Random rants, comments on life, words, people, and art

Contract Writing

How I Copyedit

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Given the tenor of my last several days’ tweeting (and the likely tenor of the next several days) and the sheer number of “WTF are you doing!?” questions I’m getting, let me ‘splain.

I am copyediting a freelance job. What is copyediting, you might ask?  In its simplest sense, copyediting is making sure that things are spelled right, that the word used is the word intended, and that things fit together in a nice, non-broken mirror sort of way.

Are you OCD? Then this is the job for you.

I am not OCD. I have OCD tendencies, but I can let things go. I don’t particularly enjoying copyediting, but work is work and I’ve got bills to pay.

So. What’s giving me headaches? Let me go through the general idea of how I work this stuff:

1. I read a sentence. Did I read from beginning to end without stopping? Check yes/no (mentally, of course).

2. If no, go to 5.

3. If yes, determine why. Likely causes are a) misspelled word, b) incoherent punctuation, c) “I don’t think that’s what they meant to say,” or d) plain old-fashing WTF?

4. Correct (or, depending on scale of WTFery, suggest correction) and proceed to 5. In some cases, the sentence is so snarled that there are too many possible meanings to choose the likely one. Tag for later review by supervisor.

5. Go to next sentence. Repeat ad nauseum.

That’s easy, you might be thinking. And you’d be right–it is easy, technically. But it’s tedious. It’s mind-numbing. And after four pages or so (at 9-pt font) you get really frustrated correcting plural possessive “s” over and over again. Or correcting “since” to “sense.” Or than/then and they’re/their/there confusion. Or sentence structure that contradicts the likely meaning of the sentence.  Plural and singular confusion amongst clauses. That sort of thing.

And then there’s the fun stuff. Let’s say on page 2 you say “the mouse has red hair.” You cannot then, on page 4, claim said mouse has orange hair. That’s called being inconsistent.

Since this is work-for-hire, for someone else’s universe, I also have to ensure continuity with their internal style guide. So, for instance, if they spell (for whatever reason) coffee as coFFee, it must have those two capital F’s in it every time. Such companies tend to frown on people changing their stuff without permission.

The value of copyediting, for the writer, is that it (hopefully) catches your mistakes. I worship my copyeditors, because I make lots of mistakes and I sometimes miss them.  Another benefit, this time for the company I’m contracted with for this, is that this reveals chronic mistakes for training purposes.

I like copyeditors, as people. And I like those that work on my projects. But I don’t particularly enjoy it, and I’m glad when each one is over.

As proof that copyeditors are necessary, I’ll not proofread this post before I publish it. There should be plenty-enough mistakes in here from my ten minutes’ effort for  you all to pick apart. ;)


So, My Weekend…

dude

… has been busy.  Where to start.

Friday evening was filled firstly with an interlude at Kohls, where I wasted two hours before the movie trying on shirts and shoes and generally spending money I can’t afford on things I don’t need.  Go me. I rawk.  I also learned that, had I already lost the weight I wish to lose, I’d fit in size medium shirts of a certain brand in just that right way that shouts “Look, I have muscles but not really.”  Buttjangles. I must return the diet and exercise, else suffer the ravages of old age and sag. (and yes, there’s Shakespeare going in the background–Jessica Lange’s about to lose her firstborn son, natch.)

In the end, a shirt and shoes and sundry undergarmets were purchased, and there was great rejoicing. Well, there was rejoicing, anyway. I did a little dance in the car.  It was awesome.  (it probably wasn’t, but shut up.)

After that came Super 8, which turned out to be pretty much exactly what I expected: Goonies + ET + 20 years of little-kids-know-best movies under terrific direction, beautiful cinematography and foul-mouthed 14-year-olds.  I sat through the whole thing, emotionally enthralled by the bright lights and pretty explosions but intellectually disappointed at a told-again story.  It’s a good movie–maybe a great movie–but there’s nothing new there.  And the only real shocker I’d like to see now is JJ Abrams get a new monster-making company; they do good work, but they only have one look for “terrifying alien, from off-world, one each.”

And after that fine cinematic experience, there followed a quick ride through the shower-of-out-after-ten making and a trick to the Upstairs to get my drink on with the boys and girls from work–but the girl, of course, bailed.  So sad. If only she weren’t dying (she claims).  Jury’s still out…

Jason? At a bar? I know–what was I thinking, right? I was thinking I haven’t been out in ages, and I was curious to see what had become of the bar scene. Strangely, it was differently the same.  The dresses are shorter, the bras lift-ier, and the attitudes dumber.  So much more muscle present these days–twas quite interesting watching guys in torn jeans and shitty t-shirts hitting on girls in 90$ shoes and $200 underwear. There may have been dresses involved… I can’t remember.  I have confirmed that the bar scene is not my scene.  There’s nothing there but eye candy and condescension–they bring the eye candy and I the condescension. Still, it was fun… but I need a little shinier, a little quieter, and a little older-occupied bar to get my flirt on.  Though I do regret I didn’t get shot down more–if only for the practice.  I can confirm, for those watching from the cheap seats, that I remain popular amongst large women and gay men.

