My newest project.

     As I hesitantly pushed on the door’s curved wooden handle, a front of warm air deliciously curled around my face—a stark contrast to the zero degree dry air of that early Saturday morning. I glanced back at the man in the car, unsure of what this Enrico character I was supposed to be meeting looked like. When the car-man didn’t look back, I stepped resolutely into the first tobacco shop I’d ever set foot in.

     The Leaf and Bean in the Strip District, with it's rough red lettering announcing it's location, is constructed of dark wood and decorated haphazardly. A dead streetlight hangs from the ceiling near the entrance, ignoring the gently swaying disco ball a few feet behind it. Across from a semi-oval bar protruding from the left wall is a white door with nine glass panes that leads to their outdoor area. A small indoor roof as been constructed over the door, complete with brightly painted wooden pillars to hold it up. The well-used tables and mismatched chairs have come from as many sets as there are pieces of furniture. But it’s dark and warm and smells significantly less of smoke than I’d expected.

     Turning at the sound of the door is an older gentleman with a long, handknit red scarf drooped around his argyle-sweatered shoulders. His white mustache is stained light brown near his mouth from what I can only assume is too many evenings (and apparently mornings) at the Leaf and Bean. His rectangle glasses have almost no rim and are studded with tiny diamonds over the bridge of his nose and at the far corners of his eyes. This is Enrico.

     I want to say he’s the classic Italian with his hospitable insistence that I smoke a cigar, have an espresso, or at the very least let him buy me some orange juice. I finally accept the juice. Truth is, though, I don’t know any Italians, so I’m not sure if Enrico fits the stereotypes or not. He certainly likes his coffee and cigars, the latter of which remind me of sturdy dead leaves that have been rolled into a cigar shape and produce an alarming amount of thick, white smoke. He smokes three of them over the next two hours as we labor through the manuscript he’s written over the past four years—on his phone. There are no discernible paragraphs and lines don't reach across even quarter of the page, making sentences look more like stanzas in a poem, but there is a clear organization, and I get very excited thinking about turning this into a beautiful manuscript that we can both feel proud of. Occasionally our language barrier prevents clear communication on some of the finer points of grammar, but eventually we come to a consensus on most points.

     We get through the first chapter, and he pleads with me to keep his work a secret. I assure him that I make it a point to not discuss unpublished manuscripts that I've edited, and I will honor that commitment here to the strictest degree. He holds his work so close—“I’m very jealous,” he says—that instead of emailing me what he has (all 200+ pages), we will meet every Saturday and work through the complexities of his work until it is completed.

     And with that, here’s to a new editing journey, tobacco shops and all. Clink.

How much is too much?

The warm flow of fraternal affection cascading across the table between the two couples was obvious to see, and the Saturday evening dinner at Tassey’s Pier was coming to an end. Dr. Mike Hodges and Dr. Ronny Noble, both surgeons, had met in astronaut training. Both men had made the cut as medical officers to train to fly in America’s first interstellar spaceship, The Galactic Explorer. Ronny was scheduled for the maiden voyage and Mike the second.  While in training, Ronny had married his fellow astronaut, Janet Wilson. The pair would not be the first husband and wife team in space, but they would be the first husband and wife crewmembers in interstellar space.
At a natural lull in the conversation, Mike’s wife, Leigh Anne, raised her wine glass, still half full with a Piesporter Riesling, and announced, “An after dinner toast to Mr. and Mrs. Astronaut. Or, should I say to Dr. and Dr. Noble? Nonetheless, congratulations, you two.”
Ronny and Janet lifted their wine glasses, both nodded their appreciation of their friend’s accolades and each said, “Thank you.”
Mike raised his wine glass full of water to add to the toast—he was the designated driver for the evening. “A toast to the first husband and wife astronaut team to fly in the Galactic Explorer.”
Again, Ronny and Janet each issued a “Thank you.”
Janet quickly changed the subject and asked, “Mike, how did you ever find this place?”

---

Above is an excerpt from a manuscript I just finished editing. It's the beginning of the second chapter, so you know about as much as I do about the characters and storyline at this point. How would you go about editing it?

More than with any other manuscript, I wanted to rewrite every sentence. The author had an interesting story line (think Interstellar meets Gravity) but it was hard for the reader to get invested when the dialogue felt awkward and the characters seemed superficial. Normally, if a sentence seems awkward to me, I highlite it and make a comment saying why it sounds awkward and providing a rewrite option. For this manuscript, I would have wanted to highlite every sentence. I ended up with 142 comments in 400 pages, many of which were me telling the author of an over arching problem that I would proceed to correct throughout the manuscript instead of commenting and telling him to correct it. It was a long, arduous process--the first fifty pages took me six hours, an unfortunate new record. 

As a result, a lot of the manuscript looks like this:

As I was typing up a summary of my edits for the managing editor of the press, I felt awful for the author who was about to get this manuscript of his hard work just ripped apart! I tried to be patient in my explanations and gentle in my edits, but I also want this author to be successful and to publish the best book he can! That might involve learning how to transition from calm to excited in dialogue using written body language, and not repeating information that the other characters already know.  So I just did it for him...

