In 2025, it came to my attention that there are two ways to put a loo roll on the holder – you can either have the paper rolling out from the top or from the bottom. This is something that stumped me (surprisingly, actually, since I have been married to a plumber for nigh on a quarter of a century). Since I discovered that this was a ‘thing’, I have been inexplicably fascinated – endlessly considering the pros and cons, finding out the preferences of family, friends and minor celebrities, and wrestling the urge to check the loo rolls in everyone’s loo.
Deep-diving the unknown
I have decided that things like this are part and parcel of being an editor. I often find myself becoming entangled in the most unlikely subjects. Recently, for example, I did a deep dive into the rhythms of the African music styles motswako and mbaqanga to clarify an author’s terminology. This involved not only reading up on them but also listening to examples and counting the beats per minute. The playlists that Spotify now creates for me consist of a mishmash of 70s and 80s pop and a whole lot of contemporary African hip-hop.
By the time an aquaculture project I was involved in was put to bed, I knew more about the mating habits of the Norwegian salmon than was good for me. Education dissertations have taught me how to calculate notional hours and I’m still trying to find out whether some learning objectives are actually measurable. I’ve learnt that Cotard’s syndrome is sadly real, that allelopathy (such a nice sounding word) is quite a mean thing that a plant does to ensure its survival, and that the scratch cards sold at the corner shop rely on the same principles as the artistic technique of sgraffito.
And burrowing into the unfamiliar
I tend to burrow rather too deeply into these rabbit warrens of knowledge – just looking up the meaning of a word can lead me into a fascinating exploration of what a medieval gong farmer actually did. Going off on a tangent is a favourite occupation of mine. And, of course, topics like these are great for keeping the conversation going around the braai fire. While I often don’t actually need the amount of detail I’m apt to discover, it certainly gives me a much better understanding of the subject matter or the author’s intent.
Spilling over into everyday life
Editing often spills over into our own lives. It feels imperative to find the right word, use the proper punctuation, and be clear, concise and consistent. At Christmas, I spend hours coming up with the perfect message for under-the-tree gifts – the dog even gets a well-thought-through merry missive with ‘woofs’ and punctuation marks in the shape of paws. Inevitably, of course, I run out of time (words and labels), and Tannie Suze lands up with the pyjamas meant for Grandpa.
But what I learn on these missions has a plus side for my personal life – I can hold my own when it comes to most teenager tech talk and I’m a fairly handy pub quiz team member. I can entertain the grouchiest travellers with useless information on the long straight stretches of road between Gauteng and the Eastern Cape. I’m adept at looking things up online, ruthless when it comes to stray ambiguities – in all sorts of spheres – and I know exactly how to prompt AI for easy, healthy and tasty supper recipes. I also know my way around the dark corners of MS Word and can even teach people who use a Mac.
The price of curiosity?
Is it just me – or is this the plight of most of the editing tribe? Are we doomed to obsess about irrelevant facts and things that don’t really matter, or should we see the paths our keyboards and curiosity take us down as adventures as mighty as the moon-circling spacecraft?
The trouble with going down a rabbit hole or endlessly searching for the perfect word is that it eats into our time (and earning potential). Perhaps that is the price of curiosity. I think I’m happier feeling adventurous rather than doomed, so I’ll continue to wander the realms of the unknown if time allows. But I’ll do so conscious of how easily I can be swayed, making sure that I drag myself back to the present so that I can pay the bills at the end of the month. We are lucky to have the freedom to learn while we earn; let’s embrace it, but, at the same time, be aware of its pointy bits.
By the way, in case you’re wondering, the paper in our loo peels from the top!
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