So sad.

And every day past Friday, from thence to now, has been filled with copyediting–which I’m sure is making me dumber.  It’s for certain making me fatter, gods damn it cross the nine hells.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to making the words prettier.  And listening to Titus Andronicus go stark raving vengeful mad….  hahahahaaha.


Is it over yet?

I hate hump-day.  Mostly because I’m not humping.  But meh…

Anyway, in no apparent order, my thoughts for the day.

  • driving slow in the left-hand lane in America should be a capital offense. I mean it, people: if you’re getting passed by people on the right, you are in the wrong lane.  Continuing to do so after you realize what is happening makes you a sub-human kind of life that I wish I could pay Libyan fighter pilots to strafe.
  • Oooh, shiny! people bug the living shit out of me.
  • I love my Dropbox.
  • I must finish this novel outline tonight, because the urge to send it for approval and be able to say “ha, you little muchkins will bow to what I want this time, muwhahahah” is getting irresistible.  Also, because it’d be nice to see some decisions made on the basis of story, rather than ‘golly, that’d be so cool!’
  • I must try to work toward the end of Seekrit Projekt #thisone.  Because the end is shaping well, and it may just work, and then all you whiners can shut the fuck up!
  • There had better be big checks in my future. Or heads will roll. Roll, I say!
  • Did I mention Oooh, shiny! people but the shit out of me?
  • Ooooh, shiny people bug the shit out of me.  Like, a lot.
  • I feel an odd sense of satisfaction with the confirmation that someone I suspected was lying was, actually, lying.  It makes me feel good to have my instincts verified yet again–even if it does mean one man’s descent in douchery continues.
  • I saw a headline today: “What should Obama do about Libya?”  Oddly, none of the options given were “I dunno, nothing?  That whole sovereignty issue?  I mean, how would we take it if Qaddafi suddenly called up the White House and said “Listen, I’m going to need you to stop taxing the people on the list I’m going to email you, or else I’ll not be your friend any more.”  Otherwise we’re two steps away from lebensraum.  And I say that as an imperialist.
  • I’m not going to get any of that done. Justified is one tonight.  And I just bought the first season on DVD.
  • And with that… I’m out of here.

Deadlines for Dummies

I don’t miss my deadlines.

Okay, sometimes I do. But always for very good reasons that aren’t “I’m just a lazy sack.”  And not often.  I can think of three in the last four years.

I don’t miss my deadlines because I don’t like wasted time. I don’t like my time wasted, and I don’t like to waste other peoples’ time.  Do you know what happens when a writer misses his or her deadline?  Time is wasted.  Also, if I’m involved and it’s my time being wasted, my blood pressure approaches diamond-forming pressures.

Any writing project involves many people and a schedule.  Let’s say I’m the writer for a story called “Yes, I Really Will Hit You With This Mallet.” We’ll call it “Ouch,” for short.  “Ouch” is supposed to publish on Date Z.  Which means it must be on the layout person’s desk by Date Y.  On the copyeditor’s desk by Date X.  On the content editor’s desk by Date W.  And completed by the writer (me) on Date V.  So Date V is my writing deadline, and so four separate people can know schedule work for the story “Ouch” on their calendars.

Just like the rest of the world, it’s important to remember that each of those four people are not working in a vacuum.  The writer (me) may have other projects lined up, that have due dates like Date V minus ten days (the job before) and Date V plus ten days (the job after).  The content editor, the copyeditor, and the layout person also have other plus-and-minus duties.  The printer, if necessary, is ALWAYS booked before and after.  Trust me. No one with a printing press has it sitting idle, just waiting for you to call with the print-ready file.

Now, look at those dates and the number of people involved.  Do you get it yet?  Let’s say I blow my deadline by five days.  Instead of turning in “Ouch” on Date V, I’m turning it in on Date V plus five.  Which means I now have half the necessary time to deliver the next project, the one that was originally due on Date V plus ten days.  The content editor is now off his schedule; the copyeditor is now off her schedule; the layout person is now off his schedule.  My failure to do my job in the time I said I would is now affecting not only my own work, but the work of five other people, AND their work on whatever their next project is.  Which means it’s entirely possible I’ve  just added unnecessary stress to another writer’s project.