At the end of the day, I substantively edited the manuscript and copy edited the manuscript. It really shouldn't have come to me in the state it was in; it needed a broader look first and then I could go in and be nit-picky about commas and capitalization. But I cringe scrolling through it and seeing red everywhere. Of course the author can delete my changes, but I don't want to be the editor who changes everything to sound good in her own head. I love the voice of the author and one of my biggest goals as an author is to preserve that voice as I edit.

 What do you think--did I overstep my bounds as an editor? Should I have let the author rewrite the problem areas, guided just by my comments?

Ethical dilemmas.

It's been way too long, which means I'm not doing so well at keeping one of my resolutions to blog once a week. In my defense, I haven't had any editing work--it's much easier to write about editing when I am currently editing!

Then last week I received a manuscript that was a whopping 487 pages, but the last few books I had edited for this press had been really good, and I hadn't edited for over a month, so I was excited to start. The excitement quickly faded as I realized I might need to return the manuscript unfinished. It wasn't the timeline--I had to edit 500 pages in ten days, meaning two read-throughs, meaning about 100 pages a day, which is at least three hours a day on top of my full-time job. I don't like to edit that fast because I don't feel I do my best work, but I can do it every once in awhile. No, the timeline wasn't the problem; it was the content. It was like the author had thought of every cruel, violent, tortuous possibility and made it a reality to a small town in the South. I got through a couple hundred pages, most of which was setting up the normal life of the town and the family of protagonists, and then it started getting bloodier and bloodier, and I found myself reading a page and then watching a lighthearted YouTube video to distract and soothe myself. I felt extremely uncomfortable, to the point I dreaded even thinking about editing (red flag!).

So what do I do? I'm a lowly copy editor only kept on by how well and fast I edit--my job is on the line. By returning the manuscript five days into the ten day timeline, I'm slowing the process for the book's publication. On the other hand, I cannot read the manuscript! I wouldn't be able to edit very well when I only skim the words, trying not to think about them.

Returning the manuscript to the managing editor was a huge relief. I haven't heard back from her yet about her reaction to me returning it early and unfinished, but regardless of the outcome, I know it was the right decision.

While you wouldn't normally think of copy editors facing ethical dilemmas, they totally do! Each editor has to decide for himself or herself what is and is not acceptable to edit. Some editors may feel comfortable with everything. If I could have my pick, I would always edit child or young adult fiction because it's much more likely to be clean (morally, not gramatically). Decide now where your line is so that when your new managing editor gives you a manuscript, you will be able to tell very quickly if you'll be able to do your best work.

I love editing, but I wouldn't love it if I felt obligated to edit everything sent to me. Respect yourself as an editor and only edit what you feel comfortable with. Editing will be much more enjoyable if you do.

Capitalizing military titles.

I'm a big advocate of lifelong learning, and I love how even editing fiction books can teach me about topics outside my day-to-day scope of experiences. I've recently edited several books that either detail military ops or include the military in some way, and acknowledging my ignorance, I've had to do some research. Spending the time to research as an editor increased my respect for authors who have to do their own extensive research to make sure what they're writing is credible.

The rule I want to introduce involves when to capitalize ranks in the military. There are three instances when rank is used: to replace a name, article/adjective/pronoun+rank to replace a name, and as a title before someone's name. Examples:

To replace a name: Let's say Tom is a lieutenant. "Come here, Tom" would more likely be written as "Come here, Lieutenant." Similar to how Mother and Father are capitalized when they replace the parents' names, if the title is used in place of the soldier's name, it is capitalized. This happens most often in dialogue.

art/adj/pro+rank replace a name: Tom is still a lieutenant. If the text reads "Tom gathered firewood as commanded," it could also read, "The lieutenant gathered firewood as commanded." Because the article the is present, lieutenant is not capitalized. It would make no sense to read, "The Tom gathered firewood." The presence of an article, adjective, pronoun--anything that introduces a noun--means that the rank is not capitalized regardless of the situation: a captain, those sergeants, angry generals.

As a title: This is probably the most intuitive. Although there are exceptions, if a title precedes someone's name, it is capitalized: Lieutenant Tom, General Stonewall, Commander-in-Chief Obama.

These rules aren't that complicated, but because ranks aren't always either capitalized or not, it's easy to mix up when I'm in the middle of editing. I'm already looking out for punctuation and spelling and sentence flow; it's hard to add in how a rank is being used in order to determine if it needs to be capitalized. Often I'll be twenty pages (or more) into a book and I'll realize that the author is always capitalizing ranks, and I'll have to go back and change it. Often I'll ctrl+f each rank mentioned in the manuscript and just make sure I've capitalized them correctly according to context.

The following excerpt is pulled from a manuscript I edited about two brothers--twins--who are fighting on opposite sides of the Civil War. Sel is fighting for the North and he is just meeting his commanding officer. This was the passage when I realized I hadn't been paying attention to rank capitalization.

