To those working as editors, aspiring to become one, or thinking about quitting—may I have a moment of your time? I don’t have any special know-how to share, but as someone who’s spent over two decades in this field, I hope you’ll enjoy this little memoir. Perhaps you’ll find something relatable in my experience.
Watching Everyone Leave
It’s now been 23 years since I became an editor. There were plenty of times when I thought about quitting, but somehow, here I am—23 years later.
In that time, I’ve met countless editors. Most of them quit within a year or two; some left after just a few months. There were those with great instincts or sharp minds—yet even they moved on.
Of course, there’s no single right answer in life. Still, watching people give up halfway always felt like a bit of a waste. And as someone who stayed, I couldn’t help feeling a little lonely every time.
Why do some stick it out while others leave so soon? The reasons vary for everyone, but if I had to say why I managed to keep going, it simply comes down to this: I was thick-skinned.
What I’m about to share isn’t universal advice for editors. It may not help those just starting out or struggling right now. But if you enjoy old stories, I hope you find something in these reflections from 23 years in magazine publishing.
Realizing I Wasn’t Cut Out for This
Before becoming an editor, I worked at a printing company (and before that, I was a manga artist’s assistant—but that’s another story). One day, a high school friend invited me to try editing a magazine. I didn’t think much of it at the time and jumped in with little hesitation.
My first workplace was shockingly laid-back. If you showed up at noon, no one was there. People would trickle in around 3pm. Well, there was one person—who’d line up three office chairs and sleep across them until about 3.
Everyone joked around like friends, got livelier as the night wore on, and often headed out for beef bowls at midnight. It felt more like a college club than a workplace.
But then, out of nowhere, the magazine folded. It happened just three months after I joined. Since I was only a “semi-regular” staff member, the closure meant I was suddenly out of work. No guarantees—just me, looking for my next job.
“If It’s Not for You, Just Quit”—That Was the Culture
Luckily, I was quickly hired by another editorial team. But the environment there was the exact opposite—harsh and intense.
The floor echoed with the clatter of keyboards, ringing phones, and the occasional shouting. Many people looked completely drained, and some seemed constantly on edge. There was hardly any friendly chatter.
I was assigned a recurring magazine column right away, but only received a brief handover document. “You’re on your own,” was the vibe. I didn’t even know what I didn’t know. With just three months at my previous job, I had almost zero editing skills. I was totally lost, yet the assignments kept piling up.
These days, companies usually guide newcomers step by step. Not here. Everyone was too busy with their own tasks to care about others. The attitude was, “If you’re not cut out for this, just leave.” By today’s standards, it was definitely a toxic workplace—but back then, that was just how things were.
Naturally, I couldn’t manage the workload. My schedule fell apart. More articles landed on my plate, and the stress became overwhelming. I was anxious and panicking every day. I probably looked just as lifeless as everyone else.
I had none of the traits you’d expect from a good editor. My scheduling skills were terrible. None of my ideas were ever accepted in editorial meetings, and I was bad at communicating my thoughts. I genuinely felt, “I’m just not cut out for this.” Those days were tough and humiliating.
A Turning Point: Transferred to Another Publication
My turning point came thanks to a mentor. When this person became editor-in-chief at a different publication, they invited me to join their team.
It was still busy, but the atmosphere was completely different. There was a real sense of unity, with frequent opportunities for discussion and feedback. We’d talk about what worked well in articles or debate the future direction of the magazine. I learned firsthand how a leader’s personality can completely transform a team.
Surrounded by such an encouraging atmosphere, I gradually began to enjoy my work. With a more positive outlook, I started producing better results. Good ideas began to come, and the articles I created became something I could be proud of. Trying out new visuals, experimenting with layouts—editing became genuinely fun.
That’s how I overcame my lowest point. Of course, things weren’t always smooth afterward. I struggled with workplace relationships, made big mistakes, felt overwhelmed by guilt, and even considered switching careers for an easier life.
Being Thick-Skinned Is a Kind of Talent, Too
Still, as I said at the beginning, the main reason I didn’t quit was sheer stubbornness. No matter how tough things got, deep down I remained weirdly optimistic—I always believed things would work out somehow.
For example, even when deadlines loomed, I sometimes wasted weekends doing nothing. I should’ve worked, but convinced myself, “Even warriors need to rest.”
Or when I made a major mistake or fell seriously behind, I’d be upset for a while—but by the next day, I’d shrug and think, “Well, I tried my best. What’s done is done.”
I didn’t consciously train myself to be thick-skinned; it’s just how I am. I never changed through self-help books or discipline. Maybe, even if I lacked every other skill an editor needs, I did have the “talent” for stubborn optimism.
You Probably Have a Hidden Talent, Too
If you’ve made it this far and are thinking, “This is just a self-indulgent story— I thought I’d get some useful advice,” I’m sorry.
But here’s the thing: even someone like me, who thought I had zero talent for editing, found an unexpected strength in being thick-skinned. I believe you, too, have a hidden talent you just haven’t discovered yet.
So, if you’re currently doubting your suitability for editing and thinking of quitting, maybe try fumbling through a little longer. There’s no single “right” way to be an editor—everyone’s path is different. If you have even one dormant strength, you can pull through. You’ll be okay.
And if it really doesn’t work out? It’s perfectly fine to quit and move on. You can always start over. Having enough stubbornness to think that way—that’s not a bad thing, either.
