Part 1
As I’ve mentioned, I’m writing–and re-writing–a book on Windows Vista, Microsoft’s next operating system. It has been an interesting challenge on many levels, not the least of which is that Vista was just released in its final form, three or four days after I completed round one of Author Review.
Said review involved re-reading my text which was riddled with questions and comments from editors designed to coax me to a higher-level. I believe they succeeded, if adding 100 pages in 3 weeks can be considered any measure of that. It was grueling, but only once did I despair, when I simply could not install a feature that had worked a month earlier.
During this round of author review, my grudging acceptance of editors became admiration. Merri had modified a church slogan by adding three words (itself an artful act of editing): god leaves you better than he found you–like an editor. She was right in her addition.
And so, almost a month after I prematurely announced “Mission Accomplished” for what was merely phase 1 (the rough draft), I finished phase 2, Author Review (AR), with a real sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. Which brings us to …
AR Part 2
After a couple of days of rearranging the furniture, I was very close to formatting my hard drive, which is the virtual equivalent and a task I perform to rearrange my thoughts. Just before the worst possible moment, I heard from my next editor.
Wiley is probably not unusual in its layers of editorial staff. I was hired by one person but my day-to-day contact had been my Development Editor (DE). His editing, along with the contributions of the Technical Editor (TE–a role I have played several times), won my respect for editors.
But my most recent contact was from the Production Editor (PE). Suddenly, I felt like someone in a medical examination room, where professionals come and go, determining your fate without an introduction. My new PE was sending me the first five chapters recently returned by the Copy Editor (CE) and informed me this was the beginning of AR. AR? Shouldn’t there be unique terms of art for the AR before and the AR after–they are two distinct processes. Nonetheless, I’m not one to force such thoughts on strangers (assuming you are no longer a stranger). My approach to new systems, which is what I regard the Publishing Industry as, is to observe and learn its tricks and idiosyncrasies. That’s what I do.
So, I began reading my chapters for the umpteenth time. It was a pleasure to see all those colorful revision marks gone, save for a few comments or questions from the CE. Though her tone was a little more insistent and less collegial than the DE’s, there weren’t a lot of comments to respond to. Still, I felt the need to read every word I’d written.
And so, I noticed I could not find every word I’d written. Understand, I have written, oh, let’s say 250,000 words in the last 3 months. I’ve rewritten whole sections and I’ve read the questions and suggestions of at least three editors, so I don’t expect to remember all the words. It may be a measure of the paucity of standouts that I could actually notice any missing. But I did. Gone, without a single revision mark. Ouch. Whose book is this?
The first time I noticed this, I did what I would have done had the deletion been marked–I rejected it, which in this case means, I put my words back in my mouth and on the page. Still, I felt it warranted an inquiry to the PE, if not the CE, DE or TE.
So my new PE wrote back that the CE had a technical glitch which prevented some changes from being marked. She is very sorry that numerous chapters suffered this glitch. A crueler nerd would speak of IO errors–Incompetent Operator–but I am not cruel.
However, a technical glitch does not explain changing my use of the word “entwined” into “interrelated.” That’s the work of an automated thesaurus, not a person who respects a writer’s emotional attachment to words. That’s a condescending change that says “you chose the wrong word, here’s the right one.” That was my worst nightmare about the arbitrary power of an editor. That it was hidden by a “glitch” so that I might well not have seen this until it was in final print makes it worse; it doesn’t explain it away.
So, now, what was already clearly a pretty close reading on my part has become an ordeal in which I question every other sentence. In some cases, it is obvious that I would not write like that, good or bad. However, imagine wondering “what’s missing?” Which of my words have been stolen? mjh
PS: Like Sideshow Bob, I have to comment on the inevitable irony that this piece contains errors I still haven’t seen after re-reading it a dozen times. (I can imagine the argument that the final verb before my signature should be singular.) It’s my fate and I accept it wearily. We’re human: we see each other’s mistakes immediately. And everyone needs a good editor now and then.