Of the Evils of Editing

It’s been a strange week, Dear Reader. Family matters have over-shadowed fictitious drama, but I am pleased to report that I’m today returned to fantasy-land, snugly tucked into my studio, heavily equipped with candles, rose hip soup, and red pens.

Yes, it’s editing time.

Aptly dreary, the rainy, stormy weather has frigthened even the magpies off, robbing me of the distraction of their fowl antics on the garage roof.
Just as well. I’m supposed to be editing, not procrastinating by writing poetry or blogs.

*crickets*

But it’s booooooring!! My inner five year-old protests. And she’s right, but it’s got to be done. And given the amount of red ink, it’s much needed too. It’s harder than I expected writing in modern British English – those wily americanisms slip through as soon as you stop paying attention.

Editing is another of those tasks in the publishing process that’s best done by someone else. The reason is simple: having spent months writing a text, living a story, you grow too used to your words, too close to turns of phrase, too attached by your own ideas. A set of fresh eyes are needed to detect the errors and the flaws, preferably professional eyes. For authors with a budget, there are plenty of options to be hired. For authors without a budget… well.

However boring the process in itself is, I congratulate myself on every typo, every mistake caught.

“Die, die, die my darling!” I channel my inner Misfit as I mentally stab at text that won’t work however much I love it. Which, by the way, also is a great way of giving yourself an earworm. Or to lead yourself astray, watching youtube videos and reminiscing your misspent youth.

Anyway, so here’s the poem I wrote.