Writer, Editor, Helper

“Leave My Prose Alone”: The Resistant Writer

“Please tell the copyeditor to leave my prose alone.” That’s an actual author request I encountered in a newly arrived manuscript. I looked at the first few pages. The content was complex, phrasing idiosyncratic, punctuation random.

A more mature and compassionate person would have recognized a writer who’d been frightened and damaged by a previous copyediting experience. That person would have recommended assigning him to an especially sensitive manuscript editor—perhaps to my colleague who adopts greyhounds. Instead, in a huff, I suggested we fling that puppy to our most junior assistant for a once-over typo check.

My reaction (of which I’m not proud) raises a question for writers who resist copyediting: which is worse—a bad copyedit, or none at all? At least with a bad one, you can pick and choose what to accept. And consider—you might get a reader who improves your work and teaches you something. Are you open to that?

A good copyeditor can win over a resistant writer. Approaching him as we would an abused puppy, we try to build trust. We ask intelligent questions that express understanding and respect. We assure him that our work will be transparent and the editing negotiable. We emphasize collaboration. (Okay—I don’t know anything about puppies.)

When I was little, a lifeguard saved me from drowning. By the time he dumped me on the sand, I was scratched and bruised. (I’m sure it’s not easy to ferry a kid in full panic mode a hundred yards.) Although I soon got over the little hurts, I was left with a lifelong fear of the water. I imagine that in the same situation, our haughty writer friend would be left with a lifelong fear of lifeguards, confident that he could swim and blaming them for the bruises.

Writers who believe their writing is faultless and perceive a copyeditor’s work as an intrusion are missing out. Not that copyeditors save lives. But sometimes they do save a book.

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Drawing: Courtesy Dan4th.

For Writers: Letting Go When It Doesn't Work

For the next few weeks, I’ll be on the other side of the desk, at least in my off hours: my children’s novel is back from the copyeditor.* So far, I’m delighted with her work. After scanning the first few pages of her tracked changes, I’m confident that I’ll be able to click on “Accept All” and put back the few changes I don’t like.

About a third of the way through, however, I’ve come to a query that’s tugging at my heart. You have experienced this kind of query. It involves a passage (1) that you are especially fond of; (2) that has been challenged by at least one other reader whose lack of understanding puzzled and annoyed you; and (3) that you now realize is doomed, because no one in the world except you is going to appreciate its beauty and aptness. What’s wrong with everyone anyway!

The passage in my book tells of a small boy who discovers a tin in the back of a pantry shelf at his grama’s. Unnoticed by anyone, he opens it:

—and there, on the lowest shelf in the back,
a tin I didn’t know.
I pulled off the lid, humming,
roll me over to Pottinger’s farm . . .
Opened: money—
bills in a fat roll.
I put it back,
like a thief,
all the way back where it was,
where nobody knew.
On my feet, I ran to the table,
face hot, singing, shouting,
“Roll me on over to Pottinger’s farm!
Roll me to Pottinger’s farm!”

Two readers have insisted that “like a thief” makes no sense. I’m resigned to changing it. But why is it not obvious what I mean? He senses that the money is somebody’s guilty secret. He puts it back quietly, so no one will hear him. Putting it back and saying nothing makes him complicit.

I won’t ask you for permission to keep it. When two smart, literate readers are puzzled, it doesn’t matter how many smart, literate readers aren’t. (And on my own behalf, I’ll note that several haven’t been—or at least they didn’t flag it.)

So please don’t encourage me. Instead, if you think the image is hackneyed, misleading, or stupid, say so. Don’t spare me. It will make it easier for me to do what I have to do: let it go.
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*I promise not to be overly obnoxious by promoting here a book unrelated to copyediting. But many of you are writers, and writing issues have always been treated in this blog. So when my experiences in press seem relevant, I won’t resist posting about them. Once Eddie’s War is out—soon, I hope—I’ll post a link to its site.

Text vs. Design: What’s the Story?

Do you ever go downtown to a gallery on a Friday night, an unglamorous one you’ve been to several times, only to find that on this night it happens to be hosting the hottest opening in town and you’re the only one there in snow boots lugging a backpack? Me too.

 

But never mind. Looking at the remarkable images by Chicago street photographer Vivian Maier, and then at the tiny scrap of text on each label, I wanted to know more. Who are these people? What neighborhood is this? The stranger next to me (in four-inch Jimmy Choos) said, “The point is to bring your own story.” A romantic. But all right, fine—I can bring a story to street photos.

At the next gallery, next to each Elliott Erwitt photograph, there was a pushpin with a microscopic number on its head. The gallery catalog gave basic identification: 1960, during filming of The Misfits in Reno, Nevada.

A group of us stood there guessing: Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Montgomery Clift. Someone pointed out Arthur Miller. Who were the others?* What would Ms. Choo say—that the point was to bond with strangers while guessing the facts?

In publishing, there is always a war between text and display, and as a copyeditor, I’m going to fight for the text. Truly, I’m sympathetic to both. Recently I reviewed the layouts of a beautifully illustrated book about Chicago architect Henry Ives Cobb and noticed that on pages with multiple images the captions were often grouped on the facing page, and the images had no numbers. I spent some time making sure that there would be no confusion, and decided not to fuss. Besides, I knew the designer would rather swallow a page of lorem ipsum than blot those nice, clean pages with figure numbers.

Other times, though, we have to fuss. We put on our sensible shoes and object to guide words hidden in the gutter of a reference book, footnotes that are too small to read, and old-style numerals just on principle. Our job is to protect the text without jeopardizing its aesthetic appeal.

With luck, the result is a marriage of text and design that gives readers a pleasing experience—regardless of their footwear preferences.
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*Research suggests John Huston, Eli Wallach, and Frank Taylor.

For Happier Reading Online: Some Browser Tips

If you spend a fair amount of time reading online, and if, like me, you find that browsing and reading is sometimes difficult, uncomfortable, or nearly impossible because of type that’s hard to read, intrusive advertisements, or any number of other annoyances, then take a few minutes to discipline your browser.

Here are just a few very basic suggestions, all of which are free, easy, and guaranteed to make a big difference in your quality of life online.

—Block the pop-up ads. Adblock and Adblock Plus* are free downloads that worked for me in Firefox, Internet Explorer, and Google Chrome at a point when I was ready to feed my laptop to the dumpster. In one case I had immediate, blessed relief from muffin-top bellies bulging in and out of bikinis and terrifying hags shedding their wrinkles (take that, demographics!); in another case it took a couple of reboots to kick in.

—Memorize a simple command for enlarging the type on your screen. Ctrl + will enlarge everything (on a Mac, Command +), and Ctrl - will reduce everything (on a Mac, Command -).

—Cycle through all your open applications with Alt + Tab (on a Mac, Command + Tab).

—If your eyes are crossing from overdesigned type (such as white gothic on a black background) in a lengthy post, copy the text and paste it into a Word doc, then style it in a size and typeface you like. If the text seems not to paste in, it’s probably because the type is white and therefore invisible, so Select All (Ctrl-A) and color it black. I paste in the URL as well if I decide to save the document, in case I want to cite it later.

—Finally, if interruptions by your boss, your kids, or your spouse are inconvenient to your browsing, there are free downloadable “panic buttons” that will close all your browser windows with a single key command. I’m afraid you’ll have to find those on your own, however. I know nothing about them.
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*To find the one you want, type, “Adblock Chrome” or whatever combination applies into your search engine.