Remember last week when I was miserable? I read a lot, and every time I came across some vocabulary error I went on a (silent) rant about whatever it was being basic knowledge and who were these writers who didn't even know the definition of "savory"??
Of course, that's nonsense--vocabulary's hard, because once you think you know a word, why on earth would you look it up to confirm the definition? If the word is esoteric, you might not even use it in conversation often enough for someone who knows better to hear it and correct you. You are stuck with this erroneous impression for life, perhaps...
I've carried mistakes around unvoiced for years, only to be blown away when, for example, my TA couldn't understand what I meant when I said "re-TOR-ick" and another student had to step in and say, "I think she means rhetoric," as if I were an over-precocious child or perhaps a trained monkey. Er, ahem, that was a bad day.
Anyway, this is a (modestly) good day, and I am ready to assert some things about some words in the hopes that it'll help someone and, if I get anything wrong, some kind commenter will step in quickly to set me straight and save me from years of further errors. You'd do that for me, wouldn't you?
I'm going to skip over where I found these errors, as the works in questions were actually pretty good and I don't wish to embarrass anyone (as that oblivious TA did to me!!)
You can't call sweets "savory," because they are sweet. Foods that are savory have a predominant flavour of herbs, spices, salt, or some combination thereof. They are what one eats for appetizers or the interesting part of main courses (the potatoes/bread/pasta are the bland part). When someone is having a potluck and realizes that all the guests are bringing cakes and cookies and they say, "We have too many sweets and not enough...not-sweets," what they mean is savory. In this context, sweet and savory are opposites--fruits, candies, cakes'n'pies, etc. are never savory--the issue I came across was a fruit being described that way, which sounds horrid (imagine a salty spicy strawberry!) I think the confusion arises from the verb "to savor" , one definition of which is to enjoy a flavour. That flavour can be anything, sweet or savory, so you see how people could think anything worth savoring could be described as savory but, sadly, it's not.
I'm using American spellings here, because those are the dictionary references I could find online. In Canada, it should really be "savoury" and "to savour".
Bemusement means confusion, not amusement...or am I confused? I was taught ages ago that bemusement is a kind of gentle confusion, often with some ironic tolerance built in--you can be bemused by your toddler's insistence on putting toys in the fridge, but you can't be bemused in the chaos after a car accident (well, I can't). But then while I was fishing for online definitions for this post, I came across this one, which seems to imply that bemuse *can* be a 50-cent synonym for "amuse," as I often hear it used. Is this a commonly accepted definition--anyone know?
That which you choose, that or which, makes a difference. This one breaks my heart, because it is such a useful nuance of language and I'm pretty sure it's going to die out. I recently lost an argument with a teenaged friend about why *not* spell "all right" as "alright"--my argument, because we already have a perfectly good way of spelling it and the new way does not add any new angle to the word, nor even save all that much energy not typing the second L and the space. His argument was, well, people often do, and are perfectly well understood. Then the example of "hoodie" for "hooded sweatshirt" came up, and that's an evolution I rather like, as the slang word for a sloppy article of clothing seems so appropriate, plus the word reflects how people actually talk, and does save a lot of typing time.
So, fine, I accept "hoodie" as an addition to the language, and "alright" as at least not much of a subtraction, but losing the that/which distinction leaves us poorer, I think. And I do think it's going, despite many people's adherence, because fellow *editors* ask me about this one, and though they listen and even write it down when I explain, they always end by saying, "Thanks. I never remember that one," as if it were impossible to learn and not much of a loss, anyway. But here it is, one more time, with feeling:
Use that with no comma to introduce a restrictive clause--thus, to limit the statement to being about some part of a larger group. For example, to say, "Lorna thought about the sex she had with Steve that was great," is to say, she thought about *some* of the sex she had with Steve, the times that were great, but not the other, less stellar, times.
On the other hand, use which with a comma to introduce a non-restrictive clause--that is, a clause that adds extra information about *all* of the topic at hand, and doesn't separate out a subsection as different. Thus, to say, "Lorna thought about the sex she had with Steve, which was great," says to us that Lorna is thinking about all the times she and Steve had gotten together, and by the way, it was always great.
You see there's a big difference here, right? Both for Lorna (and Steve!) and for the reader. If you run into this baffling construction--"Lorna thought about the sex with Steve which was great"--who the hell knows how good their sex lives are?
