It’s Sunday morning and this is Chris Fisher and he’s going to tame your unruly manuscript without changing a damn thing he’s wearing.
Except the thermal. I suggest he switch that out to blaze orange in order to be fair to his opponents. Not that his clients at the author services firm The Editorial Department are opponents, but then again they are, kind of, and you know what I mean if you’ve ever been critiqued. Especially a paid critique where you say “here’s my $xxx go ahead and tear me apart” but what you really want is “Dear Writer, we cannot believe this, honestly, there’s nothing to change or add, nothing, we envy your work, thank you for allowing us to read.” Which, I don’t know, most of us have never received that kind of thing but Chris may have. He’s good. So let’s give him a challenge.
Let’s get him out of the spotless home office with not so much as a pile of laundry as an opposing force (did you catch the laundry? Bottom right, with a shirt or something artfully spilling out the top but I think that’s just for show, mostly it’s all tucked into the basket) and put him eyeball-to-eyeball with something worth his time, like blasphemous voodoo powder. Or a house of God crumbling in the crush of sun and abandonment.
See, then, how the jeans and thermal and the impassive stare take on an entirely fresh new look? Like, oh thank goodness, denim! Something to save us from this exotic and austere evil force. Thank goodness, flannel, a shred of compassion in the midst of devastation.
The whiteboard (from an alternate shot Chris sent from his office, which showed more of the room and honestly the only thing close to chaos was whatever was scribbled on the board, which was probably in alphabetical order) is optional but I favor accessories and in this case I think the board is better than a holster or hatchet or something more obvious. Anybody can look terrifying with an actual weapon in their hand. It’s the better writer/editor who can strike fear and inspire ambition without much ornamentation.
So, Chris, you’re mostly good to go. Just switch the undershirt and wander the wildnerness till you find a more suitable workspace.
God, seriously. Do you not love how those orange sleeves make the hopeless hell of life on earth really pop?
Next makeover: Boston Conservatory’s Meghan Cadwallader and Brian Calhoon. That’s THE Boston Conservatory, but it’s ok, Midwestern readers, I’m prepared to explain prairie aesthetic and why the East Coast must yield to it.