Show Your Pride

As Pride month draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on what it means to me as an editor. I feel most fulfilled when the various aspects of myself are integrated: my queerness informs my editing, certainly, but how does my editing interact with my queerness? The answer, for me, is that editing has become one of the tools I use to build and support my community. 

The theory

Pride is as much about community as it is about identity, culture and resistance. I am fortunate to have a close-knit forged family, as well as a network of supportive friends and strong ties to the local community. I say fortunate, but in truth, community-building is intentional work that I do every day. Being in community means doing things that aren’t convenient: helping, going out on a limb, receiving care, checking in and showing up. As an editor, I try to do this by offering my services on a sliding scale to members of my community who might otherwise not be able to access professional editing. I also edit short pieces, like grant applications, resumes and cover letters, free of charge to people I know personally. 

Editing can be a transformative act of care. The work of writing is vulnerable: an editor may be the first person to read in full about someone’s struggles and innermost thoughts. There might be trauma around education, experiences with language or even punctuation usage. (If I had a loonie for every person who was apologetic about their spelling or commas, thinking it said anything about their worth…) I am honoured when members of my community trust me to hold this space for them, and I am mindful of that privilege when I give feedback. I seek to uplift and gently improve with my comments and changes. 

In practice

This hasn’t always been easy or smooth. Being in community also means messing up and falling short. The only writer who I have parted ways with before finishing work that I agreed to do was a community client. In situations like these, I try not to use the phrase “I should have” or any of its insidious relatives, “wish I had,” “if I had known,” etc. I made mistakes. I apologized, made reparations as best I could, learned from the experience, and changed my process and fail-safes going forward. This is how to be a member of the village, I remind myself when I slip into rumination. 

Queer people are some of the most gracious, kind and compassionate I have ever met, and this client was no exception. I wish her well and hope that she isn’t put off of editing or editors in general. And I hope to see her work published someday! I’ll be first in line to buy a copy. 

Editing as community connection 

The point is that community-building is active and reciprocal. It isn’t ever a one-way flow of time, energy or expertise. My work with community clients, even paid, feels less transactional and more relational. I encourage you to think about the way your editing interacts with your identity and community. Have you kept them separate? Do you want to? How can you take small steps to integrate those parts of yourself to mutual growth and benefit? The more we see ourselves as part of the village, with unique expertise and perspective to offer, as well as particular needs to receive care and support for, the more our communities will flourish. 

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