Sometimes I get the impression that people think grammar rules are just snobbery, like rules about what fork to use for the shrimp--a way for people who know to feel that they are better than those that don't know. And frankly, on really tough days, sometimes the grammar that I do know (which is certainly not all of it) is all I have to cling to. In truth, when it comes to Latinate rules like not ending a sentence with a preposition, it really is just rules for the sake of rules, but when it comes to Lorna and Steve, I think sentence construction does matter and is worth thinking about!
I would love to know, oh Rose-coloured readers, does anyone observe the that/which distinction anymore? Don't be afraid--it's 21 C in my apartment today, so I can take the bad news if it happens that you don't!
Thanks for reading--it felt really good to get all that off my chest!
RR
Showing posts with label Editing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Editing. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Editors: who are these people?
The weird doppleganger-y fact that I work in book publishing and also myself wrote a book that was published has minimal impact. I was perhaps slightly calmer about certain aspects of the process because I already knew them from the other side, or at least from publishing school, and I already had some publishing friends when I started going to industry events. But that's about it. Most my knowledge is about pretty specific types of books and situations, or else it's the sort of fun trivia that doesn't really help with anything.
But I am extremely fond of the book world, because it is my world twice-over, and because it produces one of the things I like best. So I like to talk about it, and encourage others to talk about it correctly. Statements like "Editing must be such a cushy job, just sitting around and reading" and "I should be an editor, because I always find typos in the Canadian Tire flier" always make me cringe.
So, though I don't think any aspiring-to-be-published writer *needs* any of these terms below (everyone will introduce themselves with whatever title they prefer), all these jobs are interesting and knowing about them conveys respect for the work done. So:
What Happens to Books that Get Published, Who Does What, and Why
(note: this is book stuff only. If you are publishing in a newspaper, journal, magazine or on the web, the processes are substantially different).
At the very beginning of the publishing process, the book gets acquired by the acquisitions editor. That's not a real exclusive position in most (all?) Canadian publishing houses--most books here are acquired by senior editorial staff who may edit some titles and pass on others to more junior staff. Publishers, editors-in-chief, and editors may all acquire. And then again, given the structure of a given house, some of these people may not acquire, or those positions might not even exist. And then there's the exception to everything, college and university textbooks, which are often acquired by sales reps. It's complicated.
Your book is substantively edited. This is what it sounds like: substantial changes like, "Should this character be a man? I think the third chapter would be a great ending--what do you think? And if possible the book should be about 150 pages shorter." These changes can come from one or max two people--your book's editor. Depending on how big the house and your book's important, you could get someone with a fancier title, someone subject specific or, occasionally, a freelancer. Someone with the title assistant editor would edit books too, but likely smaller projects, and with some oversight.
Whoever is doing the work, these changes will come in the form of a conversation. Suggestions will be made--in person or over the phone, or else in a "notes" letter or email--but no one will rewrite your book. They will suggest how *you* could rewrite it, sometimes alot (or a little; often it's more along the lines of, "Maybe combine chapters 2 and 3," or "Could there be only a few cheerleaders described, rather than the whole squad?")
Interestingly, this process *could* happen *before* acquisitions, if you happen to have an agent who is good at substantive editing. Most will have some suggestions, I think, before they are ready to take a manuscript out into the world under their name. But even after an agent has fine-tuned things, an editor is definitely going to have a go at the work.
This process could last a month or years, depending on your style, your editor's style, and how much work the book needs. And remember, editors read every draft you send, carefully, and they are doing this for many books at the same time.
Some books are then line edited. Again, could be freelanced out or done by one of the in-house people above. A single editor really shouldn't do two steps in the process because they lose the ability to see details, but given finances and deadlines, that might happen and likely it'll be fine.
A line-edit is an interrogation of how the book is written, line by line. A line editor questions or sometimes rewrites (authors get a chance to approve) awkward, unclear, or infelitous sentences, deletes redundancies, questions continuity and factual errors, and cleans up cluttered prose.
Most "literary" books aren't really line-edited--the words are supposed to be the *point* with literary novels and short-stories, and if there are a lot of problems with the prose, the house likely just wouldn't take it on. But with an action thriller, a textbook, or a biography of a dead president, often the writer is very good at or knowledgeable about something necessary that is not writing. The line editor saves them from themselves, and they appreciate the efforts, while many literary authors would throw themselves on their swords if they received their manuscript back with many of the words changed.
