editorialgirl

I’m currently putting together an online CV and portfolio, in the hope that I can make a proper go of this freelancing lark around my part time day job.

I tell people I’m a copywriter, editor and proofreader – and of course, I am – but really, it’s the specialism that counts. I write for the web. It’s a skill that I’ve been honing over the last… ooh, twelve or so years, and it’s about time I started telling other people about it – putting my knowledge to good use.

Anyway, I guess you could call this a teaser. It’s a list of the differences between the way that you read content on the web and printed content. I started it some time ago and I find it helpful to refer to when writing content for the web.

I know I don’t usually put worky stuff on my personal blog, but I figured this was interesting enough and could even prove useful to others who are writing for the web.

(Despite the point about web users being cynical, I haven’t cited any sources here. That’s because these are my own personal notes – and I know I trusted the sources that led me to include each point in the first place. I know there is bound to be controversy over some of them, but the idea is really just to get you thinking about the way you’re presenting content. If anything looks really wrong to you, or you’re intrigued and want to know more, ask away and I’ll try and find my original research.)

Of course, this is a work in progress. There are a million differences between print and web that should make a difference to the way you write. If you can think of any more, stick ‘em in the comments – I’d love to add to the list.

The time has finally come. Someone else has set up a company called Editorial Girl – providing copywriting and editing services, albeit from a base in the US – with the corresponding .com website address.

Obviously I feel a bit strange about this – but the fact it’s happened is not very surprising. The .com domain had been available when I first started using the name editorialgirl but, at that time, I didn’t identify with it as strongly as I do now. Had I known six years ago that I would one day answer to the name ‘editorialgirl’ in public (yes, sometimes people recognise me from Twitter or Flickr but don’t know my real name), then perhaps I would have registered it then.

I have already written about how and why I came up with the name editorialgirl to use online. What I wrote then still stands:

These days, I identify with the name editorialgirl (all one word, please, and all lower case) as much as my given name. I might even prefer it a little, since it’s virtually unique. I feel complete ownership over it. It’s my name on Twitter, Flickr, Facebook, Identi.ca and b3ta (to name a few*) and if ever I find someone else using it – and there have been a couple – I feel absolutely indignant. I love editorialgirl.

So, we’ve established I have an emotional connection to the name, but does it really matter?

Objectively, I suppose the answer is “probably not”. Despite the fact that it refers to my work as an editor and writer, I don’t use the name editorialgirl (or Editorial Girl, or any combination of the above) as an official business name – so I can’t really begrudge someone else taking it up.

Or can I? When does an online name become a “personal brand”? Should I even think of it in those terms? Do I have any right at all to feel as though editorialgirl is my intellectual property?

I feel… discombobulated.

Partly, of course, I’m a bit embarrassed that I didn’t register the .com domain years ago. Then there’s a little bit of … well, I don’t know what the word is, but it involves not appreciating what you’ve got ’til it’s gone, or wanting the best of both worlds… or kicking yourself for resting on your laurels, or… something. I had the choice of using editorialgirl as my company name when I registered with the HMRC as a sole trader / freelancer… but I didn’t. I chose to just stick with my ‘real’ name – now Emma Wright. I saw the name editorialgirl as a bit too frivolous. But now I’m thinking… well, you know; “Google” is hardly a sensible, serious, businessy word.

Now I’m trying to think about it professionally. Although I don’t use the name for work, I do find it odd that someone planning a start-up would just go ahead and use a name that is already taken on pretty much every social media tool. Even if you weren’t planning to ply your trade online, you’d surely check Facebook and Twitter, just to make sure your search rankings weren’t going to be too diluted… wouldn’t you? Just in case you wanted to branch out and do some web PR at some point in the future? I wonder if the woman behind Editorial Girl googled it and decided that it would be fine, as none of the results pointed to a company name?

Perhaps Editorial Girl (US) already has a large offline following. After all, I doubt that not having the Twitter name will matter to them when the .com name starts to come first for every Google search – as it inevitably will if the business takes off. And they already have a Facebook page, with fans, even if they don’t have the “http://www.facebook.com/editorialgirl” URL. [EDIT: They do now! See update, below]

Completely co-incidentally, someone retweeted this blog post from ‘Shoeperwoman’ just after I found out about the Editorial Girl website. Although it’s not a retail site, Amber makes money from “Shoeperwoman” – she refers to the blog as her livelihood – but had never trademarked the name. Now someone else has applied to use “Shoeper-woman” as a trademark for their retail blog.  I bristled as I read her post. How dare they? I’ll be very interested to find out how that goes. It seems absurd that years of use and a large blog following may not protect a name.

