Dr. David Fialkoff, Editor / Publisher

What is an Editor? asks the title of an article, I recently read. Part coach, part critic, I am well-aware that what I do in this small town is very different than editors of the literary, bright lights, big city type. But we also have a lot in common, and it's fun to rub shoulders. By my count, in the last two weeks, I've conversed with four.

"All the news that's fit to print"

I was seated with an acquaintance, enjoying the relative coolness of the evening, on a bench in the plaza in front of the church here in San Antonio, when a man, G, walked up with his rescue dog.

My companion introduced us. She mentioned that G wrote for the New York Times (as it turns out, he was the Style Editor for 10 years) and that I published Lokkal. A short while later, perhaps bored by the shop-talk, our mutual acquaintance got up and left. G and I spoke until it got dark.

G's telling me, "You've got good content" went right to my head. His, "After reading the piece on Sor Juana I went out and bought the book," relayed to that article's author, Philip Gambone, sent him over the moon.

G then zeroed in professionally, asking me how I manage it all by myself. I replied, completely unrehearsed, that I was "working myself to death." Knowingly he responded, "I bet you are."

I see G now and again, with his dog, sitting on a bench in the plaza in the tarde-noche, when I am returning from my daily bicycle ride. Pulling up, standing astride mi bici, doffing my helmet, we chat a while. For a gossip columnist he's a very nice guy.

He did, however, offer a cutting critique of the man who pulls the bell-rope 20 minutes before mass, calling the faithful to their knees. Wincing slightly during that tolling, he complained, "He has no sense of rhythm. I feel sorry for his wife."

The Literary Side of the Law

jennifer rose, a lawyer herself, edited The Compleat Lawyer, GPSolo, and Experience, magazines of the American Bar Association. Now she publishes her blog, Red Shoes are Better than Bacon, far too rarely for my taste. She lives in Morelia, and has a sister here in San Miguel.

She first wrote to me some years ago, praising Lokkal with her editor's eye. Since then, far too rarely, I have been republishing her blog-posts/articles as part of Lokkal (here and here), and we've been emailing.

With the addition of my assistant Luisa, I am no longer working myself to death. Now that the stress hormones have receded and I can consider such higher-level things, a while back I suggested to jen that we get together on her next visit to San Miguel. This we did at City Market (what a breeze they have in their big sitting room) a couple of weeks ago.

The Yiddish has a word for it. A lansman (landsman) is someone from your hometown you've met a world away from there. Think of two people in a deli in New York, reminiscing about the old country, the old city. Such was jen's and my communality: a knowing, a sharing, the same references, gestures, vocalisms and sensibilities. It was a delight, a homecoming.

Inevitably my messianic ambitions got the best of me and I asked for help with my plans for Lokkal's expansion, pleading, "There are many important people, wanting to save the world, who would be very supportive of Lokkal (Building Community, Strengthening the Local Economy), if only they knew about it." She suggested a couple of candidates.

Inevitably the business of editing wove through our far-flung conversation. She suggested, and later provided the contacts of, a couple of local people, whom I should know.

"The World's Best Small City"

Several days later jen sent K, another San Miguel resident, and me a joint email, humorously presenting us one to the other. About K:

While I was wondering how exactly to break the ice, I got a very friendly email from K offering to get together: "If you ever want to meet over coffee or whatever, let me know. I'm free pretty much all the time." I suggested Parque Guadiana, in the morning before the day got hot, and he agreed. Two days later we found ourselves on a bench there sitting comfortably in the shade of an overhanging tree.

Our conversation went on for a couple of hours, occasionally including an acquaintance who paused while strolling by. K spoke about Buddhism. I brought up homeopathy. When I pumped him for advice and contacts, K lamented how much the publishing world has changed: "I worked in a privileged position in a wonderful era. I feel like the last of my kind."

I didn't think of it then, but I'm wondering now just how responsible K was, to his credit or blame, for Condé Nast Traveler naming San Miguel "The World's Best Small City."

"Santa Cruz, where the real hippies are."

After publishing (with her husband Tom) Connection Magazine in Santa Cruz, California for 25 years, Pattie Mills moved to San Miguel four years ago. I emailed with Tom, and maybe with Pattie, but we never met. At least we hadn't met until at the last art walk she recognized me, no doubt from the very distinctive author headshot photo that appears below my articles, and introduced herself. One small-town editor to another we had a lot to talk about. And we haven't stopped talking since.

The saying goes, "They call it the 'restaurant business.' A lot of people are good at 'restaurant,' but not at 'business.'" Pattie is good at the "magazine business" as a whole.

The most important factor in writing, or, come to think of it, in life, is enthusiasm or, even better, love. Technical mastery is a must, but if the violinist lacks passion, you can hear it. Pattie is excited about San Miguel, and much more active in the community than am I.

Sitting on the same bench, in the shade of the same tree where I sat with K, she could barely contain herself. Idea after idea for articles spilled out. Since then, oppressed a little by the heatwave (aren't we all), we've been attuning one to another over WhatsApp, synchronizing our professional visions.

I don't like to count unhatched chickens, but I suspect that Lokkal will soon be adding a new name to its masthead.

I suppose being an editor is like being a Mason, you recognize the signs. It's a breed and a talent. The attention to detail, the pride of product, the ability to turn a phrase, dealing with deadlines; you either have it or you don't.

In Mexico, San Miguel has a spotty reputation for art. As I hear it, amateur painters who hold themselves out as professionals are mucking up the scene. That's a whole other discussion, far beyond my paygrade.

But there are people in town, who hold themselves out as editors or publishers. Dilletantes, they struggle along, mucking things up. The signs are there, if you know where to look. With a professional eye it's easy to see that they haven't got a clue. The past, the recent past, proves me correct and the future, perhaps the near future, will again. But forgive me for talking shop.

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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, our local social network, the community online and off, Atención robustly reborn for the digital age. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.

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