Writer, Editor, Helper

Self-Editing:The Cringe Test

My writing group met recently for our monthly critiquing love- and slugfest. We know each other well enough to be pretty brutal and frank, and mostly that’s good, because it means that if everyone agrees that something’s finished, you can be sure we aren’t just being polite.

This month it happens that we’re all revising manuscripts, and we’re all weighing the pressure to be done with it against the wish for it to be perfect. And we discovered that we’ve all had the same experience at some point, of trying to ignore a subpar passage that we hoped would escape our editor’s/agent’s/reader’s notice.

When you aren’t certain, how do you decide whether a particular chunk is good enough? Some possible cringe tests:

• Imagine you’re interviewed on Fresh Air and Terry Gross chooses that passage to read out loud.
  
• Pretend it’s the only passage an old lover will read when he or she happens across it.
  
• Picture it printed in your obituary.
  

You get the idea—and I’ll bet you have some doozies. The point is, although not every passage will turn out to be quote-worthy, none of them should make you cringe.

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Image: Cringe-Emoji, Theodore Palser, licensed under CC0 Public Domain

English Teacher Bullies?

Recently John McIntyre blogged at the Baltimore Sun about “pedagogical malpractice,” inviting readers to submit stories of English teachers run amuck. I read them with mixed feelings of horror and glee. After all, English teachers, not unlike copyeditors, are an easy target. Their job is to teach the rules, and if they sometimes get carried away to the point of inventing a few, why are we surprised?

Sure, as experienced writers, we’ve learned that the rules of English are often just cardboard bullies that blow over in the wind of good prose. But how is a teacher supposed to impart an ease with bending and breaking rules before they’ve pounded the darned things in to begin with?

An elementary school teacher who wrote to the CMOS online Q&A shamed me into understanding this struggle. She had written for help with commas, asking, “Is it necessary to use a comma after words like next, then, after that, last, and finally when they are the beginning of a sentence? I am a lower-school teacher and need to clarify this.” I had replied, “Punctuation is not so simple that you can make a rule that a comma ‘always’ follows a given word or phrase. Commas depend on syntax as well as pacing, tone, and personal preference. . . . Please don’t teach your students punctuation until you understand this.”

Her response was both discouraged and scathing, taking me to task for my smart-assed unhelpfulness. Who, I understood, would teach her kids if she didn’t? Was I volunteering for the job?

From my seat in the ivory tower, it’s easy to forget that teachers have an entirely different slant on things. Rules are the floats young learners cling to while learning to swim. Mind, I won’t excuse a high-school or college teacher-bully who demands that paragraphs consist of exactly five sentences or who ban the use of the word “thing.” The best teachers will figure out how to model flexibility as opposed to laying down the law. But if reducing English grammar and writing to a teachable science results in some overstated rules now and then, maybe we can consider it a valid—and temporary—stage of learning.

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Image courtesy of FreeSVG

Master the Basics and Feel the Power

Not long ago I watched over a friend’s shoulder as she made corrections to a document in MS Word, lumbering along in slow motion with her mouse, and after about two minutes of this, it was all I could do to keep from snarling “Let me drive!” and knocking her out of the chair.

Okay, so I’m working on the patience thing. But meanwhile, I have a feeling that copyeditors everywhere are wasting billions of hours and a lot of carpal tunnel nerves simply because they don’t know the most basic moves in word processing.

An example: when my friend wanted to undo an action, she motored her mouse up to the toolbar and clicked on the Undo arrow. About the fifth time she did that, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “You know, Ctrl+Z is easier.” Embarrassed, she mumbled something about bad habits.

