Chris Martin- Spot the Difference: who edits the editors?

Since graduating, I've submitted copy to a variety of publications, often thanklessly and without payment, in the hope of creating a strong folio of work under my name. I'm now happy with the standard of my writing and look forward to seeing each piece in print or online, a far cry from how I felt when I started out. I'm getting better then, not that you'd necessarily be able to tell from reading the publications themselves. You see, occasionally an editor, who cares less about your name being tarnished than you do, will make changes that are objectively detrimental to your writing. They're often very busy and can't be expected to pay as much thought to all submissions as you do your own, but it's frustrating whenever this happens.

My recent review of the comedian Chris Martin is a case in point. Here's what I submitted:

The performer cuts a trim figure on stage, sports a fashionable t-shirt/cardigan combo and leers at us from behind neatly cultivated facial hair. He speaks of relatable, everyday phenomena. Backed by a major promoter, he is being bred for success and will go far so long as he continues to share his name with an existing mega-celebrity.

It's tempting to dismiss Chris Martin as a generic young standup, lacking in originality yet poised for national success. Outside of a significant poster campaign, there's little to distinguish him from countless other hopefuls, each desperately clambering for a slot on Live at the Apollo.

A tricky proposition to market, the superficially bland 26 year old shines in the quality of his frequently mundane material and takes time to reveal his considerable strengths.

An opening routine concerning a squirrel-triggered epiphany is too far fetched to impress, but Martin soon changes tack. Dwelling on culinary politics for much of Spot the Difference, his observations are so broad and universal that he seems to conjure solid material out of nothing. Emitting the verbal tic “but food is weird, I'm obsessed with food,” between each gag, he appears to act outside his own will, musing on vegetarianism, biscuits and cheese like a man possessed. Only when he reads from his father's food diary, an interesting idea in itself, does he slow down and relinquish his command of the audience. Frequently inane but always good natured, the hour flies by.

So there you have it. Eagle eyed readers will notice that I don't name Chris Martin until the second paragraph. Why? Because I'm emphasising his superficial blandness and generic qualities. The opening is deliberately inspecific because at first glance he could be any mid-20s comic on the circuit. Whether you think the way the review is structured is clever or not, you can't deny that it has a structure.

Now, imagine my disappointment when I see the fruits of my labour in print:

Chris Martin cuts a trim figure on stage, sports a fashionable t-shirt/cardigan combo and leers at us from behind neatly cultivated facial hair. He speaks of relatable, everyday phenomena. Backed by a major promoter, he is being bred for success and will go far so long as he continues to share his name with an existing mega-celebrity.

It's tempting to dismiss Chris Martin as a generic young standup...

It now seems that I am obsessed with Chris Martin, describing his appearance in too much detail and repeating his full name too frequently. Do dear in mind that the text pasted above appeared under a bold heading which stated the man's name.

Once more, a decent piece of work instantly becomes a source of shame. Getting paid for it was admittedly some consolation.