“Did they tell you anything about this assignment, Private Danner?” called the lieutenant over the clatter of hooves on cobblestones. There had been no snow in Baltimore as there had been in Frederick and Washington.

“No, sir,” replied Sel.

“Well, Private, you are qualified for this mission due to one important accomplishment.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“You were born in Frederick.”

“It’s good to know I’ve done something worthwhile,” said Sel. He could feel Lieutenant Dorsey watch him as they rode toward the outskirts of the city.

The rank capitalization rules I've outlined here apply in many capitalization instances. Think about it!

That vs which.

I had never even thought there was a difference between that and which until we were taught in one of my grammar classes in college. At first I couldn't understand when to use which. That with a restrictive clause and which with nonrestrictive? What did that even mean? Nonrestrictive which uses (what seems to me like) restrictive commas, but don't use commas with that. I couldn't get it straight in my head.

At some point it clicked, and now it's like second nature. Let's break it down. It will make more sense when we apply it to the examples, so try to get through the next paragraph.

That and which are both relative pronouns, meaning they are used to connect an additional thought or clause to the main thought. So they introduce a relative clause that relates to the main clause. They each have a specific function. That is used to add restrictive information to the main clause; it specifies or narrows the main clause with necessary information. Which is used to add nonrestrictive information to the main clause; instead of narrowing the main clause, it adds description to the main clause. This additional information is preceded by a comma.

Examples:

They would catch any Yankees that might try to pass through. 
Using that  in this sentence means that they are only going to catch the Yankees that try to pass through. They are not going to catch all Yankees, some of which might pass through. 

It stopped at his eyebrows, which protruded like thick, hairy awnings.
Perhaps the trickiest part with that and which is that they can be interchanged depending on what the author meant to say. Here, however, we have "eyebrows" as the item being described by the following relative clause. Because the relative clause is just additional description and could be deleted without removing the important part of the sentence, comma which would be the appropriate choice.


Clint sat on the ground, his back to a tree that seemed all trunk and no limbs. 
This one could probably be either that or which, although I like that more because I think the description of the tree adds a lot to the sentence and the scene of Clint resting against the tree. However, this could also be argued about the previous sentence. In each case, I left it how the author had written it, although I did add a comma to the previous sentence to make the which clause grammatically sound.

The trees moved with the wind, which now came from their backs.  
The author hadn't mentioned the wind before, so I felt that the additional information about it coming from their  backs was nonrestrictive; it was just extra information. Cue comma which.

The wrap-up: Use that to connect essential description to the main clause without a comma; use which with a comma to connect additional, nonessential information to the main clause. Think about what the sentence would meaning using both of them; if you're not sure what an author meant, query!
  

Invoice template.

Happy birthday a couple days ago to my husband of one year, four months, and four days. Brian was the one to really encourage me to get my freelance career off the ground; his support and love are invaluable to me.

In any case, we were too busy on Sunday for me to fit in a blog! Should've planned better. I recently sent off my first invoice for my first completed freelance project with Word Association. Email me if you'd like the template!

 

There are some contract employees at the office where I work my secretary day job. The first time I processed their invoices, I realized that I needed an invoice too for when I finished working on my first real freelance job! Having a professional invoice lends to your credibility as a responsible, legitimate freelancer.

I think it's very important to be professional as a freelance editor. This may seem obvious to some. It was surprising to see how casual my correspondence with the author and Tom was becoming as I became more comfortable with them. While it is important to maintain a positive, even friendly, relationship with those you work with and for, it is perhaps even more important to remember that you are being paid for your work and they are depending on you to do your best work. No matter how friendly and personable you are, at the end of the day it is your editing prowess that will encourage clients to return and refer your services to others.

Let me know if you'd like the template! Plenty more can be found online. Just make sure it's simple and effectively communicates all the costs for which you are charging. Happy Tuesday!

Comma and.

Quick one today, folks. 

My husband is getting a PhD in electrical engineering, so I don't feel too bad picking on him in a grammar post. He knows stochastic processes, I know how to use commas. Which one is more useful? Anyways, I was editing one of the papers he's preparing to submit to a journal, and I found one comma error that he missed again and again. Maybe he was never taught it, or maybe he was taught it before he started caring about school. Either way, he doesn't know it.

In distributed ECFP, the information gathering scheme is explicitly defined via a preassigned (but arbitrary) communication graph and convergence results are demonstrated when interagent communication is restricted to local neighborhoods conformant to the graph.

Needless to say, I don't edit his papers for content. But despite only knowing what a handful of those words mean, I do know that two complete sentences joined by and also need a comma: "...graph, and convergence..." The only time a comma isn't necessary is when the two independent clauses are short and balanced.

The cat meowed and the dog barked.

But for that long technical sentence, a comma significantly aids in breaking up the thought into two distinct, though related, thoughts and making the sentence as a whole more digestible for the reader. It's one small change that goes a long way.