Here’s what I propose, and it’s simple, and it will change your life: over the next few days, make note of the computer action you perform most, and if you aren’t using a keyboard shortcut for it, find one. Here are two good ways to find a shortcut:*

1. Search online, e.g., “MS Word undo.”
   
2. Within Word, go to Tools, then Customize, then Keyboard. (In Word 2007, start with the Office Button, then Word Options, then Customize, then Keyboard Shortcuts.) I always scroll down in the Categories box and choose All Commands, which provides a list in the Commands box of everything you might want to do. Click on the chore you want to do faster, and you’ll see what the keyboard command is for that chore. And (this is the most exciting part), if you don’t like it, you can change it. And if there isn’t one, you can assign one.
   

The next part is admittedly more challenging: force yourself to use the shortcut. But I guarantee that after the first awkwardness, you will feel the power! And you’ll go back for more.

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*You can also try the Help files in MS Word, although older versions tend to recommend clicking on menus and toolbar icons instead of using the keyboard.

Photo: She Ra, 1980s Princess of Power Doll, by Speckled Owl, courtesy of Flickr

Dodging Editorial Bullets

Last evening I attended a lovely cello recital in a private home in my neighborhood. Sitting in the parlor listening to Brahms on a 1768 Benjamin Banks, many of us deep in reverie (or snoozing—hard to tell), I was startled to see a teacup roll off its saucer from the lap of my abstracted neighbor Peggy. I tensed for the crash, but the cup hit the plush Aubusson, somersaulted gently onto the wood floor, and miraculously righted itself without a sound. At a suitable moment, I retrieved it from under the settee and handed it back. Peggy inspected it for damage, caught her breath, and whispered “Spode!”

Walking home, I pulled out my cell phone, thinking how lucky Peggy had been not to break the china—and saw that my ringer was on. Full blast. This time the luck was mine, not to have jerked everyone awake with a tinny chorus of “Ain’t Misbehavin’.”

In copyediting, we forget, we overlook, we nod off. Often we catch our errors (or someone else does) before it’s too late, and no doubt we are happily unaware of many errors that make it into print. Copyediting and proofreading the sixteenth edition of The Chicago Manual of Style, the team here caught typos and errors in every round, and every time, we felt the relief that comes with escaping shame and embarrassment, along with the naive hope that now it’s perfect.

But inevitably a few goofs are lurking in the pages. (And knowing our readers, we won’t remain unaware of them for long.)

Editorial Road Rage

You know the feeling: some jerk behind you hammers the horn and flips you off while you wait for the light, even though the sign says “No Turns on Red”; that feeling when someone tailgates, or cuts you off, or won’t let you merge—or won’t accept your editing.

In The Subversive Copy Editor, I wrote about telling my son John that I didn’t think I was cut out to be a copyeditor because I got too upset when an author disagreed with me. When I added that unfortunately I couldn’t think of any other job I was more suited for, he answered, “Maybe you could be a terrorist.”

I’m pretty sure he was kidding.

Although copyediting (or being copyedited) can bring out the worst in a person, lives are not usually at stake. Often enough our egos are the only thing in danger of injury. Still, there are times I feel the rage. And over time, I’ve learned that it simply doesn’t do any good to take an editorial flipoff personally. Better to let it go and save your arguments for writing that is flat-out wrong or embarrassing or offensive. Think to yourself, I did my job. It’s her byline, not mine. My colleagues will sympathize. It’ll make a great dinner-party story. Someday I’ll write a book.

Perhaps you edit the way you drive, either with a fair bit of confidence and a little too fast, or poking along in the slow lane. Either way, just try to respect the most important rules, watch out for the other guy, and get home safely. 

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Photo courtesy of Needpix.com

When the Privacy You LoseIsn’t Even Yours

Some time ago I discovered by Googling myself (no, I’m not ashamed of that) that my phone number is 773-633-671, that I created the website for the Chicago Manual of Style, and—most surprising of all—that I am the author of a book about ferrets. Being naive and optimistic, I tried to get the information removed or corrected, which, I’m sure you know, is much more difficult than putting toothpaste back in the tube (which is not that hard).*

The most effective way to deal with misinformation about oneself is not to care. And over time, I truly have come not to care whether people believe that I wrote a book about ferrets. But I do continue to care about accuracy in published media. It’s something copyeditors are in a position to support.

