By Kristi Belcamino
When I received the
copyedited version of Blessed are the
Dead this last week it was super exciting. Here was my baby all laid out pretty with my
name and the dedication up front like a real
book. Woohoo! A dream come true.
But that excitement soon
faded as I sat down to look at what the copyeditor had done. My task involved
reviewing every sentence highlighted in purple to indicate the
copyeditor had made a change. I needed to look at the change and either accept
it or reject it.
It didn’t take me long to
realize that nearly every page of my 297 page novel had some purple on it. That’s cool, I told myself. I love editors. I am the biggest fan of
editors because nine times out of ten they make you look better than you really
are. True story.
But as I read on, I realized
I much prefer working with my HarperCollins editor versus working on changes
from a contracted copy editor. I’m sure he or she is a lovely person. And it’s
obvious he or she is extremely
talented, catching so many little things I didn’t. But I can’t deny what soon
became glaringly obvious in reading the changes — I don’t have a clue how
to use a comma. Really.
Even though I’ve had a
career as a newspaper reporter and have written three novels, this basic skill
has somehow eluded me for 40-some years.
Humiliating.
It wasn’t easy coming to
this realization. I mean, at first, I denied it, telling myself, “Well, the
copyeditor obviously likes commas
more than me.”
But that is probably less
likely than the fact that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to
comma use.
Embarrassing.
As I went on, I saw that probably
98 percent of the edits from the copyeditor were adding or subtracting a comma.
Mostly adding.
Thank God, the publisher
contracts this work out and I don’t have to face this copyeditor in person one
day, hanging my head in shame. (By the way, is that comma I just used in the
right place? Now I’m doubting each and every comma I use!)
So, the comma thing was
the toughest part of being copyedited.
But there were some fun
parts, as well. Heck, I’d even call them educational.
For instance, I learned
all kinds of cool things about some of my favorite words.
I learned that “douche
bag” is actually two words. Who knew?
Here are some others you
might not know or realize:
Goddamn - one word
Barstool - one word.
Supertight – one word
Wineglass – one word
And by the way,
hard-asses is hyphenated.
I, also, got a little
education on the word “nod.”
I’ll share it with you as
a helpful hint of the day just in case you didn’t know. (Although there is a
good chance everyone else on the planet knows this but me, but in the off
chance there is one other person who
doesn’t know this, well here you go.):
You can only nod your head. You can’t nod any other body
part. You don’t nod your foot, only your head. So saying someone nods his head
= Redundant. (And possibly ignorant, when it comes down to it.) Who knew? Oh
yeah — everyone but me.
You nod. Not your head. You just simply nod.
There you go. You’re
welcome.
The further along in the
copyedits, the less intelligent I felt. Hell, I don’t even know if “further” is
the right word anymore? Is it farther? See, I’ve lost any ability to write at
all. My worst fear has finally happened.
I’m, also, starting to
wonder if the copyeditor ended up hating me by the end of the novel. I mean,
maybe he or she was so disgusted by my flagrant misuse of commas that by the
end of the manuscript, he or she was seething with resentment and irritation. I
can just imagine him or her at the bar after a day spent copyediting my novel,
telling a friend, “Man, I’ll be so glad to get done with this novel because
that writer doesn’t know a comma from a hole in the ground.”
At the same time, I’m
incredibly grateful that this expert — this person who is smart about commas —
is making my book look so —well — smart.
Hey, here’s a little hint
for any other writers out there who feel like they might be getting a little
cocky or arrogant or thinking they are too cool – just have a copyeditor read
your novel! Voila! Suddenly, you will slip right off your high horse and join
the rest of us hacks. You might even feel a little bit of writing insecurity
creep up you because after all, the truth is you really have no clue how to use
a comma. Wait — that’s just me.
