Since the beginning of human history, the species’ most unifying practice is that of storytelling. From Homer to Brontë, from Didion to Gorman, we thrive on narratives we can craft for one another. To write is to tell stories, to edit is to hold the spotlight that illuminates the storyteller. As a practice, editing is often thought to be the tedious work of grammar and spelling, but in reality, it serves as the unseen half of all writing partnerships. As an editor, there is no greater joy than helping a story come to fruition; of guiding the hand of a writer so that their best and most complete work can be received by their adoring audience. Philosophically – as if this entire piece is not philosophical enough already – editing should be the microphone held up to the mouth of the storyteller. A simple way for stories to reach the widest possible audience.
In the United States, the gatekeepers that determine what stories get told, the editors and publishers of yore, have been resistant to change. In 2019, over 75% of traditionally published authors were white and over 80% were heterosexual and cisgender, according to industry research. These statistics have been written of again and again, with backlash and backlash to the backlash spurring diversity initiatives within the largest five publishing houses, to little effect. By 2023, 72.5% of authors were white, with most still being heterosexual, cisgender, and strangely enough, living in the affluent and WASP-y American Northeast. With those statistics in mind, can the stories of today still act as the same unifying force as they did in antiquity? Unless someone comes along and tries to tear down the gates keeping diverse, unique storytellers out, no. My experience is as a gender nonconforming lesbian from the Midwest. It is near impossible to see myself or my friends reflected in either the stories platformed by these large publishers or their roster of authors. It’s no use waiting for someone from within that homogenous industry to change that. We must make the change ourselves.
By publishing the work of talented, marginalized artists, we shift the Overton window toward equality, and we move the definition of “story” back to what it once meant. Or, what it ought to mean. There are two quotes that get bandied about whenever the topic of stories come up, one from one of my personal idols, Joan Didion and another from Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman. As Didion would have it, “we tell ourselves stories in order to live.” For Gorman, “we tell stories because we are human.” If you ask me, I think we tell stories in order to find connection. We tell stories to change the world. We tell stories to hold a mirror up to society, ugly, beautiful, and everything in between. That’s the power of stories, of storytellers, and of editors. The ability to put words on paper or in the air is both the most innate and most powerful humans have. Helping someone exercise that ability is the most worthwhile calling I have personally discovered.