I’ve experienced a specific kind of hell on Earth on more than one occasion. It has nothing to do with music yet everything to do with performance. I’m all for creative expression, but may I ask why poetry is too often read in the most unnatural manner possible? I know I’m not the only one who’s been stuck sitting there like a good puppy, eager to listen, ready to be enlightened, shaken, somehow affected. But something kept happening, something distracting, and finally it forced me to scoot out the door with a sneeze-face. Continue reading
In my line of work, as in life, things of a lewd nature creep up from time to time. I spent one day replacing every fucking with fuckin’ in a certain character’s dialogue to better convey his Scottish brogue. I quite enjoyed that one.
Then there was the author who had written about a young girl who fisted in her dress. My eyeballs skidded to a halt. Sure, I realized that she curled up her tiny hand into a ball inside the pocket of her dress. But using fist as a verb requires an object; you must fist something, and such an action is not appropriate for a young lass. I flagged the sentence with a query that described the technicality, further explaining that the action word carries a vulgar connotation even if that wasn’t the intention.
Now is a good time to point out that the copyeditor’s credo was established long before the MTA inserted it into their subway ads: if you see something, say something.