Recycling

Editor Vs Author Gabut

That night. In a special room a little narrow feels difficult to breathe. I sat quietly feeling the creeps, staring at someone who was checking script after script. That's the famous script editor. Yes, he is the one.

“Cih, mubazir says!” He grunts.

Silent moment. Empty jumping my mind accompanied by a simple nervousness. It's like somebody hit a drum. Indeed, this one editor is famous for being extraordinary.

One of the authors supposedly said he had a fever of seven days and seven nights. Currently I ventured after the maghrib prayer held an appointment well in advance the previous day. A good opportunity is indeed fate or what the famous fierce editor was traveling in Thailand.

I can meet, consider it an incredible fortune in my life. After all this time there was no more trauma that I felt.

The editor's face wiggled. “What kind of writing is this? Messy once.”

“You carpet writer! This script has no storyline elements in it!” Editor raises voice.

I swallowed spit. What has no story in it? Oh, my God, this is a bad editor I'd love to hit.

“This writing of yours is like poetry, but when I look more thoroughly neither. What kind of writing is this?”

“Maclumi only, you should know I wrote it when join.” I answered with a steady look, a firm voice.

The script editor laughed sadistically. “Autput? You gave me the script you wrote when you joined, then do you think our current meeting is joining as well, huh?”

I'm shaking. “No, I'm not joining. This meeting is serious, I want to know all kinds of mistakesku—”

“You want to know your mistake? Your mistake was fatal!” The editor attacked.

“What? Mention.” I answered steadily, looking at him without the slightest hesitation.

“Your reading tag is wrong, writing that seems to have no storyline, redundant words, many plot holes and add the composition of words that you write is difficult to understand, even away from the rules of writing and grammar!”

“You know a script like this is like being in a garbage can!”

The script editor seemed to have complacent about saying it. Come on, isn't that his job as a script editor. What in the world is there a script editor for? Truth is, read it in the books. Reality work.

Sometimes people don't understand much about the nature of things. What is the real meaning of a job. The script editor is arrogant, it's nice to say that my script is like that.

Still edit. Perfect according to the rules and so on is completed. So, after that give advice and input to the author to pay more attention to writing. Advice and input are motivating, not judgmental. This one editor I don't think is fierce, but arrogant.

He seemed to think of himself as a fighter plane on the surface of the sky, staring at a novice writer like me like a building he was about to destroy with missile fire.

“No, you're not a budding writer.” He said he was making me tense.

The editor seemed to know what I was thinking. At that time I was a little surprised. It's probably just a coincidence. Hopefully, I don't want to expect much because it doesn't matter.

“I obviously know you, you're the writer who two years ago came out of the script editor's room, you walked down. And I remember very well, you were the one who threw the script into the trash. You don't know, I saw you that day desperate to throw the script into the trash!”

“Regarding my earlier remark, you should know I was simply reminding you of the events of that time. The good news is the script you threw away that day I picked up, I saw all your writing that looked messy. You know the script editor you met that day was my friend. I've guessed my friend as usual, being so hard that you throw the manuscript into the trash.”

“You are the same author. Two years ago, I remembered the incident. Really, your friend there's no self-development at all. Your writing is still the same as it used to be.”

The editor made me cling. Two years ago, I threw my script in a garbage can. Actually it's okay, come on. My feelings are too soft in this matter. I must be strong, once again the man has an unyielding soul.

“Already. You just stop being a writer. You know your writing if it comes out will not sell on the market.” The script editor seemed to put a boom on my chest.

“Your writing is lifeless. The character feels bland, you are less able to describe the expressions of each character!” He continued to explain.

I stared blankly at the manuscript sheet he was holding. It seems like what my friend said back in the coffee shop, it is true that I have no talent for writing stories.

“What's your name, young man?” The editor instantly broke my daydream.

“Narak.” I said briefly, not wanting to make small talk.

“Your name seems less good village! Come on, wake up from your dreams, young man. Forget about being a writer. You're like a triplex board if you punch it he said warrior brother.” The editor laughed with satisfaction.

His tone was not fierce, but piercing. He had previously scratched a sharp word at me and was now spilling salt water towards the wounds that had not healed.

Faults. I made a mistake again for having dared to see the script editor. Isn't he not famous? Ah, I just remembered about that.

I should be even stronger looking at him, even if it could be more fierce than him, fighting to the point of the final blood.

I stared hard. “What right do you have to tell me to stop writing?”

The editor laughed now. “Obviously, that's not my right, I'm just telling you, you're not talented at writing! Free, even if you insist on writing to successfully publish a book, still your writing will not sell on the market. Catch that!”

“What's your name, arrogant editor!” I answered without a smiling face.

I want to record his name in the book of annoyance. Black-coated diary book. Arrogant editor, I'll take notes. Reminded me of your face.

I realized I was just a gab writer who wouldn't be as successful as the writer I liked. I am a writer without a sense of purpose. Come on, right now I'm just asking; is there no tolerance in this world? Mutual respect or what leads a person to the path he wants to go.

The words of the editor I admit are true, but he does not appreciate my struggle that I have been trying my best with one hope, the writing was published into a book.

“You're acting cool asking my name, huh? And you I admit you are brave enough to say a arrogant word in front of me!” The editor let out a relaxed tone, exhaling cigarette smoke.

I forgot to say he was a smoker. Even when talking to me the cigarette continued to light up. Sometimes he sucks, he blows.

I don't have to write it down at length about cigarettes because it's not important to me. Even if I write it, then I will throw the paper into the sea so that the problem that has been plaguing my mind is not working.