Everything in prose gets copyedited. Poetry gets the substantive-edit conversations above and the proofread below--but no one actually messes with the words much. I think it's assumed that poems are a bit too precise and personal for an editor to tinker with. They might suggest a new way of thinking about it, or *possibly* a new wording or structure that *might* improve things, but poets generally have few enough words that they are thought to have a firm bead on all of them.
Not so much us prosists. Copyedits are for spelling, grammar, house style rules, and, if there wasn't a line edit, continuity and factual errors, as well as the occasional sentence that, in the cold light of day, doesn't make much sense. Unlike the above processes, copyedits are (almost always) *not* a conversation. You should get to see it, mind, when it is complete, and veto any changes you disagree with, but copyeditors and writers almost never get to interact.
Either at this point or just before the copyedit (depending on the company) the manuscript has made the jump from the editorial department to production. Post-copyedit, the manuscript and those copyediting changes have any art, photos, illustrations, or other weird stuff added to them. Then they are passed to a page compositor or typesetter who makes that scribbled over manuscript into something that looks like pages of a book, only a bit sloppy and printed on 8.5x11 paper.
Then someone hires a proofreader (this is almost always freelance) to check the typeset pages against the copyedited manuscript to make sure a) everything got in, b) the pages are formatted correctly, and c) the copyeditor didn't miss anything. Authors do not generally see proofreads, as no major changes are being made at this point, and likely the whole project is running late (well, usually).
Unless, of course, the author is asked to *do* the proofread, which happens often with scholarly books (both because the publishers lack budgets and because it is hard to get a proofreader knowledgeable enough in an esoteric fields (and when you are at the point of publishing a full-length academic book, all fields are esoteric). This is good and bad: good, in that the writer usually cares more about the project than anyone else possibly could, and will therefore be extremely vigilant. Bad, because the author knows his/her own material well enough to not really see typos--s/he imagines it is correct because the version in her/his head is what is actually being seen, and that is perfect. Also, most authors tend not to know too much about page formatting. But this usually works out.
A time-and-money saver is to postphone the copyedit until after the pages have been composed and then the copyeditor can check for format issues too. This will only work if it is a very light copyedit, as all altered pages are just going to have to be checked again. This is what was done with *Once*, which of course had very very few errors in it, so it worked just fine.
After this point, mainly, with many exceptions and irregularities, the computer files that constitute the book are checked in various ways and then sent to the printers (out of house, almost always), along with cover files. And from this, the printers manufacture an actual concrete physical item that is the book.
In an effort to make this post not insanely boring and of reasonably length, I've left out lots of people from this process: managing and production editors (that's me!), interns, administrative assistants, and executive types. And there are legions of other folks at the actual print shop, and once it's done, sales reps to get it stores, marketing people, publicity people, in-house finance and tech support and those guys who get the boxes from the warehouse. And the people who work in the stores!! It's an amazing network, and even though yesterday I put some 11x17 pages around my head like a bonnet in an unconscious stress reaction, I am still proud to be a part of it. Mainly.
Soldier on!
RR
But I am extremely fond of the book world, because it is my world twice-over, and because it produces one of the things I like best. So I like to talk about it, and encourage others to talk about it correctly. Statements like "Editing must be such a cushy job, just sitting around and reading" and "I should be an editor, because I always find typos in the Canadian Tire flier" always make me cringe.
So, though I don't think any aspiring-to-be-published writer *needs* any of these terms below (everyone will introduce themselves with whatever title they prefer), all these jobs are interesting and knowing about them conveys respect for the work done. So:
What Happens to Books that Get Published, Who Does What, and Why
(note: this is book stuff only. If you are publishing in a newspaper, journal, magazine or on the web, the processes are substantially different).
At the very beginning of the publishing process, the book gets acquired by the acquisitions editor. That's not a real exclusive position in most (all?) Canadian publishing houses--most books here are acquired by senior editorial staff who may edit some titles and pass on others to more junior staff. Publishers, editors-in-chief, and editors may all acquire. And then again, given the structure of a given house, some of these people may not acquire, or those positions might not even exist. And then there's the exception to everything, college and university textbooks, which are often acquired by sales reps. It's complicated.
Your book is substantively edited. This is what it sounds like: substantial changes like, "Should this character be a man? I think the third chapter would be a great ending--what do you think? And if possible the book should be about 150 pages shorter." These changes can come from one or max two people--your book's editor. Depending on how big the house and your book's important, you could get someone with a fancier title, someone subject specific or, occasionally, a freelancer. Someone with the title assistant editor would edit books too, but likely smaller projects, and with some oversight.
