Some Max Perkins' Guidelines to Editors

Naturally, Max Perkins was a complex man. But any editor will see him as basically: Max the editor.

Maybe the most important words he left for young, old, and middle editors were these: “Don’t ever get to feeling important about yourself, because an editor at most releases energy. He creates nothing.”

“Releasing energy” is no small deal. Any writer know the benefit of that external boost of energy to one’s writing. For Max, it was smart energy. It was an energy based on extraordinary care. It was said of him often that he cared as much for the work as the author did.

Max, who lived and breathed a love for words and their upending and enduring value when used well, had many of his own words for editors and for living

• Generalizations are of no use. Focus on the specific—and draw out the action. 

• ·       Revere the writer, for he or she is “under the compulsion of genius.”

• ·       (On the importance of content) Pack a sentence with dimension and intensity; make the paragraph carry a heavy load. 
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• ·       (On choosing a career) If a man [or woman] will only stick to the thing he or she loves most, he will do it right and end right.

• ·       (On parenting) The only rule I knew was not ever to let hostility grow between you and your child whatever happened.

• ·       (On the editor’s place) The editor at best serves as handmaiden to authors.

• ·       (On the writer) The book belongs to the author. A writer’s best work comes entirely from himself or herself.

• ·       (On politics—in the 1940s) My opinion is that we’ll never know a really peaceful time again. What of it. What is life but taking a licking. 

Not a pessimist, but a realist; Max demanded the utmost reach of his writers—and the same utmost from the writers’ “handmaidens.”

Good Reminder: Use Orwell's Six Rules for Writing

It’s always time to refer to Orwell’s timeless Rules for Writing in the English Language—

1.     Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

2.     Never use a long word where a short one will do.

3.     If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

4.     Never use the passive where you can use the active.

5.     Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

6.     Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

Next a look at the Max Perkins’ legacy for editors.

What do our own stories teach us?

We can tell stories about food, but food is not a narrative. In its meal form, food does have a beginning, middle, and end. But we have this human capacity to transform practical experiences - peeling carrots, unwrapping onions, reconstructing tofu - into a story. How much more do we use this capacity for seeing story in those things that really matter to us - the death of a spouse, the sight of sheer cruelty to the young or vulnerable, the hope in a wedding, the solace in a friendship.

Where do we find such stories in our lives - where are they hidden in our gestures and conversations? Stories structure our lives: we may tell a story at the dinner table, we may read the story, see it on TV or in a film. But the way story structures our lives is way more internal than reading, watching, or hearing a story. We get up each day in media res-in the middle of things. We usually remember our pasts, even if it's only yesterday, and with each dawn we head toward our future. Our routine of past, present, and future keeps us in a story mode of operation.

It's when we stop to configure a story - put it into words, letter, article, film - that we make something concrete out of something fleeting from our ongoing storying. Jim Hull, in his film analyses in Narrative First, calls this story-making a construct that most humans use for the purpose of better understanding.

Why is it a good thing to configure a story, or create a construct? The story gives shape to scattered events. The shape stops the kaleidoscope from spinning. It points to the patterns. The sequencing of a plot sharpens decision-making. Story opens a path to understanding.

Our stories teach us and push us to fuller understanding. This human capacity to story is so woven through our lives that we can use it on superficial experience or on deeply moving events. The stories we tell most often come from our attempts to make sense of our world - of things that happen to us or to others. In other words, the story we stop to configure is our response to our practical and extraordinary experiences in time. That story allows us to see one, two, or many points of view and reminds us of the paradoxes we live with, decide on, and travel by.

To create these stories, we often use the literary tradition: we remember and quote from others' stories. By doing so, philosophers tell us, we serve the memory of past human beings and past events: Mark Twain's humor, Toni Morrison's haunting reaches into history, Elie Wiesel's experiences, Abraham Lincoln's courage. We use figurative language such as metaphor to widen the scope of one experience and connect to many - the way a cup contains morning coffee, the newspaper holds our daily start, or the way a poem acts, as Robert Frost said, to remind us of "what it would impoverish us to forget."

When someone calls us to a meal, how often do we hear the conversation starter, "That reminds me of a story." What stories stand out for you in that daily effort toward making sense of our world?

Combine Poetry and Food: A Winning Website

For a food website created with an artful hand, do not miss The Food Poet. Its creator, Annelies Zijderveld does it all: photography, poetry, art, inspiration, humor--all in a welcome spirit.

Her photographs show food at particular angles that relish each ingredient in each stage-- prep, under the knife, in its final debut. Each photo is fresh, unusual, alerting, and leads to a recipe. Sometimes the recipe appears as poetry in the photo, but most always it can be found in its plain form for use.

It's no small deal that the poetry is indeed fine poetry. Easy on the eyes and lives in thoughts long after. Annelies Zijderveld is a serious artist of food.