As for Editorial Girl and editorialgirl – well, I guess I’ll just have to see how this goes, too. Perhaps it’s the start of a silly battle, where our weapons are SEO and useful blog content (er… dammit. They’ll win). Or perhaps we’ll live peacefully – side by side online and on opposite sides of the Atlantic in real life – for the foreseeable future.

And perhaps this is the kick up the arse I needed to finally get serious about my freelancing work. Well, you never know. Keep your eyes peeled for a page about my editing and copywriting work appearing here on this blog over the next few weeks…!

* I had a bit of fun this afternoon trying to remember every site on which I use the name editorialgirl – and when I signed up to each one. If I was using editorialgirl as a business name, would I have a case?

http://www.flickr.com/people/editorialgirl/ (June 2005)
http://editorialgirl.blogspot.com/ (July 2005)
http://www.last.fm/user/editorialgirl (January 2007)
http://www.editorialgirl.co.uk/ (October 2007)
http://twitter.com/#!/editorialgirl (April 2008)
http://identi.ca/editorialgirl (July 2008)
http://www.facebook.com/editorialgirl (June 2009, when username URLs became available) [EDIT: Not any more. See update, below]
skype name “editorialgirl” (April 2011)
http://editorialgirl.tumblr.com (April 2011)

(Well, OK. I have to admit that I only signed up to those last two after talking to someone about online profiles last week and realising they were still available. Petty, moi?)
Oh and on YouTube I’m editorialgirlUK – editorialgirl is taken by someone else (but not, surprisingly, by the ‘new’ Editorial Girl).

UPDATE 26.09.2011: Just got back from a week’s holiday to find that I couldn’t log into Facebook. Why? Because my username – editorialgirl – “violated username policy”. Huh? After changing it to “emma.editorialgirl” I was able to log in again and find out more: apparently one of the ways a violation might occur is when a username conflicts with a (Facebook) page of the same name. So, despite the fact that I’d been using editorialgirl on Facebook before ‘pages’, or this new company, even existed – they get the username, just like that. Thanks a bunch!

I love being creative, but I’m not an artist.

Why? Because art is form and content. This is a new one on me, I’m ashamed to say. I have always understood ‘form’: the aesthetic part, the part that pleases the eye, or rolls off the tongue… but it’s only relatively recently that I’ve come to understand that a piece of work needs ‘content’ in order to be art. How does it interact with the viewer? Why was it produced? What thoughts does it provoke? What’s the story?

The photos on my flickr account that get the most hits (or even, dare I say, praise) are, of course, the photos that have both form and content but – silly though it sounds – I’ve only just realised this. I love taking photos with form: shapes and lines, shadows and silhouettes and symmetry… but I never take the time to think about the content.

	Good form, dubious content: the space between the Central Library and the Conservatoire. I love this photo – phwoar, the symmetry! – but what does it mean? Nothing. Are the buildings interesting? Well, possibly, but it’s obvious that’s not what this photo is about. So is it art?
Good form and good content, although only by accident or in hindsight: a guy sitting on a wall. This is one of few photos I’ve taken that could be said to illustrate both form and content (the Moseley Road Baths set is an obvious contender, too, but it’s all over this blog already). It’s an interesting image, but there’s also a potential story. I called it ‘waiting’. What’s he waiting for? There you go: art.
	This photo of Birmingham’s BT tower has good form (in my opinion, of course) – the silhouette; the shapes formed by the buildings around it; the sky; the light. But the actual content is … meh, pretty meaningless. Perhaps if BT had just gone bust, or if the tower was attacked by terrorists the very night I took the photo, it would also have good content. Would that make it art? Is the photo, as it stands, not art?

But do I even want to make art? Does any of this matter?

I left school with dire A level results, no chance of getting into university and no idea of what I wanted to do (or might be capable of), but I knew I liked being creative. I wrote stories and I played music and occasionally managed to get as far as drawing and sketching, taking photos and making scrapbooks and collages, but I didn’t really know whether there was a way that I could take it further – or indeed if I should.

I wrote to my friend John, who was always destined to be an artist and in 1994 was at college in London. I asked if he thought I should do an art foundation course. (I imagine my letter was fairly childish in both form and content.)

I’ve still got John’s reply, typewritten on a scrap of paper – I found it again the other day. After explaining how to put together a portfolio, how to decide on which college to apply to and what the interview stages might be like, he had written:

“…But is art actually what you’re into? There’s a potter at our college who refuses to be called a “ceramicist” because it’s horribly not-what-she’s-into. She makes pots – she’s a potter. A ceramicist is into art – trying to make a socio-political point through the clay. Are you more of a crafty good-with-your-hands-I-just-want-to-make-objects-of-beauty type? (Such an attitude is unlikely to get you too far at art college.) That sort of decision is up to you, and will probably come naturally.”