Whoever is doing the work, these changes will come in the form of a conversation. Suggestions will be made--in person or over the phone, or else in a "notes" letter or email--but no one will rewrite your book. They will suggest how *you* could rewrite it, sometimes alot (or a little; often it's more along the lines of, "Maybe combine chapters 2 and 3," or "Could there be only a few cheerleaders described, rather than the whole squad?")
Interestingly, this process *could* happen *before* acquisitions, if you happen to have an agent who is good at substantive editing. Most will have some suggestions, I think, before they are ready to take a manuscript out into the world under their name. But even after an agent has fine-tuned things, an editor is definitely going to have a go at the work.
This process could last a month or years, depending on your style, your editor's style, and how much work the book needs. And remember, editors read every draft you send, carefully, and they are doing this for many books at the same time.
Some books are then line edited. Again, could be freelanced out or done by one of the in-house people above. A single editor really shouldn't do two steps in the process because they lose the ability to see details, but given finances and deadlines, that might happen and likely it'll be fine.
A line-edit is an interrogation of how the book is written, line by line. A line editor questions or sometimes rewrites (authors get a chance to approve) awkward, unclear, or infelitous sentences, deletes redundancies, questions continuity and factual errors, and cleans up cluttered prose.
Most "literary" books aren't really line-edited--the words are supposed to be the *point* with literary novels and short-stories, and if there are a lot of problems with the prose, the house likely just wouldn't take it on. But with an action thriller, a textbook, or a biography of a dead president, often the writer is very good at or knowledgeable about something necessary that is not writing. The line editor saves them from themselves, and they appreciate the efforts, while many literary authors would throw themselves on their swords if they received their manuscript back with many of the words changed.
Everything in prose gets copyedited. Poetry gets the substantive-edit conversations above and the proofread below--but no one actually messes with the words much. I think it's assumed that poems are a bit too precise and personal for an editor to tinker with. They might suggest a new way of thinking about it, or *possibly* a new wording or structure that *might* improve things, but poets generally have few enough words that they are thought to have a firm bead on all of them.
Not so much us prosists. Copyedits are for spelling, grammar, house style rules, and, if there wasn't a line edit, continuity and factual errors, as well as the occasional sentence that, in the cold light of day, doesn't make much sense. Unlike the above processes, copyedits are (almost always) *not* a conversation. You should get to see it, mind, when it is complete, and veto any changes you disagree with, but copyeditors and writers almost never get to interact.
Either at this point or just before the copyedit (depending on the company) the manuscript has made the jump from the editorial department to production. Post-copyedit, the manuscript and those copyediting changes have any art, photos, illustrations, or other weird stuff added to them. Then they are passed to a page compositor or typesetter who makes that scribbled over manuscript into something that looks like pages of a book, only a bit sloppy and printed on 8.5x11 paper.
Then someone hires a proofreader (this is almost always freelance) to check the typeset pages against the copyedited manuscript to make sure a) everything got in, b) the pages are formatted correctly, and c) the copyeditor didn't miss anything. Authors do not generally see proofreads, as no major changes are being made at this point, and likely the whole project is running late (well, usually).
Unless, of course, the author is asked to *do* the proofread, which happens often with scholarly books (both because the publishers lack budgets and because it is hard to get a proofreader knowledgeable enough in an esoteric fields (and when you are at the point of publishing a full-length academic book, all fields are esoteric). This is good and bad: good, in that the writer usually cares more about the project than anyone else possibly could, and will therefore be extremely vigilant. Bad, because the author knows his/her own material well enough to not really see typos--s/he imagines it is correct because the version in her/his head is what is actually being seen, and that is perfect. Also, most authors tend not to know too much about page formatting. But this usually works out.
A time-and-money saver is to postphone the copyedit until after the pages have been composed and then the copyeditor can check for format issues too. This will only work if it is a very light copyedit, as all altered pages are just going to have to be checked again. This is what was done with *Once*, which of course had very very few errors in it, so it worked just fine.
After this point, mainly, with many exceptions and irregularities, the computer files that constitute the book are checked in various ways and then sent to the printers (out of house, almost always), along with cover files. And from this, the printers manufacture an actual concrete physical item that is the book.
