Dreading the Typo
Everyone needs an editor. And I mean everyone. I have a condition which induces me to find typos on menus. And not just at Chinese restaurants, where the mis-translations can be quite comical. The word Caesar, as in the salad, is misspelled as often as not; it’s a-e, in case you’re keeping track.
I raise the issue as someone who is regularly humbled by his own uncorrected work. I can read something over and over, and still miss the typos. As in a recent announcement which I faxed to a whole bunch of folks about my new web page on learning to fly called "From the Ground Up." When I finally caught it -- after it had been faxed to about thirty people -- I noticed that I had spelled announce with only two n’s. Aaaarrrrgggghhhhhh!
It’s very obvious in films where movie stars who direct themselves. Even the best of them need a second opinion. Someone with authority to say, I think you’re emoting a bit much in this scene, or I think we can shave a few frames off of your close-up, don’t you?.
Self-help books are another area where editors are sorely needed, and rarely effective. Maybe it’s because the material is new-ish, and the editors don’t think that they understand it well enough to make the necessary trims. More likely, the advice-bearing authors are narcissists who won’t let a word be cut from their literary opuscules.
Self-editing is particularly important for those who like to think out loud, and to an audience. Hey, we don’t have to hear everything. Let’s go for the Reader’s Digest condensed version.
Reminds me of a joke. They knew that the skeleton they found from a million years had to be a woman because the jaws were still moving. Haha. No, not true. Not fair either. Women are no more the gabbers than are the men. In fact, I’ve recently run into a gaggle of men who seem to think that to talk is to breathe. And some of them I’m sure are talking several seconds after I’ve hung up the phone. Sorta the way audio files play after you’ve disconnected from a site. Or the way fingernails still grow after you’ve died.
I’ve found sometimes that the only solution is to teach them the error of their ways. Some times I’ll suddenly look confused, and that will force them to stop and ask me what’s wrong. Or I’ll focus my gaze on one of their ears long enough to distract them.
That usually opens up a window through which I can toss an excuse, and make my escape.
Something tells me I should stop here.
And that’s SetonnoteS...I’m Tony Seton.
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