ccosborne3 Wrote:I'm talking about some gentle editing. Everybody needs an editor. FPW himself had 2 or 3 spelling errors in the ARC of Bloodline. Happens to the best of em'.
Back when I lived in Brockport, I studied fictioneering with Nancy Kress. And as I was the only sf soul in the class, we got tight enough for her to invite to dinner with her family. (Her then-husband Michael Kress was a world-class clownboy, but that's another story.) Anyway, one day she asked me if I'd type a yarn for her. (I do not know how a professional writer never learned how to type.) "I pay my typists $10 dollars a page, Michael." "Nancy, please. You don't have to pay me anything." "It's work. It's your time and effort. You should be rewarded for that." What could I say? The story was called AGAINST A CROOKED STILE, earmarked for F&SF. A =real= deadline, Tuesday at 8AM. She gave me her hand-written manuscript the Sunday before. Plenty of time. But I'm the type of guy who leaves everything to the last minute. And that Monday night, I had to throw darts with my team, Higgens' Horehounds. The 'Hounds won the match, and like every winning team, we partied hearty into the night. About 2AM, I remembered: HOLY SHIT! I HAVE TO TYPE A STORY FOR NANCY! SPEED, SPEED, WHO'S GOT SPEED! The bartender's girlfriend was an RN, and she had some. "This is the =only= time, Michael!" I got home, unlimbered my acoustic Corona, got ready for work. Started typing, and the fucking "s" key froze on me. I looked at the typewriter. YOU ARE KIDDING ME, RIGHT? It was not. A frantic half-hour with a toothbrush and 3-in-1 oil, I got it working. Half-assed. Sorta. But workable. Slow, but workable. I carried on like a trouper. And halfway through the story, I found an error. Nancy had used both the English system and the metric system in one sentence. Something like, "He was 6'2 and 100 lean kilos." Not ashamed to confide I sobbed. "This =can't= be right! Should I change it? Nancy, why didn't you learn to type?" I figured, fuck this. The sun is coming up. I'll make it all metric. More sf that way. And =right= at 8AM, I finished. And there was Nancy on my porch. "Is it ready, Michael?" "It is, Nancy, but I had to correct something..." Her pretty eyes narrowed. I explained. "Oh, thank you, Michael. I don't know why I did that. Thank you." "Well, Nancy, since I helped so much, shouldn't the byline read, "by Nancy Kress and Mike Lindner"?
She has such a merry laugh.