What if I’d missed my date by ten days?  Twenty days?  I could be ruining the carefully scheduled time of a full dozen very busy schedule, who all approach, promise, and contract work based on deadlines that I’ve now made them risk missing.  Which means my failure to do my job threatens their jobs.

I don’t miss my deadlines.  I prefer not to have a dozen people all looking at me angrily because I’ve just threatened the schedules that put food on their tables, pay for their children’s medical bills, and let them take vacations in Tahiti.

So, no, writer-who-just-emailed-me.  Saying “I’m going to be a week late on that project you needed,” is not okay.  Nor does adding a “:(” to the end make it better.  Do your fucking job.

You can be assured, next time I’ll offer the work to someone who can read a calendar.


I’ve been oddly unmotivated today. Must be the GODDAMN FUCKTON OF SNOW that won’t stop falling.  Tomorrow my cardio will be shoveling enough snow to get to the grocery store.  And the shed, because I’ve burnt up all the firewood inside.  And I can’t go outside to get more.

It’s cold.

And that would mean I’d have to get dressed.  Bugger that for a lark.

I’ve got a new 20-odd thousand word project I got the contract for yesterday.  Having signed and returned said contract, I need to get started, and with a relatively quiet weekend coming up I can probably get most of it done by Monday.  Which would be good, since I’ve had to table two other projects until I can get this one off.  Such is the life of a freelancer.

A graphic designer I deal with at the dayjob was telling me the other day how overbooked she is for January.  “But,” she said, “when you’re a freelancer you have to take the work as it comes at you–because who knows, there might not be any in February.”  Truer words were never spoken.  I enjoy freelancing, most of the time.  I get to work on interesting projects just long enough for them to get boring–and then I’m done!  And, some days, when I haven’t wasted my time with fucktards, I get paid.  It’d difficult to get bored with a project when its running full-tilt at your deadline, waving both hands and screaming so you can’t concentrate.  It’s even more fun when you get four of those projects at the same time. I work best under pressure–I’m too easily distracted otherwise.  Give me a contract and a deadline and I’ll get it done.  I’ve built a modest reputation on that.

In other news, I hit one of my old professors up for a job the other day–freelance-y type stuff.  We’ll see if anything comes of that, or if he just ignores me.

Please, zombie Jesus, let it stop snowing tomorrow. I’ve got shit to do.

……………………..

Freelance writing: 1,000 words or so of revision

Fun writing: zilch

Exercise: none–recovery day

Calories: 1,100 or so (whose counting, it’s a snow day)

Song of the day: (I’m feeling a little vindictive today)


Feh. Any fool can do it…

I wrote a novel in 29 days.

97,500 words from Oct 31 to Nov 28.  I’d say I completed NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) except that I didn’t do it out of solidarity with my fellow writers–I did it because I was under deadline.  60,000 words of it were written in the last fifteen days (more than 5,000 words a day, most days).  It hurt. A lot.

But I did it.  And it was a fun experience, knowing that I can take a 4,000 word outline to novel-length under pressure. 

I think I’ll do it again in January/February.  Sixty days feels like my comfortable pace, I think.  About 2,000 words a day.


Reports of my death…

boo… have been greatly exaggerated.  I’ve been in the deadline-hell of a massive sourcebook (big mistake) but it’s done and in editing and other people can fix it.

Which means I’m now doing NanoWrimo out of pure necessity–I’ve got a novel manuscript due December 1st, and I haven’t even started yet.

Forty days and forty nights.  It shall be done.


In which our hero realizes the depths of his despair…

sexy-doom… and is forced to admit…

… that he’s taken on too much work.  And it’s going to hurt like hell to get out from under it.

I pounced out 4,000 word today, original I-just-made-up-the-order words.  And I hurt from it, but I have to do AT LEAST the same tomorrow (if not more) and about five times that on Sunday.  And ten times that across the course of next week.  And at least three times that a week for the next three weeks.

And that’s just to get caught up!

I’ve been off, I admit it. It’s damn hard to concentrate when you lose four weeks to dentistry (okay, three weeks to oh-my-god-this-hurts-why-can’t-I-get-into-the-dentist-oh-yeah-I’m-fucking-uninsured-and-broke pain and then one week of shit-I-can’t-afford-the-good-painkillers recovery pain) and you’re suddenly WAY late on only the second deadline you’ve ever missed since you started writing professionally.  Add on top problems getting what’s owed you and missing another month becaue  a project that should have been done months before suddenly zombies to life and you get my point.


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