Text A: an original contemporary practice extract.

Our theatre’s cue sheet said, ‘Bring in the storm when Lena drops it.’ The regular crew knew that ‘it’ meant a metal tray that Lena deliberately let fall near the end of the scene. During a charity performance, a volunteer saw her drop a scarf earlier and started the recorded thunder too soon. The instruction depended on a rehearsal memory that the words themselves did not contain.

When preparing a cue sheet for a visiting youth group, I replaced the line with the exact spoken cue and named the tray. Lena then pointed out that the same section mixed planned stage action with advice about accidental falls. I moved the advice into a separate box. We kept the shorthand on our private copy, where it remained efficient, but removed it from the version that would travel without us.

Text B: an original contemporary practice extract.

Our community radio editing notes included the instruction ‘cut the long pause’. Experienced editors understood that this meant delays caused by a presenter losing their place, not every extended silence. A trainee shortened the quiet moment after an interviewee described a painful memory. When we listened again, the answer seemed hurried because the notes had not explained the distinction we made automatically.

For a manual shared with other stations, the producer considered removing the phrase completely. Instead, she kept it as a familiar heading but added contrasting examples of pauses to remove and pauses to retain. She also required editors to ask a colleague when the purpose of a silence was uncertain. The old wording could remain useful, but only if the manual supplied the judgement that our own team had previously carried in its heads.