For Roger Angell (1921-2022), Part Two.
In the subway heading to The New Yorker for an editing session with Roger Angell, I fantasize hovering near the receptionist’s desk as a line of supplicants with manila envelopes are each declined entry (“I just want to make sure he gets the references”). They watch their precious cargo being tossed into a huge bin marked Slush, and stare as I approach, no envelope in tow. The mere mention of my name gets me a smile and a wave-through. “Who is that, did you catch his name?” one whispers, and I turn and say, “Keep at it. I was once slush, too.”
When I arrive, no supplicants, no Slush bin, but I do get a smile and a wave-through. At first glance, Roger Angell reminds me of Fred Clark, the original Harry Morton on the Burns and Allen show.
“We were talking about you at dinner last night,” he says. “Hariette Surovell was over, and she spoke highly of you. [I had met Hariette 15 years earlier, in Kurt Vonnegut’s workshop at City College. On the first day of class, Kurt recounted a dinner conversation from the previous night and turned to Hariette for confirmation: “You were there.”]
Roger shows me a copy of my manuscript with edits, including several new commas. Before I can garner the guts to resist, he adds, “These are Mr. Shawn’s commas. You don’t want them, do you?” This could be the beginning of a beautiful editorial friendship.
We move on to Roger’s markings. As we resolve each edit, he crosses out a notation in the margin.
I’ve been working on an essay categorizing feedback comments (reactive, descriptive, prescriptive, and collaborative). As an example of collaborative feedback I’m using a New Yorker edit: “Not every word in a published piece has necessarily been written by the name in the byline. New Yorker editor Harold Ross wrote ‘bucks’ for John Cheever during his editing of ‘The Enormous Radio.’ In the story, a diamond is found after a party; a character says, ‘Sell it, we can use a few dollars.’ Ross replaced dollars with bucks, which Cheever found ‘absolutely perfect. Brilliant.’” So I am inwardly giddy to see high whistles have become clanking chains, and zips turned to cuts. And my “Ghost Story” will forever be known as:
Here’s a fine example of an addition-through-subtraction edit:
Throughout the session, my downward peripheral vision is drawn to a substantial collaborative edit at the end of the story.
This won’t be as easy as Mr. Shawn’s commas. I’m not sure if I get it. But I accept the change, hopeful I will share John Cheever’s appraisal: “absolutely perfect. Brilliant.” [Eventually, I come to read it as, “My ghost re-merges with ghostly traffic—his work here done.”]
I leave the New Yorker and float to Times Square, a whisper amid the talk of the town. I wind up at Lee’s Art Shop and treat myself to a leather portfolio [which I still use].
The process isn’t over.
The sentence in question:
I picture—as a New Yorker cartoon—a huddle of writers and editors trying to make sense of a coffee cup’s open window revealing a now-cold night: Barthelme and Beattie almost come to blows as Mr. Shawn keeps muttering about commas.
I am touched by the care Roger Angell is taking with my story, and his use of prescriptive feedback: “I wish you’d tone it down.” I love seeing his self-edit:
The modest solution is, “He stares at the cold coffee.”
There’s one more wrinkle. When I receive the author’s proof I become fixated on “project hand-shadow ghouls onto the wall.” Onto or on to? On to or onto? becomes as agonizing as the eye exam question “this way, or is it better this way?” I finally decide that on to better captures the act of projecting, rather than placing. I call and leave a message asking for the change.
Early publication morning, I run toward the newsstand on Broadway. I stop, suddenly terrified that my story was cut at the last minute by Mr. Shawn (“I warned you about those commas!”). But it’s in there! My story in The New Yorker. Yes. I glance through till jolted by:
I will realize that onto is the right choice, but not before several hours of self-haunting. Traffic, no doubt.
Go to Source
Author: Alan Ziegler