At the age of nineteen, I didn’t know what a socio-political point was, never mind whether I might want to make one through art. I realised that what I thought was art and what artists actually do are totally different things. I decided that, given I didn’t even understand the point he was making, art college probably wasn’t for me.

Luckily, over the years, I’ve drifted into what turns out to be a career – one that’s allowed me to use my creative talents in a way that I’m comfortable with. Being a website content editor means producing content – words and pictures – within very specific guidelines. And I’m able to combine this with a satisying amount of logic and problem-solving; I need the rules of the web. It’s only vaguely creative and it’s certainly not art (but it’s very me).

I’ve wondered about what people have called my “artistic streak” over the years and come to the conclusion that I was right not to go to art college. I’m not an artist. I have the same problem with anything that I produce ‘creatively’: I’m all about the form; I’m far too literal. I don’t write enough outside of work because, although I like to think I’m good with words, I don’t have enough original ideas. I would love to write stories, but a story is ‘content’ by definition and sadly thinking up content of my own stumps me most of the time.

Could I ever be an artist? I don’t know. I’m going to be pretentious and say that one of my new year’s resolutions will be to try and give as much thought to content as I do form. At least, I’ll devote some time to thinking about it when I take pictures. As far as writing goes, I might just have to wait for that big story – you know, the one that everyone has inside them? – to come pouring out when I’m least expecting it. And not to beat myself up too much if it never does.

Recently I’ve started seeing the word ‘anymore’ written as one word instead of two. But I don’t think that’s correct in British English. Or is it?

The first time I noticed it, I assumed it was because the book I was reading was by an American author. Nonetheless, it grated. I was still pondering when I noticed it a second time – a few times, in fact – in the next book I read, this time by the British author Chris Cleave. Was it bad editing? Was I reading an American English edition? No, neither explanation made sense. And once I’d started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop seeing it – it seems to have been used in every book I’ve read since. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it before!

Perhaps I’ve been wrong all this time. Unconvinced, I turned to my Two Massive Dictionaries. Oxford has it listed separately, saying it’s a “chiefly N. Amer. variation of any more” and Collins lists “any more, or esp US anymore“. That confirms my hunch that it’s a US English variant – so why are British authors using it? And how recently has this become the norm?

I googled, but was surprised not to see more debate. This English usage website is one of very few to mention it. Author Bob Cunningham says that the use of one word vs two is “disputed” and confirms that it’s a variant in British English, but he also suggests that some US English speakers use the two ways of spelling for different reasons:

The difference between the two meanings is illustrated in the sentence: “I don’t buy books anymore because I don’t need any more books.”

This makes sense, I suppose – and I would like there to be a good reason for using one over the other, as with ‘everyday’ and ‘every day’ – but… no, I’m sorry. It still looks really wrong to me.

Perhaps our language is just evolving to include ‘anymore’ as a word. After all, we use ‘anyone’ and ‘anyway’ without second thought. But if that’s the case, I’d expect there to be at least a tiny uproar about it; our language doesn’t tend to change without complaints and Americanisms don’t usually creep in unnoticed.

Or do they?

Where are the pedants? What’s going on here?

I recently found a story I wrote in secondary school that’s made me rethink the way I write. Or don’t write, as is more often the case.

The story is called Prejudice. It’s the tale of a girl called Jo, who’s being bullied at school and decides to run away. (I know. Just… stop sniggering.) It hasn’t got a date on it, but it does have my class number, so I know it was written in the third year, when – as one of the youngest in my school year – I would have been 13. (Yes, you can read it in a minute. Just indulge me, please, by reading this first.)

I remember this assignment being set for us quite clearly. Our usual English teacher was away so we had a substitute; a young woman we hadn’t met before, who’d obviously been drafted in at the last minute. I don’t remember the lesson itself, but for the homework, she had simply asked us to write a 1000 word story on the subject of “prejudice”.

I can remember the joy I felt at this. After our usual lessons, which would involve reading and analysing set texts, perhaps writing an opinion piece or even a creative piece based on one of those, it was liberating to be given a vague theme and told to come up with whatever we liked.

I still work best when given a theme, a word count and a deadline. But usually I’m writing non-fiction, for work. Reading this story now has made me pine for the creative writer I was then.

Yes, there is plenty wrong with it – not least the knuckle-chewingly dreadful naivety of a young author writing on a subject she knows nothing about. But it’s what’s right about it is precisely what’s missing from any writing I do now: I didn’t worry about anything – I just wrote.

