Leaving Your Mark

As much as it hurts me to trip over typos in literature, I heal quickly. Not so for the previous reader of the library book I just finished.

For some reason, the reader felt compelled to pencil in “correct” spellings for some of the homophones Barbara Kingsolver used in her latest novel, Flight Behavior. (Why would anyone write in a library book?) What’s more, the reader was WRONG! (I hope s/he isn’t a professional wordsmith.)

Had the corrections been right, or written in ink, I would have let them be. But they weren’t, and I felt equally compelled to right the wrongs. With my trusty Happiness eraser, I restored the library book to its previolated state and prevented future readers from unnecessary confusion.

Sometimes, the best mark left behind is no mark.

Advance Reading Copies and My Big Fat Brain Freeze

Earlier this month I warned you about Advance Reading Copies—what they are, where you might see them, and where you shouldn’t. I ended the post in a snit because I’d accidentally purchased an ARC at a used bookstore. And I’d paid a good amount for the book to boot.

Well. May I just say

DUH!

Of COURSE used bookstores sell ARCs whenever they can. Here’s why:
1. Collectors and fanatics – You never know who they are nor which author they lust after. ARCs are delicacies for them.
2. Author signatures – Many writers sign their ARCs before sending them off to reviewers and friends. This is gold for some readers and worth whatever price tag the bookstore sticks on the cover.
3. The Process Revealed – Fledgling writers and editors enjoy comparing ARC versions to the final ones, for kicks and for education.

So there you have it. The price is whatever the market will bear.

In the case of the ARC that started all this, I was just miffed that I’d paid so much for it—even though it’s signed, even though it’s in mint condition. I bought it simply for information, and I hope the copy is at a late stage in the editorial process (i.e., has few corrections to be made). The problem was not that the store was selling the ARC; the problem was that I wasn’t paying attention!

[Photo from Chompsky.]

Advance Reading Copy: Not For Sale

This is a cautionary post for Lull readers who aren’t part of the publishing industry.

The title of this post—Advance Reading Copy: Not For Sale—may be found on book covers inconspicuously printed as pictured or set in a mark or sticker (see below, left). It means what it says, too. These books aren’t for sale. They’re sent to early reviewers and promoters to initiate buzz on the book. Advance copies are almost always soft cover and distributed with a warning: Don’t quote or excerpt anything from this version. Corrections are still being made.

“What kind of corrections?” you may ask.

Well, it varies. Advance copies may contain erroneous facts, typos, misattributed or misquoted quotations; they may include information that’s later cut from the book or not include information that’s later added; they may be sequenced differently than the final publication. You never know. In the case of a book I read recently, I hope to goodness the final version is devoid of the plague of typos I found on EVERY SPREAD (a spread in this context is two facing pages). It read like raw manuscript rather than a nearly finished book. And it’s the reason I’m writing about advance copies today.

Though advance reading copies find their way into the general public, you should never see one on the shelf at your local bookseller. If you do, bring it to the attention of the manager—and the publisher if you’re so inclined. Typically, you’ll find advance reading copies at rummage sales or in charitable organizations (like the Salvation Army or a church), but unless the advance reading copy is vintage, I don’t like forking money over to an individual for it. I see it as breaching contract with the publisher. It especially peeves me when the seller is a used bookstore. But that’s just me. I’m not sure what commercial publishers think about such shenanigans.

Sometimes, the path an advance reading copy takes from desk to sale is accidental. When you’re culling books, it can be easy to miss that “NOT FOR SALE” status on the cover and put the book in the wrong pile.

HOWEVER. I unknowingly purchased an advance reading copy from a library sale last month. (I simply wasn’t paying attention.) For my purposes, I didn’t mind. I would be reading that particular book for pleasure—not for research purposes—and I would be donating to an organization whose funding was shrinking.

