When you write stories, the ideas don’t come from you; they come from the ether. You’re not a writer; you’re a radio. You might think you’re making things up but you’re not. You’re listening to them as they come in over the airwaves. You’re making sense of the signal and recording what you hear. You are, in short, an appliance.
Like all radios, you come equipped with dials. One takes you through the channels. What do you want to hear? It’s all out there: literary, crime, science fiction, romance. Some channels are laser focused; others are wide beam, broadcasting many things at once. All you have to do is tune in, zone out and write.
Then, before you know it, the programme is over. But you haven’t finished with the equipment yet. Writing your story down is just the start; now you have to revise it. In order to create successive drafts, you need to access all the other dials on your radio. Everything’s adjustable: tone and volume, reverb and pitch. There’s even a graphic equaliser that lets you track a character’s emotional arc from beginning to end. Some say this is the best part. I say take those dials and turn them all up until they read MAXIMUM.
Even when your story’s been submitted and accepted it isn’t over. There’s still more editing to be done. This is where you discover what you thought was just a radio is also a sampling machine. It rerecords and plays back. It cuts and it pastes. It’s got all the buttons you need make the perfect mix tape. So, that’s what you do. You trim. You attenuate. You reorder for effect and cut for length.
Finally, you’re done. The story is ready. Ready for what? Why, for broadcast, of course. It’s time to press the one button on your radio that, up to now, you haven’t dared touch. It’s the button marked TRANSMIT. After that, there’s only one thing left to do.
Hope someone’s listening.
Graham Edwards 