For many years I shuttled between teaching, tutoring, editing, and writing in various combinations. Sometimes I had three manuscripts in my bag. Other times it was student papers. I bought a travelers notebook as an indulgent gift to myself and kept track of my hours.
Today was my first day at the first full-time job I’ve had in 12 years. I sat at my desk and attended meetings online. I wrote notes. My eyes fell out of my head when they talked about health insurance. I had mid afternoon tea. I did not go anywhere.
(Not that anyone is going anywhere these days.)
I had my beloved adjunct bag filled with books and manuscripts and pens. Now I have a desk. Manuscripts fit in my files, and I weeded through my pen cups to keep only the ones that work. Books are everywhere. I separated out my pencils. (Demon Puppy separated out one more, which she chewed on. Jerk.)
I also love my desk. I feel as if I will be spending more time there.
What’s the view where you are?
Could an era be coming to an end? I just finished the second online interview for a full-time job. Could I be leaving the freelance world? I hope so.
But don’t worry. I will still be editing at home with a pile of dogs. I’ll just have more steady work, benefits, and (I hope) less formless job anxiety.
Interviewing online is much better in person. You can wear your best-looking shirt as long as it isn’t obviously dirty. You can eat hummus for breakfast and not worry about garlic breath.
And I assure you. I will still be cranky.
Besides the obvious, what is new in your worlds?
Me: The ground was just described in my book as hardened and muddy. It takes place in the rural northeast. [We just happen to live in the rural northeast.]
Me: The copyeditor was probably from New York. The ground can’t be both hardened and muddy. [cf. our yard]
Spouse: The copyeditor probably has never even seen the ground.
Items I Have Used for Kindling This Month
Weeds poking through the snow
My gas bill
Junk mail advertising the cure to erectile dysfunction
Grocery store bags
The pharmacist bag from my anti-depressants
The bag the bourbon came in
(Do those two things cancel each other out?)
Lousy, stale bagels
A delicious baguette I didn’t eat in time
Paper towels soaked in leftover cooking oil (by the way, this works the best)
The free newspaper that shows up at my house
My spouse’s notes from studying Good Works
Books I Have Read and Not Burned
The Old Ways, by Robert Macfarlane
The Faraway Nearby, by Rebecca Solnit, which MENTIONS The Old Ways, but gets an extremely tiny geographical detail wrong
Jackaroo, by Cynthia Voigt
Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy
Various and sundry schlocky novels that I will not confess to even anonymously
Books I Have Burned
Only my own
What are you burning these days?
Hello, I’m back. You’re glad I’m editing trade nonfiction again, because it means I have more to complain about and thus more to say! For example, what do you do if your author is being an insufferable sanctimonious heteronormative writer?*
(*I was about to write “asshole,” but truly Author is not an asshole. They were just ranting on the page. Lord knows, I would never rant on the page.)
Query your author’s assumptions, because it’s your goddamn job. When your author says, “Only terrible people eat dark chocolate,” warm up your diplomatic querying muscles to state: “AU: Please consider rewriting. Eating dark chocolate does not make a person terrible.”
Change every instance of “mom and dad” to “parents” or “adults.” Your editorial overlord will likely back you up.
Singular “they” is the word of the fucking year. Rejoice. And don’t stint on its use.
Be subtle. Your author has written, “Eating oranges will be the change you have always wanted see in your life,” twenty-thousand times. They won’t notice if you change something to be a little more inclusive.
Flex more diplomatic muscles. “AU: This sentence reads as if you are suggesting that people provoke bear attacks by just walking down the street. I know you would never mean that, but please rephrase to make more convincing.” You know goddamn well that Author thinks victims of bear attacks are at fault in their own mauling (although sometimes they are; be careful how you store food). But let’s maintain this useful fiction.
What useful fictions are you maintaining lately?
Am I talking about fried clams? No. I’m talking about my foolish writerly self. It’s been a complicated fall, as I’ve said previously. I’m back on different, theoretically better anti-depressants. This is a good thing. I needed them and they do seem better. I seemed better.
Did you note the past tense in the last sentence? I did too.
I have a lovely little writing group. We don’t critique each other, rather we gather in a room and write together in silence. Then we talk briefly about how it went.
For the past two weeks, I’ve talked about how I’m making progress and am gearing up to send my final (could it be? could it be??) manuscript to my Trusty Reader. And then for two consecutive days I’ve gotten absolutely nothing done on the manuscript.
I’m in the tricky phase where I have to fill in the dates, fix the wording, and figure out passages that have been eluding sense for years now. It’s hard. I’m not making progress. And it’s driving me up a fucking wall.
I have three repetitive paragraphs describing technical subject X. And I cannot for the life of me figure out how to make it into cohesive prose with a narrative flow. I am a professional editor and an academic writing tutor. I have skills and inner resources! I should be able to fix three measly paragraphs.
How do you get yourself out of writing morasses?
(Fun fact: Bubkes means goat droppings.)
I like using the word “notes.” It lends dignity to what really is just a jumble of random thoughts that I (and maybe you?) find interesting.
I am a freelancer and a temporary serial bachelor. My spouse is getting a degree in Good Works in a different part of the state and is gone two days out of the week. Sometimes this means I eat complicated bean and rice dishes with fresh salsa. [Spouse is a person of excellent taste (especially in women), but his views on Mexican food are disappointing to say the least.] Other times I eat cheese toast and pretend it’s healthy.
Baked food is the freelancer’s friend. You assemble something and then
get some work done write a blog post while it cooks. I am a fan of roasted chickpeas, baked eggs (which dispose of many and various leftovers), and roasted vegetable hash (with eggs or meat depending on what you have; fish is also amazing).
It’s been a difficult fall. Personal upheaval. Minor, but persistent, inconveniences. Two workshops to present each week. Everything has calmed down, except the workshops, but even so I had a freelance job evaporate in a particularly startling matter last week.
But I am writing again and clearly eating. I’m still married. My dogs are alive. My house is standing. The wood is stacked. Yesterday I made my first one-match woodstove fire of the season.
The beavers moved in and turned my stream into a pond, which has been a pretty fascinating process. Fortunately the stream is at the bottom of a ravine, so the rising water does not affect the house or yard. We now have ducks and I’ve been seeing a great blue heron too, which is lovely. It turns out that beavers whistle at sunset and sunrise.
What have you learned this fall?