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*V-e-r-y carefully and slowly squeeze as much air from the tube as you can without letting any more toothpaste out. Then put the mouth of the tube against the escaped toothpaste and stop squeezing. The toothpaste should slurp right on in. Repeat five hundred times.

Photo: Black Footed Ferrets, by skeeze from Pixabay.

 

Who Loves a Book More?

[Note, March 30, 2021: This was written in 2010 and—unbelievably—still true.]

I am so tired of people looking down their noses at my e-reader and explaining that they love books. So today I’m going to answer their complaints, one by one.

Book Lover: Because I’m a person of passion and a true intellectual, I love the feel, the smell, the je ne sais quoi of a real book.

Me: Are you kidding? Recently I heard publisher Stephen Roxburgh speak to a group of writers in a bookstore. He held up a 1710 edition of Swift’s Tale of a Tub, leather-bound with marbled papers, beautifully etched, letter-pressed on vellum. Three hundred years old and looking like new. He said, “If you tell me you love this book, I’m right there with you.” He swept his arm toward the bookshelves. “These? Pulp. Fit for a landfill.” Then he held up his new iPad. “I also love this book,” he said, and showed how, like the Swift, it was beautifully designed, a pleasure to examine and hold, and how, unlike the Swift, its content was actually readable and enjoyable.

Book Lover: You can’t cuddle up with an e-book.

Me: But you can cuddle up with a four-hundred-page hardcover? My e-book is smaller, lighter, and easier to read in any cuddling position, I guarantee you. You can turn pages with one hand and the type will turn sideways or upside down, if you ask it to.

Book Lover: I don’t want my books to glare at me.

Me: Although we are probably in the minority, I will grant you that. That’s why I prefer an e-ink reader to an LED-lit one. I can read it outdoors in the sun or in the romantic glow of the lamp on my bed table.

Book Lover: I hate change.

Me: Well, you got me there.

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Photo: Emkaer / CC BY-SA

Getting Along with Colleagues Tip #1:Share an Interest

Although naturally you already have things in common with your colleagues, good relationships at work shouldn't revolve exclusively around gossip or trashing the boss. Just this week, I found the perfect project to rally my coworkers: pygmy goats. Who could resist? Right away, several of my colleagues agreed that we should buy a few and begin making cheese.

Solving the challenge of where to put the little guys created a bonding experience within my group. Plan A is to ask the building manager to find a place for them in the way he found a place for people to park their bicycles. We will argue that goats should be easier than bicycles, because the goats are smaller and fewer. Plan B is to approach the Chicago Theological Seminary for help. Their new building is going up literally next door, and since the CTS has been boasting about the greenness of their new building (in spite of the fact that they demolished a revered community garden in the process of setting up their construction site), we figure they should be willing to grow grass on the roof and let our small herd graze there.

Whatever the outcome, working with my colleagues on this project has led to a great deal of mutual respect and team-building goodwill. Try it and see!

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Image by Elle E. Kay from Pixabay

Um . . . er . . . is this mic on?

Last night I was lucky enough to sit near a popular public radio host at an awards banquet. (I wasn't supposed to sit at the head table, but I couldn't find a seat and someone there offered me one so I took it without realizing. By the time I figured it out, it was too late.) My book was up for an award, but I wasn't a winner, so I explained this to the radio guy, and then I felt that I had to clarify "Not that I'm a loser," just to make sure he didn't call security or something about me sitting at the head table.

Anyway, the radio guy (let's call him Steve) asked about my book, which led us to talk about sticklers, and it turns out that in radio, there are plenty of these. Steve says that people phone and email the station all the time to complain that someone speaking on the radio used the wrong verb or mispronounced something. So now I have a whole new appreciation for all those gracious and articulate and brave radio announcers who don't have a chance to read over and copyedit their words as they emerge at 150 miles a minute.

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Image by Jorge Guillen from Pixabay