HOWEVER. This particular book hadn’t been donated to the library for the sale. It had been decommissioned by the library and put into the sale. Meaning it had once been in circulation at the library and was now removed from circulation. This was no mistake. Not only was it a flagrant disregard of the publisher’s intent, but it showed a lack of respect for library members. This was the book I mentioned earlier with typos on every spread. For someone with typo sensitivities like me, it makes for arduous and irritating reading. For someone with lower-level reading capabilities, the book can become challenging or impossible to complete—which, considering the subject matter, would be a shame because the content is otherwise entertaining and insightful. What’s more, though, because an advance reading copy may contain factual errors, it shouldn’t be trusted. And because the general public—especially children—trusts what’s on library shelves, an advance reading copy has no place there. It’s a tremendous disservice to mix advance reading copies with final printings.

If you see an advance reading copy on your local library’s shelf, please do everyone a favor and hand it over to a reference librarian. The folks in your community who suffer from typo sensitivities will appreciate it.

* Addendum: Since writing the post above, I stopped at a national used-and-overstock bookstore four days ago. I quickly scanned titles in the animal section and chose a few I’d been wanting. I didn’t inspect the books—just the title and the price, which was decent but not the library-sale low of 50 cents and a dollar.

This morning I chose one of the books to begin reading. It’s about animal rescue work and ties in nicely with the book I just finished. As I usually do before beginning new content, I began studying the cover of the book, after which I normally read all the front matter, sometimes even the back acknowledgments and testimonials before finally reading the first page. But what do you suppose I saw that raised my blood pressure? Yes, small type at the bottom of the cover that reads:
ADVANCE READING COPY • NOT FOR SALE • ADVANCE READING COPY

The “NOT FOR SALE” phrase was blacked out, as it also was on the back cover. Twice.

My fault for not bothering to look at the cover before purchasing, but I never imagined that a large for-profit organization would stoop to selling advance copies.

On the other hand, maybe they didn’t stoop. Maybe someone there made the same mistake I did and hadn’t looked closely enough at the book before pricing it. I’ll find out, though, because I’d like to know where this particular bookstore stands on the ethics spectrum. I’ll let you know in a follow-up.

[Top pic from Light-skinned-ed Girl; next pic from The Oddness of Moving Things; bottom pic is the book I’m returning to the bookstore.]

Hard Times for All

Apostrophes WANT to work, but they’re underemployed these days. It seems they’re either inserted as an indicator of a plural (see poster at right) or they’re omitted altogether. Contractions? Forgeddaboutem. Apostrophes just waste space and energy when texting.

Please help apostrophes if you can. Let’s not stand idly by as they fade into oblivion.

[Pic from Twitter feed of Waterstones Oxford Street.]

The Curse of the Proofreader

Contrary to what you might think about proofreaders and editors, we don’t LOOK for mistakes when we’re not working. Mistakes seem to gravitate toward us.

A moment ago the word priviege spoiled my morning reading of a deftly written essay. A week ago there was a typo in my fortune cookie. (Does that render the prophecy null and void?) Ten pages into Stanley Fish’s How to Write A Sentence is a word that should have been singular but made its way into print as a plural. A job application asked if I was persuing a degree.

Oh, I could spend days listing the typos I’ve read this year alone—on menus, signs, press releases, news reports, television graphics, ads—but I’d prefer to forget them. I cringe when I see them, though there are a few of my ilk who delight in the mistakes of others—enjoy playing a game of “Gotcha!” with all printed materials. I’m more forgiving and feel bad for both the writer and the proofreader/editor when typos pop out. Do you understand how disruptive typos are to me? How they mar my pleasure and interest when reading?

There’s one exception. The other day, I was at my computer when an ad cried out for my attention. Typically, I ignore online ads, but this one made me laugh (after I recovered from my initial shock). In big, bold, uppercase letters it read:

INTROUDING the Must-Grab Flavors
of Mock-Tail Season
New _______ Mocktails

In addition to the butchered first word of the teaser, the company couldn’t decide* how to spell mocktail for their new product. (New products generally mean newly coined words and require corporate editors to create new rules for their style guides. Marketing campaigns that bypass the editor are often strewn with inconsistencies like mock-tail and mocktail.) Or maybe the joke’s on me and I’m just not fluent in Mock English (or mock English, or mock-English, or Mock-English).

When I’m working, I stalk typos. When I’m not, they stalk me. This is the curse of my profession. Oh woh iz mee.

