How do you coach the "untouchable" senior writer?

I remember my biggest fear when some editors who believed in me first made me a front-line editor: How was I, not even 24 years old yet, supposed to supervise reporters with far more experience than me and even bigger egos?

That fear came rushing back when I received an e-mail from a colleague asking: "How have you approached the veteran writer with the delicate ego, the one who thinks he is in the 'senior writer' category and therefore is untouchable when it comes to editing? Sometimes people actually have the title 'senior writer' and therefore feel entitled to fly solo."

First, you handle this person with respect for the seniority and the ego. She has earned this lofty status, probably by performance and definitely by perseverance. Even if the reporter is not untouchable and not entitled to fly solo (to use my colleague's mixed metaphors), he has earned his wings and deserves to be touched with respect.

You also need to earn some respect. The writer might start your relationship by showing some disdain. I supervised a senior writer who kept a piece of paper above his desk that had tally marks on it, one for each editor who had supervised him (and he told me quickly what those marks were). The message was not at all subtle: I outlasted these guys and I'll outlast you (he did, but not before we developed a respectful relationship).

You earn respect by giving it and deserving it. An editor, even an experienced one, can learn from a senior writer. Ask yourself what you can learn from this writer and seek to learn that in conversations with the writer and in editing her work. At the same time, assess the writer's work and identify where and how he needs coaching.

The current move toward heavy use of multimedia gives some young editors a great opportunity in working with senior writers. You may have more experience than the veteran in an area that's suddenly important or, even if you lack experience, it may come easier for you. Many senior writers have great concern over job security (you can bet the senior writer's paycheck costs the company more than the nervous junior editor). You can help them develop valuable skills, which helps develop a respectful relationship.

As someone who spent a dozen years, after I finished my editing career, as a senior writer, I can attest that some of the most confident, untouchable senior writers reached their status because of their thirst for learning. As difficult as I might have been for my editors to direct, that thirst remained (and remains) strong. Show me that you have something to teach me and the thirst wins out over the ego.

Even those who are entitled to fly solo need support from the ground crew and the control tower. Learn where the senior writer needs help and offer appropriate help. Don't try to fly the plane.

Ask questions of the senior writer. If you're always giving assignments and telling how to report the story and what should be the lead, you're going to find yourself in constant conflict. The senior writer knows what to do without you telling her most of the time. You can minimize the conflict by asking questions - How are you going to follow up that story? Who are you going to interview? What records are you checking? What approach will you take? What do you think you'll lead with? If the answers are good, you know this reporter is on track and you don't insult him by telling him what to do. If you don't like any answers, you risk conflict only over the issues where you truly have differences.

Sometimes you just have to stiffen your spine and stand up to the senior writer. Back when I was that youthful editor, I supervised a reporter nearly 40 years older. He was an outstanding reporter whose writing sometimes needed more editing than he could accept gracefully. I learned quickly that he was a stickler for grammar, whose knowledge of grammar was great, but not as great as his confidence in that knowledge. One day when I had to fix a grammatical construction in his story, I double-checked because I knew he was usually right and always stubborn. As expected, he objected to the change. In the ensuing argument, he condescendingly barked at me, "Steve, I got a 99 in grammar at Notre Dame!" I shot right back, "Nick, I got a hundred in grammar at TCU!" It was a lie. I never took grammar at TCU, but I knew my grammar and I had double-checked this point and it was time to stand up to this reporter. And it sounded ridiculous. He laughed. I laughed. He could see that the young editor wasn't going to be bullied. It wasn't long before Nick was steering stories my way because he respected that I could make them better.

And eventually I became that senior writer that editors feared to touch.