Probably the thing I loathe the most about being an editor is correcting galleys, over and over, until my teeth ache. I tend to rush when I'm tired. When I rush invariably I make mistakes, and that makes me nuts.
Recently a manuscript, IMO one of the best examples of the Last Rose of Summer, has been the cause of extreme bouts of agita--due to incompatibilities between the author's word processing program and mine. To the fault of no one, progress has become my worst nightmare.
It meant I had to read every sentence, several times to, among other problems, ensure quotation marks were present and curved in the correct direction, and consistent in appearance with the marks in the previous lines of dialogue. Ugh. Ick. Dreck. Ewwwyeew. Too awful for words. I thought I'd caught them all.
Not.
I discovered the "NOT" after I sent the galley to the author for her comments and changes. In most cases the author lists for changes are short.
This one went on for 38 pages. Count 'em, boys and girls, thirty-eight. No mistake, no exaggeration.
Most were relevant and responsible to the "readability" and overall clean, error free appearance of the book.
And, sadly, many of her comments regarded inserting quotation marks where there were none. Ugh. Ick. Dreck. Ewwwyeew. Shrieks, ranting, weeping and renting of clothes. Not a pretty sight.
But. . . finally, it is completed. A task that should have been finished in late summer now will go into final production by Thanksgiving.
Not fun. Not nice.
It's time for a nap.
Siochan
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