When I got home last night, all my stuff was still there.
Knock wood for another year—
June 29, 2007
June 26, 2007
Speed reader
I'm in that floaty space between the old job and the new one, trying to wind down and ramp up at the same time. It involves shuffling big stacks of paper.
Other editors may purge their files like clockwork, but I expect we're mostly pack rats. You never know when you might need to reference that thing you worked on a few years back. The one where that guy was talking, with the clause you fixed just right, and it may come up again, so . . . you understand.
Looking over two-plus years of work reminded me of the painful, sweet, inevitable learning curve, its steepness and pace. As the new kid, you know the least about what's going on; as the editor, you're supposed to correct what all the seasoned writers have to say about what's going on. It's an odd situation.
I've always read quickly, and I imagine that's no small reason I wound up doing it for a living. That and the fact that people were willing to pay me. (I'm still amazed.)
But reading for pleasure tends to go much faster than reading for work. A novel passes by like so much ethereal distraction. The more I like it, the sooner I want to move forward and see what's next.
Reading with an eye to correct is a very different beast: slower by necessity, less about immediate gratification than about establishing a prolonged relationship with the words. Context is king either way—but in a pleasure read, I aim for total immersion with no awareness. In a professional read, I'm constantly aware.
This is all by way of observing that my professional reading pace has increased lately, and so has my snap judgment of what I read. It might just be a survival mechanism, since the volume of work has been vast in this job. But I'd like to think it's also a sharpening of instinct.
The deeper I dig into this craft, the more often I look things up. Back in the day, I thought I was supposed to have the rules down and recite them on command. The biggest surprise has been the flexibility of language within those rules. Not everything can be argued—thank goodness, Mr. Strunk and Mr. White—but it can often be discussed.
So why the honed instinct? How does it help? I'm still sussing this out, but I think it means I'm starting to understand when the discussion is worth having.
Other editors may purge their files like clockwork, but I expect we're mostly pack rats. You never know when you might need to reference that thing you worked on a few years back. The one where that guy was talking, with the clause you fixed just right, and it may come up again, so . . . you understand.
Looking over two-plus years of work reminded me of the painful, sweet, inevitable learning curve, its steepness and pace. As the new kid, you know the least about what's going on; as the editor, you're supposed to correct what all the seasoned writers have to say about what's going on. It's an odd situation.
I've always read quickly, and I imagine that's no small reason I wound up doing it for a living. That and the fact that people were willing to pay me. (I'm still amazed.)
But reading for pleasure tends to go much faster than reading for work. A novel passes by like so much ethereal distraction. The more I like it, the sooner I want to move forward and see what's next.
Reading with an eye to correct is a very different beast: slower by necessity, less about immediate gratification than about establishing a prolonged relationship with the words. Context is king either way—but in a pleasure read, I aim for total immersion with no awareness. In a professional read, I'm constantly aware.
This is all by way of observing that my professional reading pace has increased lately, and so has my snap judgment of what I read. It might just be a survival mechanism, since the volume of work has been vast in this job. But I'd like to think it's also a sharpening of instinct.
The deeper I dig into this craft, the more often I look things up. Back in the day, I thought I was supposed to have the rules down and recite them on command. The biggest surprise has been the flexibility of language within those rules. Not everything can be argued—thank goodness, Mr. Strunk and Mr. White—but it can often be discussed.
So why the honed instinct? How does it help? I'm still sussing this out, but I think it means I'm starting to understand when the discussion is worth having.
June 16, 2007
June 12, 2007
China highlights
What's that, Biz Cas? You were in China?
Yes, my Beijing photos are finally up at the BCS. Please take a look at them all if you'd like, or just enjoy these 10 favorites:
Yes, my Beijing photos are finally up at the BCS. Please take a look at them all if you'd like, or just enjoy these 10 favorites:
June 10, 2007
And it doesn't get dark until 8:30
I just took my hammock out of storage. Then I went to the market for these:
Y A Y
S U M M E R T I M E
S U M M E R T I M E
June 06, 2007
Campin'
Warning: Inside jokes ahead. They're probably only funny when box wine is involved, and maybe not even then. But who would know?
A possibly stolen talisman is essential for highway safety. Give it a common name to avoid suspicion.
Take your time. Enjoy the scenery, sample the bounty of the roadside stands.
When you reach your destination, spend a while appreciating nature's burbling.
Let your mind become peaceful, and your body numb.
Become one with the trees.
Stop and say hello to your many-legged friends.
Do not stray from the clearly marked trail.
Stroll on back to your campsite. Play a little tune, light a little fire.
Wake up slightly worse for wear. Ask yourself what happened.
Consult the Semiotician to the Stars for answers. She'll want to confirm that you brought along all the outdoor essentials:
remote-controlled latern . . . check.
plastic mallet . . . check.
pedicure . . . check.
the naughty . . . check.
the tent mahal
it's for his own good
Turn and see the woodland creatures scatter. Consider the carnage.
Finally, remember this: If it starts with Franzia, it ends with smiles. Or something like them.
And if the good lord doesn't smite you down soon, the neighbors will.
kathmandon't, b.w. slim, h. mcgraw, a.m. johnson, the fiddler, ladyboy, magic hands.
not pictured: penelope.
Leave the woods as pristine and unscathed as you found them.
CAMPIN'
A Jujubes for Jesus™ How-To Guide
A Jujubes for Jesus™ How-To Guide
First, find an open road. Put them car wheels on it.
A possibly stolen talisman is essential for highway safety. Give it a common name to avoid suspicion.
Take your time. Enjoy the scenery, sample the bounty of the roadside stands.
When you reach your destination, spend a while appreciating nature's burbling.
Let your mind become peaceful, and your body numb.
Become one with the trees.
Stop and say hello to your many-legged friends.
Do not stray from the clearly marked trail.
Record your greatest hits album. Having prior hits is not required.
Stroll on back to your campsite. Play a little tune, light a little fire.
[Musical Interlude]
Wake up slightly worse for wear. Ask yourself what happened.
Consult the Semiotician to the Stars for answers. She'll want to confirm that you brought along all the outdoor essentials:
remote-controlled latern . . . check.
plastic mallet . . . check.
pedicure . . . check.
the naughty . . . check.Decide not to sweat it. Observe your fellow campers at rest.
the tent mahal
it's for his own goodTurn and see the woodland creatures scatter. Consider the carnage.
Finally, remember this: If it starts with Franzia, it ends with smiles. Or something like them.
And if the good lord doesn't smite you down soon, the neighbors will.
kathmandon't, b.w. slim, h. mcgraw, a.m. johnson, the fiddler, ladyboy, magic hands.not pictured: penelope.
Leave the woods as pristine and unscathed as you found them.
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