to thank my biggest fans for the snack sustenance, you guys really keep me going.
This is normally the point where I majorly give up, and just want this thing done. I’m just like you guys—I also get sick of my writing.
I wonder if I can bring back darning, I really like these socks.
The way that I organize my writing is most likely dizzying, and not even close to any sort of good method. I guess it’s not that much of a method after all.
I can’t believe I had no method and all madness, that’s so unlike me.
Every twenty or so minutes my mind goes mostly blank. I just sit in my swivel chair until inspiration strikes again. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll squeeze out a snarky comment.
I’d say the most annoying part of writing these is how Lincoln doesn’t even tell me how loony I sound. I tell him to edit my final, he adds one comma and says, “Looks great!” What a gosh darn liar.
My last L’editor had the least comprehensible ending. I don’t think I actually ended it. But don’t you worry about me, I‘ve already forgotten every word of it.
If I weren’t so distractible this would already be done. I’d be home, dreading the next two weeks where I pretend I made progress on my next subjectless opinion piece.
All jokes aside, I really do enjoy the opportunity I have been given to shove my personal and correct opinions into the faces of whoever reads this. It warms my already pretty warm heart.
And just to show you a little peek into my real thought process, I added some things that genuinely distracted me from writing this today.
Anyway, for real though, how did I not notice that hole in my sock?
Sincerely,
