Leadership & Editing

Socratic Editing

As an editor, I understand that different journalists require different styles of editorial leadership. My rule of thumb is to always prioritize open dialogue with journalists about their work, especially if the note I'm suggesting is complex or addresses the actual content rather than grammatical or AP style edits. I see editing as a collaborative process, not a top-down one, and I try to make sure writers understand not just what I’m suggesting, but why.

In practice, this means talking through larger questions of framing, sourcing and tone with reporters, particularly when a story involves sensitive subject matter or institutional accountability. I’m careful to distinguish between edits that clarify or strengthen a piece and edits that risk flattening a writer’s voice or overstepping editorial boundaries. When disagreements arise, I treat them as opportunities to sharpen the reporting rather than as obstacles to be overridden.

I think that approach is especially important in a student newsroom, where writers are still working on their confidence and judgment. Editorial authority carries real, tangible weight, and I’m very conscious of how easily heavy-handed editing can discourage risk-taking or flatten the instinct of a writer. By explaining my reasoning and inviting (sometimes encouraging, actually) pushback, I aim to demystify the editing process and make it feel like an extension of reporting rather than a corrective measure imposed after the fact. 

Below is a screenshot of a discussion I had with a journalist who was writing a staff editorial on whether teachers should be able to voice their own political opinions during lessons or class discussions. This is only a fraction of our conversation, but it showcases my discussion-based editing style and my willingness to talk through disagreements in writing. "Dr. Baker" is a brilliant history teacher. The editor and I spent hours discussing the editorial and our agreements and disagreements until we wrote a thesis we — and the rest of the editorial board — felt proud to stand behind.

I’m also attentive to the more ethical dimension of editing, particularly when stories engage with politics, power or school policy. In those cases, edits are rarely neutral: word choice, framing and even what gets left out of a story can shape how readers interpret any issue. Rather than pretending objectivity is automatic, I think it’s more honest to acknowledge those tensions and talk them through with writers. That transparency helps make sure that editorials and reported pieces alike reflect deliberate choices, not accidental bias or editorial overreach.

Over time, I believe this discussion-based model has made disagreements much less adversarial and much more productive. Writers submit pieces of writing already prepared to defend their choices, and I’m expected to do the same. That mutual accountability raises the standard of the work and reinforces the idea that strong journalism is built through argument and revision. Even when we ultimately disagree, the process itself sharpens the reporting and clarifies the Midway's values. And above all, my goal as an editor is to help journalists produce work they can confidently stand behind. That means balancing rigor with trust: pushing writers to be precise, fair and well-sourced, while also respecting their instincts and the reporting they’ve done. I want the editing process to feel challenging in a productive way.

My ultimate goal is not just a stronger story, but rather a stronger journalist.

Using Language With Care

Sometimes, it’s just one or two words that need changing. Words are my absolute favorite thing, and I’m attentive to how small shifts in diction can subtly change a sentence’s meaning, tone or level of authority. I try to be precise rather than heavy-handed, trusting that careful language choices often do more work than sweeping rewrites.

I’m particularly attentive to diction because I believe that words carry weight far beyond their literal definitions. A single adjective can tilt a sentence toward judgment or neutrality; a verb can imply agency, blame or distance. When I suggest small word-level changes, it’s rarely about polish for its own sake. It’s about aligning the language of a piece with its intent, whether that’s to inform, persuade or hold an institution accountable.

That kind of editing, I think, requires more restraint than one would assume. It’s often tempting to rewrite entire sentences when something feels slightly off, but I’ve realized that precision is usually much more effective than scale. Swapping one word can preserve a writer’s voice while clarifying meaning in a way a full rewrite might erase. That attention to micro-level choices allows the piece to remain recognizably in the writer’s voice, even as it becomes sharper and more deliberate.

I've also learned that word choice shapes credibility. Especially in reported pieces and staff editorials, the difference between “claims,” “argues” and “states,” for example, is not insignificant — it actually signals how much authority the publication is granting a source or position. By slowing down and deliberately making those choices, I try to ensure that the language of a story reflects the standards of fairness and rigor we expect from our newsroom.

Be Nice!

Positive feedback is also incredibly important to my editorial approach. I make a point to acknowledge when a piece is working well, whether that’s a strong nut graf, a smart sourcing decision or a clear narrative turn. Pointing out what succeeds is just as valuable as flagging what needs revision, because it helps writers recognize their strengths and apply them more deliberately in future work.

Feedback shapes a newsroom's culture, and when editors consistently identify strong reporting, clean structure or thoughtful framing, those qualities become shared standards. Over time, that clarity raises the overall quality of the work and encourages writers to take ownership of their decisions. In that sense, highlighting success is strategic.

Additionally, I've learned the hard way that writers often internalize criticism more than affirmation. Without any clear acknowledgment of what’s working, revision can start to feel like a list of failures rather than a process where your editor is on your team and just trying to help. By balancing critique with recognition, I try to keep edits focused on growth instead of correction — and writers are often more willing to revise boldly when they know their strengths are visible and valued.

