I have to raise a glass in toast to my enemy, the typo. My darling man finished the formatting, and got an ebook sent to me for one last check that the formatting looks good on kindle and kindle app, with no further glitches and with all the things I actually meant to be in italics still italicized.
I open the book, and what do I see?
“adn” instead of “and” staring back at me.
15+ rounds of editing, over six weeks. Multiple beta readers. More editing inputting those changes. All this time, it survived, hanging in there, fighting off all attempts to correct the spelling and grammar.
For some reason, when I changed format from Document on the screen to ebook on kindle, I could catch that and a few other typos, a lack of closing quote on a line of dialogue here, an improper verb tense there…
I killed it, of course. But I’ve got to grudgingly respect the little sucker.
And wonder what I didn’t catch…
Well, it should be uploaded and pressing publish today, so I guess we’ll see!
As I sit here, I am surrounded by books. At the periphery of my vision, on either side of my desk, there are tall bookshelves filled with volumes. Somewhere in the dark behind me (I’m writing very early and my office/bedroom is being used for both purposes) there is a stack of books on my nightstand. There are books in my closet, for goodness sakes (I wrote all of those, and they are stacked neatly in boxes). The rest of the house is the same, and my dear reader, I would venture to guess that your homes are similarly accoutered. We are the past of books.
My children are the future of books. I have two still at home, and one who has moved out and is setting up her own tiny nest, well-feathered with her own things, and furniture the parental units set her up with. Which didn’t include a bookshelf. Read more
No, not the extinct scaly (or possibly feathery) critters not seen around for seventy some million years.
I’m talking about the old computer you suddenly need, because your main computer died in the early hours of Monday, and your already glitchy laptop took one look at the vast responsibilities of being a writer’s main tool and went belly up Tuesday afternoon. Read more
Or possibly an old one, because I’m sure this issue has been discussed before. Something like “MacGuffin,” but with a different meaning. I want a word for “pseudo-scientific rationale that allows science fiction writers to get past known scientific problems with a story.” You know, like positing wormholes to account for FTL travel? Read more
I’m seriously losing track of things here. I’m managing to mostly keep up with what day it is, but what week it is is a different matter. Even with a calendar open and my computer showing me the date I needed three tries to find the correct week.
I think what passes for my brain is rotting.
That said, I do like the benefits of working from home – the commute that consists of turning the work computer on in the morning and turning it off in the evening, getting loved by whichever cat has decided he or she needs attention, having a nice view out the window… The problem, such as it is, is that I never really set up to work from home as a semi-permanent thing. I have the work laptop on my desk beside my keyboard and monitor, and it’s not really the best possible position or particularly ergonomic.
We’ve all done it. You write the best fight scene in the world, then realize the story has shot off in a different direction than you planned. Or you have the most amazing snappy dialogue… and it’s three times as long as it should be. Read more
When I was 21, just before she got married, I took my best friend to watch Flash Dance. She liked it, but it made her sad and a little angry. It wasn’t what I wanted to achieve. I was trying to tell her there was a path back to the person she used to be.
It’s probably funny that someone like me, the kid built on elephantine proportions (even when I was thin) and with two left feet to go with the two left hands was best friends with a fairy like creature, skinny, graceful, a slip of a thing with grey eyes and dark blond hair.
But it wasn’t funny, you see, because both of us had, for lack of a better word, vocations that consumed us.