And what’s more, if you can ignore the haphazard punctuation, slippery spelling and terrible paragraph control, it’s actually quite well-structured. It’s (more or less) got a proper plot curve! The scene is set at the beginning, with some flashbacks to place the character and introduce some tension that will need resolving. The journey continues to a climax point, whereby a conflict enables the character to put her own problems into context. And so the tension is resolved.

Okay, you can read it now. I’ve copied it out exactly as it was written then, dodgy grammar and all.

So over the next few weeks I’m going to try and channel my blithely confident 13 year old self and try and write short stories the way I used to. I’m going to pretend that, once again, my standard sources are dad’s Daily Mail, mom’s Women’s Weekly and whichever books from Hall Green Library’s “young adult” aisle I am currently reading. Who cares? I’m going to try not to worry about a thing – and just write.

*editorialgirl surfaces, gasping for air*

I could use this post to grumble about the fact that I still don’t have internet access in the new place, but I won’t. Especially since it’s my own lazy fault.

Instead, I’m just going to point you to something eerie and wonderful. And very, very scary.

Scott Pack, once described as “the most powerful man in the books trade“, now of publishing house The Friday Project, reviewed my piece The List on the Arvon Friends website last week.

He described it as “witty and clever … wonderful observational writing” and said that I’m “definitely an author to watch”. I’m not sure what he thinks I’m going to do …

You’ll have to excuse me, I’m going to gush.

Back in Brum, I’m experiencing information overload after a fantastic week in Shropshire, thinking about nothing but writing. I was on an Arvon creative writing course, “Starting to Write”, tutored by Mark Haddon and Will Fiennes. Returning to reality has been a big, big comedown.

Lots of people have said “you’ve had such a good time, would you do another one?” and my answer has had to be “no”. Not because I didn’t enjoy it – quite the opposite! The chemistry of “our” week was so perfect, I’m afraid another course could never live up to it.

The tutors were gentle, lovely, down to earth people, who treated us as professional writers. Quick to praise and constructive in their criticism, Will and Mark were the perfect teaching team. They gave us invaluable advice and inspiration that will stay with me forever.

Nestling in a Shropshire valley, the Arvon centre – John Osbourne’s former home, The Hurst – is an amazing retreat. We spent every day listening to birdsong in the sunshine and every night looking at the stars. I’ve never seen so many stars. (The weather helped, of course. How can you fail to be inspired by lush green hills under deep blue skies?)

The Centre Directors Kerry and Pete (and their gorgeous daughter Pearl) gave us a fabulous welcome and were the perfect hosts. How they do it week after week, I do not know. But they just keep smiling.

My biggest fear had been my fellow students, especially having to share a room with someone I’d never met, but I needn’t have worried. My room-mate Fiona was brilliant. She made me laugh loads and she didn’t snore once. We were a group of fifteen, but even after five days in each other’s company, there wasn’t anyone who made me feel irritated or intimidated. No-one was too loud and no-one too quiet. No-one hogged all the attention, no-one sucked up to the tutors. We were equals. I had sparkly conversations with every one of my fellow writers; I trusted them implicitly. I am honoured to have met Andy, Anna, Chrysse, Fiona, Fran, Gina, Jackie, Jess, Kris, Paul, Peter, Sam, Sue and Tamsin.

On the final night, we all read out a piece that we’d done during the week. If you’d told me before that we would have to do that, I’d have been in two minds about going, but the course had upped my confidence so much that I did it with gusto and really enjoyed myself. I read a piece called The List, and afterwards, I’m blushing to say, Director Pete asked me if I’d mind him sending it to the Head Office for publication on the website.

What’s it a list of? You’ll have to read it to find out. Is it true? Well, put it this way: before I could let Pete send it, I had to change some of the names…

Today I finally plucked up the courage to post an application form that I’ve been carrying around for ages.

It’s a residential writing course for beginners that’ll be held in September by the Arvon foundation. The tutors for the course are proper published authors and everything.

Starting to Write: Telling Tales
“For people interested in writing prose of all kinds. We will explore the link between real life and imagination. If you’re willing to experiment, you should finish the course better equipped to tell the truth and to make things up, and understand how close the two things often are.”

(No idea if they will have any places; my courage did not stretch to phoning up and asking simple questions.)

UPDATE: they didn’t have any places (
I’m on the waiting list though – let’s hope there’s a cancellation!

ANOTHER UPDATE (July): I had a call to say there had been a couple of cancellations and would I like a place? Now I’m all nervous about it again – but can’t wait!