In an effort to make this post not insanely boring and of reasonably length, I've left out lots of people from this process: managing and production editors (that's me!), interns, administrative assistants, and executive types. And there are legions of other folks at the actual print shop, and once it's done, sales reps to get it stores, marketing people, publicity people, in-house finance and tech support and those guys who get the boxes from the warehouse. And the people who work in the stores!! It's an amazing network, and even though yesterday I put some 11x17 pages around my head like a bonnet in an unconscious stress reaction, I am still proud to be a part of it. Mainly.
Soldier on!
RR
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Culture Clash
Strangely, this year the Toronto Fringe Festival runs from July 1 to 12, while the Scream Literary Festival will run July 2 to 13. Strange because these are both such amazingly awesome weirdy cultural events that appeal to so many of the very same people (both as attendees and likely as volunteers) that you'd think they wouldn't want to compete. But who knows, in the world of schedules and venues, what hardships these two teams suffered from, so all we can do is thank our stars we at least have 2 weeks to jam in as much as we can.
If you held a gun/dayplanner to my head, I'd have to come out for lit over theatre, so I'll be hoping to see you at Stet: Redacting the Redacted, the Joyland Joyathon (well, I'm participating in that!), and of course the big mainstage reading on July 13. But there should be world enough and time to sneak in at least 36 Plays about Hopeless Girls, if not a couple others.
Really, when you have to complain about having too many alternatives for fun, you are really scraping the bottom of the complain barrel. Oh, Toronto, you rule my heart!
Our home and native land
RR
If you held a gun/dayplanner to my head, I'd have to come out for lit over theatre, so I'll be hoping to see you at Stet: Redacting the Redacted, the Joyland Joyathon (well, I'm participating in that!), and of course the big mainstage reading on July 13. But there should be world enough and time to sneak in at least 36 Plays about Hopeless Girls, if not a couple others.
Really, when you have to complain about having too many alternatives for fun, you are really scraping the bottom of the complain barrel. Oh, Toronto, you rule my heart!
Our home and native land
RR
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Team notes
I love it when everything I want to post about connects to a theme, and today's theme is publishing as a team sport. You've heard about this from me before, but here's some stuff from other people:
--at the Joyland Blog, Emily Schultz on "How I was Housebroken". The piece is about learning to work with an editor. The article is so very wise and useful in urging writers towards the best-case scenario:
"Change can be scary, but presumably if you respect the publication you’ve sent your work to, it means you also respect the editor or editors."
Any writer can learn and improve so much if they respect editors (good ones) as insightful professionals who know something about the writer's work the writer herself doesn't know: how it reads to someone who hasn't spent several years living inside it. Emily shows beautifully how to make the most of that insightful person, without any sacrifice of art or ego. Really, it's possible.
--Or then the worst-case scenario, in David Sipress's cartoon. Everyone keeps pointing out that I'm so lucky this didn't happen to me, and I know I am, but hell, if it's typical even of the New Yorker set, it's worth emphasizing.
--Which is why Michael Bryson's review of *Once* at Underground Bookclub is so gratifying, because it not only mentions my work but the work of the team that helped make this book be what it is--
"It is extremely well-written (and edited and published). Cudos to all who had a hand in it. Many are waiting to see what you will come up with next."
Go, team!
Bless your body / bless your soul / pray for peace / and self-control
RR
--at the Joyland Blog, Emily Schultz on "How I was Housebroken". The piece is about learning to work with an editor. The article is so very wise and useful in urging writers towards the best-case scenario:
"Change can be scary, but presumably if you respect the publication you’ve sent your work to, it means you also respect the editor or editors."
Any writer can learn and improve so much if they respect editors (good ones) as insightful professionals who know something about the writer's work the writer herself doesn't know: how it reads to someone who hasn't spent several years living inside it. Emily shows beautifully how to make the most of that insightful person, without any sacrifice of art or ego. Really, it's possible.
--Or then the worst-case scenario, in David Sipress's cartoon. Everyone keeps pointing out that I'm so lucky this didn't happen to me, and I know I am, but hell, if it's typical even of the New Yorker set, it's worth emphasizing.
--Which is why Michael Bryson's review of *Once* at Underground Bookclub is so gratifying, because it not only mentions my work but the work of the team that helped make this book be what it is--
"It is extremely well-written (and edited and published). Cudos to all who had a hand in it. Many are waiting to see what you will come up with next."
Go, team!
Bless your body / bless your soul / pray for peace / and self-control
RR
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