It all begins with an idea. The visual transforms into written characters that then coalesce into higher order structures—words, sentences, phrases, clauses. The concept once homogenous in thought becomes a bevy of heterogeneity. Then it becomes convincing, thought provoking, intriguing, charming, appalling, transfixing—all that would snag our deep seated interest. All that would win us an audience. All that would earn us the precious time which if given would elicit thrills from our earnest yet delightful narratives.

Writing and the lexicon it adapts from, lending voice to the language lender themselves, then weaving the as yet silent and unspoken word whose voice is audible beyond ignoring on inscribed paper and screens draped with ordered characters does the incomprehensible. It communicates deftly and dexterously concepts and messages that become readily understandable. It is a truly mystifying and gratifying art, not to forget a science.

The Dead Sea Scrolls are still legible. So is the Epic of Gilgamesh and the tablets bearing William Blake’s Book of Urizen. Give me a well preserved printed paper or a trusty external hard or flash drive and our tales, narratives, and all other manner of descriptive writing will inform generations a millennium into the future what the world once was. Just as the Dead Sea Scrolls shall.

Editing at its most basic serves to amend mistakes in grammar, syntax, spelling, intended meaning ad infinitum. These seem like mundane tasks but a piece that is wanting in any of these areas reads ill and repels the reader’s interest.

The odds of producing a perfectly written work on first attempt are miniscule. Editing serves to polish, redirect, amend, and otherwise improve heftily upon promising work that bears excessive promise achievable with a measure of polishing. The crux of editing is approaching a piece and recognizing and executing some previously unrecognized perspectives. What better way to be seen differently than through the eyes of a different writer-reader.