* Arguably, perhaps the editor chose to hyphenate the word when used as an adjective and close it when used as a noun. However, that’s an odd choice in this era of dehyphenation.

[Photo from I Can Has Cheezburger; proofreader’s marks by Eve Corbel.]

WordGazing: Let’s Hope the Gov Sings

aw this on a major news outlet’s Web site about important legislation that the governor should (in my estimation*) uphold:

“The governor said it is his policy not to say if he will sing or veto anything during the session … .”

Funny, isn’t it, how a simple switch of two letters can alter the meaning of a sentence? Heck, this transposition alters legislative procedures.

* Turns out the governor exercised his veto power on the referendum. Too bad he couldn’t sing.

[Art from Jessica Hische.]

WordGazing: Proof of Proofreaders’ Value

Found this ad online this morning while I was browsing for new clients:

HI
I am looking for author to help me with my upcomming book. (Technical and non-friction author preferred.)

Of course, running a spellcheck program could have fixed the poorly spelled upcomming. But what about non-friction?

Technically, this isn’t a misspelling; spellcheck would have ignored it. Yet, if it doesn’t communicate what the writer intended, it’s a typo.

Now I’m left to wonder what the writer intended. Is s/he simply averse to conflict? Or does s/he really REALLY need an editor?

[Photo of 1901 proofreaders by Thomas Lewis.]

Getting Published: Read Before Submitting

If you’ve been monitoring my 2010 reading list, you probably think I’ve stopped reading. But I’ve had my nose in literary journals these past few weeks.

I’ve not spent much time with lit journals before. Now, the more I read them, the more there seem to be of them. They fold into one another, publicizing each other, feeding upon one another.

I’ve discovered some authors and poets I’d like to read more from (Jim Story, John Garmon), some turns of phrase that will remain lodged in my memory (“we knit ourselves / around the moments we are given” from Richard Levine’s “Near Extinction,” and this from Patrick Carrington’s “Prayer Is Just Another Poker Game You Walk Home from Naked”: “Let’s cut to the chase—miracles are out / of the question. Unfold your hands. Stop / looking up. Hasn’t he had enough / chances to do something huge? Say uncle, / say I’m done with you for good. … / If you must look up, look up / his sleeves.”), and then there was Sally Bliumis-Dunn’s “Guinea Pig” (scroll to the very bottom of the screen) that locked me in by the 5th line and reduced me to tears by the 19th.

I’m no expert on the matter, but after spending so much time with these journals, I have two pieces of advice for Lull readers who are yearning for publication:

1. Make sure the journals you submit your work to publish the kind of writers you want to be associated with. Are you impressed by their writing? Would you be proud to mention their names? Are they the company you’d like to keep? They’re a reflection of you and your readers.

2. Look for journals that are aesthetically pleasing. That is, well-designed and well-produced. Why submit your best work to a production process that’s destined to mangle your words before reaching readers?

Though I prefer all text to be error-free, accidents happen. And I know how they can happen during production. But when every few pages of a publication contain typographical blunders, as did many of the journals I perused, I no longer enjoy reading the content. And I’m baffled: What self-respecting editors or writers would allow their labors of love to be marred by errors? What happened to their standards?

[For the record, Lull is not edited. My posts are an exercise in speed and letting go. Let me know if you start seeing too many goofs and I’ll slow down.]

I found this quote in The Fretboard Journal (even if you know nothing about guitars, this is a tremendous read in a well-executed design), and I believe it’s a mission we should all strive for:

“Approach every task as though it were the moment that will define you.”
—Jol Dantzig, guitar designer

[Art: Mary Cassatt’s Woman Reading in a Garden and Vanessa Bell’s Portrait of Virginia Woolf.]

WordGazing: In Which Lill Adjusts Her Freudian Slip

It's time to come clean:

While applying for a job this afternoon, I suddenly worried that I'd written a word on Lull that merely rhymed with the word I'd intended to write. I'd intended to say "The First Great Recession of the 21st Century," but instead wrote "The First Great Repression of the 21st Century."

Oops!

Frankly, I think either one works from the perspective of the jobless. But I wasn't trying to be clever. And I hate making mistakes, so I've replaced the two errant consonants.