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What would you call someone who edits, critiques, organizes, maintains, brainstorms, encourages, sits down very little, and on good days, plays with My Little Ponies and watches Ice Age for research? Give up? If you work in publishing, you might call her a production editor  – and you would be talking about me. 

For the past eight months, I have held the aforementioned title at a smallish publishing company, in the exciting (you might think this is sarcasm, but as much as I can’t believe it myself, it is not) world of children’s books.

It might seem to an outsider that producing kids’ books is an easy task, as a good deal of these of contain little text and simple spot illustration. But as with many things, there’s more to children’s publishing than meets the eye, and it’s my job to make sure that all of these parts run smoothly – with as few mistakes as possible. 

In essence, a production editor is in charge of watching over the entire creative process – from proposal to proofs, I make sure that everything is in order. From catching misspelled words (some as simple as “answered” and “chocolate,” if you can believe we’ve managed to miss such common words as those!) to showing each stage of production to all members of the creative team, most of my time is spent in what seem like mundane tasks.

I enter new projects into an antiquated, 1980s computer system (which somehow gets away with labeling itself as the technology of the future) and spec all types of books for our printers, many of whom speak very little English, but who love to question our sell sticker placement anyway. I create ISBNs and UPCs, care for original art, and maintain project drawers. Most importantly, I keep a daily log of all of the activities of each of my projects, and which is, after only eight months, more than 50 pages long. I know a lot, and everyone else knows it too. 

I also get to edit. When I was first hired, I pictured myself quickly scanning one-sentence pages. In truth, some of our books are like this. But a good deal more are not: They are text-heavy storybooks, treasuries, and libraries, some of which contain 320 pages. I have grown to love the dictionary, and to question and look up any two-word phrase that might have a listing. Working like this has made me very aware of words, a skill I can take with me anywhere. At the same time, I am encouraged to make judgments on the art as well – does this illustration really show what’s happening in the text, and does it work with the book as a whole?  

These critiques, however, are coupled with encouragement. We work as a team, and I often play the role of cheerleader, hoping that these daily confirmations will make people happier to be doing their jobs, and will therefore do those tasks a little more thoroughly and correctly.

Because I am involved in the entire process, it means I get to interact with a lot of people, some who are helpful, and some who make my life very trying. While I’m routing projects created by the art director who always has her stuff done weeks ahead of time, I’m bugging another to pretty-please start his. Luckily for me, they sit next to each other. At the same time, there are editors who don’t appear to own dictionaries, and acquisition editors who don’t see the need to check copyright information until the books are at the printer. Patience, optimism, and several cups of soothing tea are key.  

Strong communication skills are necessary – if I need something from an editor or art director, I have to be able to find a way to ask for it firmly, but nicely; clearly, but not demandingly. I am on my feet all day, delivering routes of projects in various stages of development from one end of the building to the other, begging the higher-ups to start going through theirs, and, in a flurry of approvals, rushing the finalized stage of the product to the printer. And as soon as I finish, I head back to my desk, only to find another set of routes. 

This whirlwind of activity demands great organizational skills. I not only have to know where something is at any given moment, but it is infinitely better if I can tell my managing editor the chances of it being approved that day. We’re talking dozens of projects at a time here, when we’re busy. It’s no wonder to me that I count project and book item numbers in lieu of sheep, and hum “Row Your Boat” under my breath without realizing it. 

I am the lowest rung on the production ladder, and definitely work very hard to pull in my entry-level salary, but without me, the rest of the team could get nowhere. I am the cheerful support that enables everyone to cooperate, get things done, and feel happy they decided to come to work that day.

I make things happen, and I have a very extensive knowledge of the kinds of things each part of the creative team is responsible for. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way.