illustration courtesy faithie cannoise / dreamstime
If you ever bump into me around town and notice a dazed expression on my face, assume it’s because I’ve been engaged in some light time travel. That’s how I’ve come to think of the process of putting together a monthly print magazine. To do it well, my colleagues and I need to exist simultaneously in the past, present, and future. And this magazine — well, though it may look like mere paper, ink, and glue, it’s actually our time machine.
Take today, for example — and by “today,” I mean the day I’m typing: August 16, 2023. In a couple hours, I’ll drive over to the WMC-TV studio to record an episode of Bluff City Life about our current issue, the annual City Guide that appeared last month (your last month, my current month). We are constantly trying to reach new readers, and that means exploring new venues. I’m not a person who relishes going on camera, but I know the appearance will go better than my nerves indicate. I’m a natural introvert who has adapted certain extroverted skills out of necessity and willpower.
I remember once, a few years ago, a final aesthetic review alerted us to the fact that we had inadvertently placed an ad featuring a juicy steak directly across from an article about advancements in surgical procedures. We thought better of that cannibal-adjacent combination … and moved the beef.
Meanwhile, also today, the editorial team and I are scrutinizing proofs of the pages you now hold, pages that will take the form of our September issue. Tomorrow, we need to upload final digital files to our printer to ensure that you receive this magazine on time. (Yes, the process of printing, binding, and mailing can take close to two weeks. This is, in part, because the printing industry has constricted over the past several years — we now must print farther from home than we once did, Kentucky versus northern Mississippi — and in part because freight and mail times are still unpredictable, more than three years into the supply chain’s aches and pains.)
In our editorial meeting this week, we’ll make final decisions about the contents of our October magazine. We’ve settled on a range of feature stories, but need to make final decisions about what will make the most compelling cover. We need to consider how the stories will sit in relation to each other: Are we delivering an appealing mix, and are we presenting the components in an order that will make you, our reader, want to keep turning the pages? Later, when we get further along in producing October’s magazine, we’ll need to review to ensure that the editorial juxtapositions are fluid, and the ad placements are sensible.
(I remember once, a few years ago, a final aesthetic review alerted us to the fact that we had inadvertently placed an ad featuring a juicy steak directly across from an article about advancements in surgical procedures. We thought better of that cannibal-adjacent combination … and moved the beef.)
Very soon, likely before this issue has reached your mailbox or neighborhood newsstand, our team will gather to plan our calendar for 2024. I still feel like 2023 just began (such is the nature of the perpetual time warp), but it’s about time for us to make decisions about what we’ll be publishing when 2025 is around the corner. It’s enough to make a person dizzy.
In truth, though, I love it. I always wanted a time machine, and now I work inside one. This week (the one in mid-August), Memphis has been graced with a few days of unseasonably cool weather. The mornings feel fresh and clean, half the mugginess removed from the air, and the light is just beginning to slant, as it does in the autumn. Oh, sure, in a few days we’ll return to 97-degree blasts. But for these few days, this short reprieve, it’s like we’ve all been dipped into the cooler breezes ahead. It’s like the time machine has opened.
If you’re reading this, welcome to the most low-tech time machine ever invented. It’s perfectly safe, we promise. We’re glad to have you here. If you would like to request any future (or past) destinations, please let us know.
