Man, I love the world of writing. I am a gourmand of writing, a glutton for critique and beta writing, a gobbler of novels, a gorger on others’ words. Judging is enlightening, beta reading a challenge, and critique groups an opportunity to hear smart, creative people bat words and ideas around. But like eating, one can overdo. If writing were eating, I would be that 400-pound hacker of our president’s imagination.
Minor problem: there are so many possibilities. It’s easy to do the things I like and ignore … no, ignore would be easy, I should properly say procrastinate on … those less interesting subjects, like the hard and confusing work of marketing my first book.
So, here I am.
Well, folks, this has been a week of small changes. Realization that the paragraph separation in my interior is 1 mm larger than line separation. A few nits. I’ve been consoling myself with the fact that I can almost always find small errors in books published by the big houses.
Sometimes, the ‘wrong’ things I see are the movement of usage. Younger writers seem often to be stingy with commas. It usually works out, except when it doesn’t. Recently, I got whacked for using the Oxford comma … you know … the one that goes before the ‘and’. “Unnecessary” was the terse comment in the margin.
I understand that commas are going the way of the bring/take difference and the dilution of ‘awesome’ to mean “better than OK.” But really … consider the sentence: “We invited the strippers, JFK, and Stalin.” Three invitations. Could happen, right? JFK did have a sort of raffish way about him, and Joe might have treasured a get-together with a group of ecdysiastically-inclined ladies.
Now, try the sentence without the Oxford comma: “We invited the strippers, JFK and Stalin.” Two invitations that might have started WWIII.