October 23, 2014 – I despise tpyos–damn it, typos. Those persistent and pernicious finger gaffes that sneak full of mischief into my prose. Crafty little devils with the super power to render themselves invisible by hiding in plain sight, especially when they are being deliberately hunted. Sometimes, I’m typing so fast that I generate what I call “word-os.” These appear when motor memory takes over my fingers and I write “was” for “want” or “see” for “she” or, just now, in writing this very sentence, “thank” for “that.” I diligently and purposefully try to keep these foul beasts at bay, and yet the more time I spend at the keyboard—and I spend a lot of time at the keyboard—the more the little gremlins sneak into my prose, successfully avoiding detection until after I hit “send” or worse, publish and distribute.
When I was writing City of Whores, my invaluable and eagle-eyed editor, Alice Peck, managed to catch and corral (which I just now typed as “coral”) probably 100% of them in the last draft she worked on for me. So of course I released them all right back into the wild while revising, allowing them to breed and multiply like coat hangers. When I sent the “final” manuscript off (which I just typed as “of”) to the talented book designer Duane Stapp and copied the precise Ruth Mullen for conversion to eBook format, I confidently (read idiotically) told them both that it was “ready for publication.”
And that’s when the grim grinning goblins of transposed words, missing letters, extra letters, and incorrect homophones and heterographs (sexy words to be sure) started to reveal themselves in all of their mortifying glory, humiliating me just like Sissy Spacek in the “they’re all going to laugh at you” scene in Carrie. Panicked, I began to test the patience of poor Duane and Ruth with several rounds of corrections and revisions. Nevertheless, until recently, the paperbacks and eBooks in circulation still had “Hedy Lamarr” as “Heddy,” “made our way” as “made or way,” (thanks Martin Turnbull for catching those), “drove away” as “drove way,” and the most recent, “world-renowned” as “world-renown” (kudos to Carl Wesch for that one). I have corrected these in all editions as they emerge, but now live with a feverish paranoia that more are still hiding in that thick forest of characters, waiting to jump out and terrorize me just in time for Halloween.
Those of you who know me can confirm that I’m about as O.C.D. about this stuff as a person can get. Being a southerner, I want everything in my world to at least present itself as neat, tidy, and nothing short of perfect. Still, as I prepared materials for my recent blog tour, I proofed and reproofed and proofed the reproof of the various excerpts, interviews, and bios I had been asked to provide. And still, when the first day of the tour arrived, there I was debuting on BooksDirectOnline with my main character listed not as “Dan Root,” but “Dan root,” instead. In the very first sentence no less. And here I am trying to be taken seriously as a writer, destroying my professional credibility from the start. Fortunately, I was able to email two of the blogs running that particular boo-boo, and they kindly corrected it for me. On a different site, two–count ’em two–rather obvious typos appeared, one fully my fault:
And the other somehow managed to stowaway in my prose somewhere in transit to going public. I’m telling you, these things are devilish little living creatures who have it out for me:
Fortunately, none of these have even come close to matching my first most spectacular and memorable typographical error. This one was of the “missing letter” variety. It just happened to be a letter that radically changed the meaning of the intended word. In 1980, I was working for a small company in Atlanta called TCG (The Communications Group), writing and producing industrials (training videos and corporate annual meeting presentations and such). We had one of the very first dedicated word processors I’d ever seen, manufactured by a company called Lanier. As a writer, I marveled at the amazing technology of being able to make corrections without the use of tape or White-out, and to compose one draft of a letter, then have the machine replace the address and salutation over two hundred times so that we could send out that many personalized general query letters, hoping to solicit new business. I composed and typed that letter, and even though all two hundred or so hand signed copies were mailed with the proud proclamation that “our firm excels at pubic relations,” we still didn’t get a single response. Stay tuned…