For whatever I can share to inform, inspire, enlighten, and bring joy and hope to others, then this blog has best served its purpose.

Thursday, October 6, 2011


During my application for a Copy Editor position at a publishing company and, as part of the application process after having passed the initial interview, one of the questions asked in the examination was this:"How would you explain death to a four-year-old child?" The examination, which was four to five pages long and divided into four parts with the essay type being the last part, was the type of exam designed to gauge up a writer's editorial capability and as much, as well, as of the insights one can effectively convey with for a given situation or subject. But how would you explain death to a four-year-old child?

Explaining death to a child, I think, requires a skill. But I also wonder how a four-year-old child would be curious about death and to ask or let someone explain what it is all about. After having written some few good sentences on the topic, I started to think and paused for a while. Since the exam was time-pressured so I'm aware that I only had a definitely limited time to finish it. Should I have to wait a little longer for that linguistic explosion to take place? Or should I proceed on with whatever my mind is capable of translating thoughts into written words.

I think we are all writers in our own rights. It's only that some would rather write it simply and in a much digestible language while others, on the other hand, exceptionally expressed it very well and convincingly. To write is to express one's thoughts and emotions. To write is to think. Writing begins in the mind. To write is to be free. To write is to be responsible.

Explaining death to a four-year-old child requires a skill, indeed. Our instant insights would be crucial. It must allow us to reveal the best writer that each one of us can possibly be and to try to instill wisdom at even such a so young and innocent a mind of our subject.

I would like to write more but I'm losing space on the page. It's not yet time but someone must read the unwritten or, if not, the what was otherwise being meant. Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the HR and handed her the answer sheets.  In my mind I told her, that's impromptu. That's me.


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