h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Mark Moxon has posted some thoughts that complement this yarn in a Community Soapbox forum entitled Editing Issues.

It can be found here http://www.h2g2.com/F55683?thread=83867&latest=1

Thanks for posting that link, Looneytunes. I found that thread very interesting.

Fragilis, you may enjoy this. I have (so far) resisted posting it at the Editing Issues forum

Although I rarely give interviews or accept offers to speak in public a couple of weeks back I said yes to a friend who asked me to talk to some college kids about getting a job in the media. No doubt I bored them to tears, which is one of the main reasons why I keep such a low profile. But I tried to say something worthwhile, and encouraging, and helpful. Part of my talk involved blathering on about what I used to do for a living. Afterwards, I went out and got pissed as a parrot, and wished my speech had described a fairly typical day at work. That way, maybe I could have inspired a new generation to set goals, to realise the virtue of hard work, to at least feel close to the action.

8.00am. You feel good about yourself arriving at work this early. It's quiet, almost serene - even an office can sometimes have tenderness about it. You feel especially good that you've managed to drag yourself out of bed and arrive at work this early despite getting pissed as a parrot the night before.

8.29am. Start reading the morning paper.

8.31am. Finish reading the morning paper.

9.30am. Having performed a few light duties, time to inspect your mail. Nice people write in and make flattering remarks about your work. God bless them.

9.35am. Your mail includes one swine who writes in and makes insulting remarks about your work, but it's good to be reminded that you are an appalling person who brings disgrace to your profession. These people are usually right.

9.50am. You step outside for a cigarette, and congratulate yourself on the fact that you're giving up tomorrow.

10.00am. A colleague's story crosses your desk. It is a pleasure to read and you feel proud to be on the same newspaper.

10.15am. You make the rounds of the office, spreading joy everywhere you go. You are hard of hearing, and never pick up what they say about you behind your back.

10.30am. The printer breaks down. You curse out loud and give it a good smack around the chops. This doesn't fix the bloody thing, but it always feels good to whack something.

10.45am. A story layout from the art department crosses your desk. It is a pleasure to look at and you feel proud to be on the same newspaper.

11.00am. A PR trout phones to try and get her client some publicity. It's the silliest thing you've ever heard in your life, and it makes you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

11.15am. A few light duties.

11.50am. You phone up a PR trout and try and make the right greasing noises that will get you on a free junket to Paris.

12.40pm. Good God, is that the time? You're starving to death, and heaven knows how many hours have passed since you last had a drink. You easily persuade someone to have lunch; it's payday, and so you fill your face with steak, prawns, and one or two beers, and you come up with all sorts of excellent ideas that involve someone else on staff to do the work.

2.40pm. Return from lunch. Yawn! You slide on over to the red velvet couch in your office, lie down, and enjoy a peaceful doze.

3.20pm. You wake up drooling on a red velvet cushion, and notice the newest staff member walking by your office. You wave them over, and ask, "Howzabout making me a cup of tea?" They agree, and you hand them your cup, and say to them four little words that mean so much: "Black, slice of lemon."

3.30pm. You go through the day's press releases stacked on your desk, and scrupulously examine each and every document, and then carry almost every single page out into the corridor and dump them in the recycling bin.

3.45pm. Your grandson visits, and you teach the top little bloke how to make paper planes out of the remaining press release pages.

4.00pm. A few light duties.

4.20pm. A colleague of lesser experience and a more unstable temperament suffers slight panic when something goes wrong. Wise, phlegmatic, sharp as a tack, you step in and sort it out.

4.30pm. You suffer slight panic when something you do goes wrong. Flustered, ashamed, groggy, you find someone to step in and sort it out.

4.45pm. Confirmation of your free flight to Wellington, where you have a few light duties to carry out, and can visit friends. It's not Paris, but you don't get into this profession to swan around or think you're anything special. You just try and do your best by your readers, and work to standards, and attempt to stay alert, considered, impulsive, and maybe even see about doing something intelligent. You work at the Napier Daily Telegraph, and it honestly doesn't get much better than that in this trade.

4.46pm. Good God, is that the time?

Loony

Heh heh. I worked at a college newspaper, and it wasn't much different. I always find it amusing how people thing you must be killing yourself doing intelligent things all day, when you actually spend much of your time puttering about and trying to decide how you feel about your work lately.

I agree... I always think that I have the Post well under control until the panic hits me and I realise that I should have started hours ago...
shazzPRME