Letters to the Editor

Yesterday my writing time was spent on a letter to the editor of our local newspaper. I hastily wrote a few paragraphs which I felt captured my feelings, and sent if off before my morning meditation

I should have known better.

I have a history of writing inflammatory and poorly conceived letters to editors, a pattern which began in university. In the pages of Trent University's The Arthur, more than once I made myself the centre of attention by writing what was really on my mind, revealling more about how my mind works than anything else.

The first time was after hearing the song 'Bomb the Boats and Feed the Fish' by The Forgotten Rebels over the sound system of The Ceilidh one afternoon. The reactionary side of me took deep offense to the way the woman at the next table was amused by the lyrics. Understanding that the song was referencing racist remarks made against Vietnamese refugees, I foolishly decided it was inappropriate for an institute of higher learning.

The next day I wrote to The Arthur calling for a ban on playing the song campus pubs. It was met by a chorus of equally angry letters from people who were actually around when the song was popular in 1979 and better understood its political context. The Rebels, as I discovered through these responses, were not siding with racists but using racists' words against them in sympathy with the refugees. It took a while for me to live it down. I remember being introduced to people a few times after the incident and seeing the recognition of my name dawn on their faces.

The next time I wrote to The Arthur I tried to be more careful, but I hadn't counted on a particularly vindictive editor with blurry editorial ethics. Like the removal of the keystone from a stone archway, the editor's deft excision of one sentence destroyed any remaining credibility my name might have had with the student body. In addition to editing my words to her advantage, she had also seen fit to publish a full-page attack on my letter on the opposite page. For the next two weeks, the letters' section of the paper was filled with a barrage of rebuttals to my emasculated argument.

Fortunately for me, some people had come to understand the editor was abusing her role at the paper to further her own political views, all the while ironically decrying the privileged male voice of the media. One student came to my defense with his own letter and was similarly pilloried alongside of me. Although I was outraged and even felt sorry for her new victim, I was relieved that she had shifted her attention away from me.

The main lesson I learned from these incidents was the art giving myself a cooling-off period to reflect on what I've written before sharing. Not only does it give me a chance to edit my ire, but It also helps me to more fully express my ideas so my words cannot be so easily edited to hurt me. This lesson has come to serve me well both with personal letters and those intended for public consumption.

So when I sat down yesterday morning, I really should have known better than to write something out of anger and send it off without the benefit of at least meditating beforehand. Over morning coffee I shared what I had written with Tara who readily chastised me for my poorly considered words.

So I went back to my computer and looked at what I'd written, seeing as though for the first time where my worst tendencies were represented all too well.

I did a quick and much more thoughtful edit of the letter and sent it off, hoping the editor would choose to print the revision rather than the original. Upon receiving a positive response from the editor, I reflected on how a writer is only as good as their editor, especially in the case of self-editing.