Last week it occurred to me that being an editor – even in this paperless digital age – can be a lot like human resources.
Well, except for the drinking, the dress code and cussing like a bond trader.
Jokes aside, we get a lot of pitches from flacks, story writers and artists who either want to get covered or help us do the covering. Made me think of what it must be like sorting through all those resumes. (And, the last time I had to do that, it took months to get anyone halfway decent in the door. And once we did, and after she knocked it out of the park, we couldn't hire her fast enough. But, man, did it take forever.)
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I got an email pitch from a freelancer last week (so few come in the mail these days) who misspelled the word "article" in the subject line. And they want me to let them write one? I don't think so. Deleted.
A couple of days later, another freelancer pitched her services, and while her exhaustive list of clients appeared impressive, none of them came close to qualifying her for writing about the business we cover. Nice try, check one of our sister pubs. And, next time, research your target market. Junked.
And this morning hit me with one of my lifelong favorites:"Dear Ms. Storey…" Seriously? In this day and age? (Speaking of which, do you have any idea how many ways Denis or Storey can be spelled? And it's not like my name's not everywhere. It isn't like looking for Waldo on a Christmas tree.)
But I guess, at the end of the day, it's nice that many bad candidates weed themselves out for us, or we'd be putting in a lot more overtime.
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