As Billy Joel said in "Vienna:"

"Though you can see when you're wrong,

You know you can't always see when you're right."

To give credit where credit is due: I learned all of this from the very best.

Mentoring

My mission regarding journalistic leadership has always been this: first and foremost, my goal is to do everything in my power to provide the younger journalists on my team with the guidance that I would've found helpful while I was learning the ropes. I have had many incredible mentors in journalism over the years, but sometimes, when it's 1:00 in the morning, and you're watching a SNO tutorial on publishing a photo carousel, you wish someone had just taught you how.

I remember nights spent in the newsroom, teaching myself to use InDesign, publish photo galleries online, and desperately googling details from the Associated Press stylebook to edit a story. And while I think self-guidance is important on a writer's journey, some of my most valuable lessons during high school came from my journalism mentors.

When I timidly approached the Arts & Entertainment editor who came before me to ask if I could write a review of a new movie, she smiled up at me and replied, "There's always room for a review." During my time leading that section, I said the same thing to anyone who requested a review. And while sitting in my adviser's office having a crisis about my future as a journalist, he looked me in the eye and said, "You do not need to have imposter syndrome about anything, because you aren’t faking anything." These are moments that have stuck with me for years, and I can only hope to have some level of the same impact on the younger journalists working on the Midway today — in many cases, by repeating these direct quotes to them when the opportunity arises.

When a freshman or sophomore journalist asks me for extra support, they often feel inclined to apologize, as though they're wasting my time in some way. I always reply, "Don't apologize — it's my job to help you do your job." 

The Midway has a program called "beginner buddies," in which a more experienced journalist is paired with someone in the beginning class, and the two meet periodically to discuss the mentee's work and offer advice. My beginner buddy, now our Health & Wellness Editor, and I exchanged phone numbers and vowed to keep in touch even past what was required of us. And we did. She texted me at all hours of the day and night, asking questions about everything from page design software to AP style to interviewing, and I was always excited to answer. It made me feel, really and truly, like I had a purpose. At the beginning, like many younger journalists reaching out for advice, she kept apologizing — "sorry to bother you," "sorry, it's a stupid question," "sorry, I know it's super late" — and always, I responded with a smiley face emoji (or an in-person smile, depending on the method of communication) and a firm "this is my job." And eventually, she stopped apologizing.

When I timidly approached the Arts & Entertainment editor who came before me to ask if I could write a review of a new movie, she smiled up at me and replied, "There's always room for a review." During my time leading that section, I said the same thing to anyone who requested a review. And while sitting in my adviser's office having a crisis about my future as a journalist, he looked me in the eye and said, "You do not need to have imposter syndrome about anything, because you aren’t faking anything." These are moments that have stuck with me for years, and I can only hope to have some level of the same impact on the younger journalists working on the Midway today — in many cases, by repeating these direct quotes to them when the opportunity arises.

Making Room for the Fun

I've found that one of the most important elements of being an Editor-in-Chief is learning to tailor your leadership style to different journalists. I find that most of the time, a simple Slack message checking in ("Hey ___! How is the section going? Anything I can help with?") can help bring issues to light before they become dire. In that way, I can offer support to team members without them feeling embarrassed about asking for it. I believe that so much of being a leader is understanding the personhood of your team members and always remembering, when messaging them, editing their work or assigning deadlines, that their lives are as vivid and complex as your own and that they deserve support that reflects that. 

A leader's mood is also incredibly important for a team's mood, as is the leader's willingness to plan events and complete work that may, at times, feel silly or extraneous. For example, earlier this year, I had the idea of designing and producing Midway hoodies for each team member and brought it to my adviser. I wasn't expecting the task itself to be fully handed to me, but that's essentially what happened — and what ensued was a long series of late nights poring over the difference between "heavyweight" or "lightweight" sweatshirt material, researching different brands that could print our hoodies (did I want Champion? Did I want Gildan? Did I want to splurge on Nike?), and engaging in extensive email threads with U-High administrators trying to figure out our subsidization policy. Permeating this period was a general feeling of ridiculousness — the amount of work my silly idea had generated was absurd, and there were times when I wanted to give up on the hoodies altogether. "This is hogwash," I texted my co-EIC. "I'm a journalist. Not a graphic designer."

Spoiler alert: We got the hoodies.

I learned from the hoodie project that sometimes, the most ridiculous tasks as EIC can ultimately be the most rewarding. Seeing my team in their maroon hoodies and feeling proud to be on the Midway was absolutely worth the late nights and crashouts over which shade of beige to use. I felt like a true leader — not because I had done some Herculean task for the good of our newspaper, but because I had produced something that my team loved and felt proud of. It was a true moment of team-building, and I know I'll keep my hoodie forever. 

In addition to hoodie production, I consistently work alongside my co-EICs to plan team-building and networking events across journalistic fields (i.e., newspapers, photojournalism, and yearbooks). These have included secret Santa, Thanksgiving cards and old-school paper valentines. There is always time in my day to plan events for the team, and to do the pieces of work that might seem ridiculous in the moment. Why? Because it always ends up being worth it.