Being asked on a regular basis for advice on being a writer is sometimes an exercise in patience. For every person who wants to write because he or she is compelled to do so, I deal with twenty wannabes who don't know what they want to write, have no knowledge of any subject besides advanced alcohol poisoning and masturbation, and spend their time spending the massive royalty checks they assume they'll make once they sell their romance novel, "Star Trek" novel, or computer manual. They're not the ones that worry me, mostly because as soon as they discover that writing is hard work, they usually scurry back to more profitable ventures, such as playing the Lotto. The ones that always worry me are the ones that peer up with dewy innocence and ask "So how do I keep editors from stealing my ideas?"

Dear child, I always say, editors have better things to do than steal your ideas, because more often than not, your ideas aren't worth stealing. That is, the miniscule amount of cash to be made from selling a short story or article isn't worth the legal expense of a charge of plagiarism. That's not to say that it won't happen: certain movie magazines are notorious for listening to freelancers pitch article ideas and then assigning those articles to staffers so as not to have to pay any more than the staffer's salary. Even then, though, this is minor: any writer worth his or her word processor could make ten pitches a day based on vague ideas that come up during breakfast. The real expenditure of energy comes from the actual writing, not the concept generation.

What beginning writers should worry about instead of idea theft is time theft. The real frustration to an established writer doesn't come from his or her ideas being misappropriated by others; it comes from busting tail for days on a story or article, only to find it mangled by the rewrites of an idiot editor. Better yet, to work for days to make a particularly tight deadline, only to discover that the story isn't in the new issue and nobody has any idea if and when it'll appear. Still better, to discover that the editor/publisher decided to shut down the publication or move it to another format (print to Web, for instance) with no mention of a new release date. For those of us who work on spec, we're lucky if we get a kill fee: instead, we're stuck with an article or story that can't be sold anywhere else, or that will be painfully obsolete by the time it finds a sympathetic market.

Conventional logic holds that all writers are prostitutes by necessity, but we're the only whores willing to work on IOUs. Because of the logistics of the publishing industry, we have no choice but to trust the editor at the other end of the phone or e-mail connection, and trust that we've received all of the information we needed when starting an article in the first place. Most editors are good people (let me repeat that: Most Editors Are Good People) (Repeat again: MOST EDITORS ARE GOOD PEOPLE), but the dolts and greedheads are the ones that make most writers want to quit the business and make a living by herding cats. Cat-herding is less work and more emotionally satisfying.

(Not that we writers are any better: I know plenty of editors who want to kill writers, with some justification. Nothing quite like having a writer miss a critical deadline for some inexplicable or unmentionable reason.)

Bad editors come in all sorts of breeds, such as The Mole (who pretends to be buddy-buddy with writers, only to take pains to screw them over), The Slug (who makes all decisions with the speed and grace of a curare-addicted sloth), The Mute (who amazingly can never be reached, especially when payment checks are due), King Log (who always blames the writers for his/her mistakes), and The Brat (who threatens to "destroy" a writer's career if the writer doesn't eat the tasty shit sandwich the editor just served up). The worst, the most aggravating, and the most wasteful of the species, though, is the Psychic Editor. Apparently hailing from a planet where everyone is born with innate telepathy, they have serious problems with any writer who can't read their thoughts at any given moment. These characters usually became editors because they went to college and/or slept with the publisher, so the concept of burning hour upon hour on rewrites and revisions is completely alien to them.

The conversation usually goes like this: Writer calls up Editor and pitches story idea. Editor keeps mumbling "Mmmm-hmm" over the phone, and gives the okay to do the story. Writer rushes to the writing implement and manages, against colossal odds, to finish the story before deadline. Writer rushes to the editor with the manuscript, and after Editor reads it, Writer asks, "So what do you think?"

Editor: "This isn't what I wanted."

Writer: "I gave you everything you asked for."

Editor: "Yeah, but this isn't what I wanted."

Writer: "So what do you want?"

Editor: "Well, I don't want this."

This happy dance usually continues until Writer gives up in disgust, where Editor usually transforms into The Brat and swears that Writer will never work for another publication again. If Writer concedes to Editor, Editor sends out psychic vibrations warning Writer that "Hey, my girlfriend's article just got precedence, so we're chopping down your article from 3000 words to 250 words. Hope you don't mind." Of course not, so long as Writer gets paid for the 3000 words instead of the 250. In real life, this never happens, and Editor has the nerve to look surprised when Writer goes ballistic.

So my advice to beginning writers? Better to work for free for an editor who respects writers and their work than get paid to work for a budding young sociopath. Also, beware of trying to treat or cure a Psychic Editor: since the best cures involve baseball bats, cigar trimmers, and Claymore mines fitted rectally, be sure to check with local laws before attempting. If you're lucky, the cops will want to help.

Copyright © 2000 Paul T. Riddell All Rights Reserved

Paul T. Riddell is a Texas-based writer currently residing in a fortified compound on the slopes of Mount Briscoe overlooking downtown Dallas. For more abuse of this nature, please visit "The Healing Power of Obnoxiousness" at http://www.hpoo.com.