As an editor for many years, perhaps too many years, I have come to think in headlines.

This means I am loath to use words more than six letters long because longer words might not fit on top of a column on a newspaper page.

Like you, I used to experience happiness and sorrow. I savored victory and detested defeat. Now, I know only joy or woe, a win or a loss.

In the past, I thought lawmakers considered, proposed, rejected or approved legislation. But now I believe they only mull, push, block or OK laws.

The editing never stops. Restaurant menus and billboards get critiqued until my wife has to call for a change of subject. The United States of America, which has inspired people around the world and whose democratic example shines bright even in these troubled times, has more out-of-place apostrophes than any other nation on earth.

Sadly, the Register has its share.

Yet the affliction that strikes me most is hedlinus cerebrus, and spells often hit at home.

Say the cats knock over a pile of CDs, papers, magazines and spare change in the den. The noise they make scares them, and they run off. When my wife asks what happened, I might say: “Cat-astrophe: Pile clatters, kitties scatter.”

Headlines can also be used to set the evening schedule. My wife might be relaxing in front of the TV when I’ll announce, “Dutiful husband makes romantic meal: Kisses to follow.”

Just as in the real news business, in the fake headline game bad news can be more gripping than good news.

As a result, all the men who have given me any reason to suspect they are sweet on my wife have had a headline composed regarding their untimely demise.

“County official felled by rare bat bite.”

“Either oar: Boatman’s death an accident?”

“Head’s up at fifth tee: Golf fundraiser ends in tragedy.”

“Bocce drama ends in trauma.”

“Apple moths swarm Rotarian.”

Back in the real world, readers often give Register staff writers grief for what they believe are misleading or inadequate headlines. But reporters rarely craft their own headlines.

Usually, it is one of us on “the desk,” editors or page designers, who concoct the words to fit the headline space. We’re the ones who know how much space is available. Furthermore, headlines are more like haiku than prose, and composing them requires a different mindset.

The art is to boil the news down, selectively ignoring certain rules of grammar, remaining true to the facts while sparking as much reader interest as possible.

So, “Expanded nutrition program now mandatory at elementary schools” won’t work. Too long and boring. Program, nutrition, mandatory — those words are putting me to sleep. More importantly, they won’t fit in the available space.

“NVUSD: Eat your greens, kids!” Now that has a nice ring to it.

So, another week of writing headlines and pushing paragraphs around has come to an end. In other words: “Column complete, editor waters tomatoes.”