|
|
The good news: The rise of the Interwebs means that anyone can publish anything at any time, with virtually no bar at all. The bad news: Ditto.
As a writer, I’ve benefitted directly from this easy access. As a reader, I find in cyberworld frequent cause for literary despair.
I really miss editors.
Almost every day, I find glaring examples of absent editors. One writer says ‘passed’ when he means ‘past’; one uses ‘reign’ when it should be ‘rein’. One mixes metaphors. One buries the lead. All seem to think that any objective review of their composition is quaintly archaic.
They come off looking careless, if not downright ignorant. The impression this sloppy presentation makes on the reader: “I don’t know; and I don’t really care that I don’t know.” Somehow, I don’t think that’s the message they hope to convey.
I once read a blog post intended to reach small business owners. Its purpose was to stress the importance of good business communications. It was poorly written and completely unedited. Whatever market they were attempting to reach should have run screaming from the building after the first paragraph.
Before you ask, no, this blog is not edited. I’ve made every kind of mistake and no doubt will again. But any error that is pointed out will be corrected without the least offense. Please point it out. Such mistakes usually arise from the haste of first draft, but occasionally there’s something I need to learn.
You can be sure, though, that when I write something of import, it is always carefully proofed and edited by me, at the very least. I know how often I omit entire words, mix metaphors, misspell certain words or conflate my thoughts incoherently. If the writing really matters, my own revision is never enough. The material gets passed on to someone else for review and comment before sending. Shop rule: No one proofs their own typesetting. And no good writer serves as their own editor.
You may disagree with what I say, but I hope it’s not the way I say it that leaves you shaking your head. I know the difference between good writing and bad. More importantly, I really care. I hope it shows.
I found a hidden treasure this morning.
Several months ago, I treated myself to a second-hand copy of The Essential Ellison, the 35-year retrospective of one of the most prolific authors ever to put pen to paper. He’s a life-long favorite of mine and I wanted this volume quite badly. It’s a 1012-page tome that was out of print, and buying used books online is something of a crap shoot. This time I got lucky. The copy I received was in excellent condition and everything I hoped it would be. Pleased with my purchase, I briefly daydreamed about getting the opportunity to meet Harlan Ellison someday and present it for signing. What I actually did was put it on a shelf. Life went on.
Today, I chose this book for my morning reading hour. In the end, I read very little and almost nothing of Harlan’s. First, I got distracted by the very beauty of the book itself. Its production was of the finest quality—heavy, acid-free paper, sewn signatures, full trim, the works. Even the dust jacket was a thing of artistry. As a lover of books AND a professional graphic artist, I’ve rarely seen such a nice edition.
I read the book jacket blurbs, front and back. I even learned a couple of things about Ellison I didn’t know.
The copyright page had an issue date of 1987. Then I discovered a surprise. FIRST EDITION. Nice. Didn’t expect that.
The gobsmacker waited on the cover page, though. There, right under the printed title, was a brief inscription, “Good wishes, John, from” and just above the imprint, a large, sprawling signature: Harlan Ellison. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what it says.
Wow. A top drawer, signed, inscribed first edition for the price of a quality used book. I’m feelin’ lucky.
The editor provided a brief Foreword, so I read that. I spent some time perusing the table of contents, and thumbed through the entire book, just getting a feel for its organization and structure. About then I discovered that I’d spent a good deal of time admiring the book and didn’t have much time left to actually read it. I decided to reserve that pleasure for tomorrow.
But before I put the book aside for the day, I flipped to the end. After 1012 pages of magnum opus, Ellison himself provided an Afterword. This fiercely succinct wonder offered up just one sentence:
“For a brief time I was here; and for a brief time I mattered.”
You did, sir. You did.
Early this morning, I decided to declare today a personal day of prayer and fasting. The idea of the fast came first, and it’s going to be tough, I won’t deny.
Oh, I’m still eating and drinking and such. But for today, to whatever extent I am able, I plan to abstain from any and all touch of politics. I won’t obsess over news clips and editorials. I won’t listen to election predictions or dire speculations. I won’t expose myself to Facebook skirmishes. I am unplugged.
I am so exhausted from hearing that name on every pair of lips. I fondly remember—oh, several ages ago it seems—going days, sometimes weeks, with no mention of the president from either newscasters or neighbors. I really miss those days.
I’ll be quick to admit that I’m as guilty as all the rest. Way back during the run-up to the election, I became aware of my own contribution to what I saw as a national aberration. I tried to stop clicking those headlines, but I just couldn’t help myself. The swaying cobra held me in thrall. I knew then, and I know now, that I am the one feeding the monster. Still, I click.
What I really want is peace of mind. And I know that that has always been mine to command. The world didn’t take it from me; I ceded it. Now I reclaim it, at least for one day.
It may not be easy. Already I feel an itch to check the headlines. I’ve made a plan to support my resolve and I’ve lashed myself to its mast, but that doesn’t silence the siren call. Its torment permeates the very air I breathe.
The fasting element of my plan may be difficult, but the prayer part is simple. I pray we all survive this with our spirits, our friendships and our nation intact. I pray that most of my fellow Americans share my bright dream of an abundant land that will embrace us all. I pray that voters turn out in numbers that will merit historical astonishment, and begin the business of putting this dark dream behind us.
Just for today, I resolve to resist thinking about the worst and fill my heart with thoughts of the best. It won’t change a thing, but it can’t hurt. And I need a break.
I am not your enemy.
I may be quite different from you in many ways, but you have nothing to fear from me. If I question you about the distinctions between us, it is due to my curiosity and interest in others. I want to know about you, and the more I know, the more I see that we are more alike than different.
You …[MORE]
I am both eager and tense when I contemplate the upcoming midterm elections. I can’t remember ever being more anxious to cast my vote, and to see how it all comes out.
I have a neighbor who regularly works the polls at election times. While I think that’s an honorable thing to do, I’ve never been tempted to join her. Simply put, it’s just more …[MORE]
I watch enough videos on YouTube that my algorithm gets stuck in a rut. I watch a lot of news, but even I don’t want to watch headlines from last week, much less from months or years ago. Sometimes, to shake up my searches and produce a new range of suggested videos, I just go randomly surfing all over YouTube. …[MORE]
We’ll get back to it in a minute, but for now I’d like you to put aside all thought of the recent Supreme Court agitation and participate in a little thought experiment. It is intended for everyone—male and female, Democrat and Republican, conservative and progressive. It will take only a few minutes and doesn’t even have to …[MORE]
The current brouhaha in Washington, to my way of thinking, is something of a distraction from a deeper, more profound drama that is playing out across the nation. These hearings have served as a kind of seed crystal around which a writhing spirit is rapidly coalescing into physical being. And it ain’t pretty.
There are accounts of all kinds …[MORE]
Recently I’ve been spending time with some ancient horrors which lurk in isolation. No, I haven’t been visiting relatives in Amarillo. I’ve been reading H.P. Lovecraft.
I became enamored with horror, science fiction and monsters in early childhood. I watched all the scary movies, from Frankenstein and Wolfman to the Things that came from outer space, beyond Mars and beneath the sea. …[MORE]
Houston is not exactly Seattle, but it is one rainy-ass place. Recently we’ve had a couple of weeks that were more wet than dry. These conditions have caused a few of my pluviophilic friends to revel in the incessant rainfall.
I do not share their affection for rain. In fact, I consider rain an inconvenience at best and, if you …[MORE]
|
About shelbajo.com Of all the blogs in all the world, this is the only one for which Shelba Jo is wholly responsible.
It includes fiction and nonfiction, sense and nonsense, truth and lies.
I leave it to you to decide what is what. |