I’m beginning to see that knowing too much about the technical aspect of writing–the grammar and punctuation–has screwed much of my ability to read for pure pleasure.
I am a nitpicker, one of those annoying people who doesn’t enjoy a story’s forest for the grammar and punctuation trees. And it’s a bad habit I hope to wean myself from soon.
So why am I a nitpicker? Well, I edit my own work for publication. And . . . well, there’s this review from my first book:
It’s actually a good review on a seminal work. What stuck with me, however, was that second paragraph. I had worked so hard to polish it to perfection before publication that I injected errors and missed things like an incomplete sentence. Back then, I wanted to be a 5-star overnight success. I longed to be discovered and contacted by a film studio.
I thought I was owed fame and fortune because I had invested so much time into Beneath a Sunless Sky.
Today, I appreciate a 4-star review like this. Receiving any review is a gift, and receiving 4 stars instead of 5 stars over technical issues . . . that’s actually incredible, if one considers it. The novel’s story was strong enough to withstand the loss of a single star over real technical errors. (There was a history to the bad feelings on seeing this review, as well. I asked her to proofread the book before publication, but she declined.)
The problem with pushing to reach technical perfection in a novel (none of my books is technically perfect, but I expect they’re getting better) means that my natural writing voice and its cadence can get edited out. Language intended to be emotionally rich is made neuter. That’s not good.
So this now has to do with a sense of dread I had in proofing someone else’s work recently. Being me, I went farther than fixing punctuation here and there for flow. And that . . . wasn’t what I was supposed to do. It wasn’t, but I did it anyway.
The story I was given is by an author I admire deeply, and even as it was, it’s a story worth reading. The story arc is powerful. The storytelling shows a mastery of the delicate weaving of the unteachable part of writing to a climax and denouement which was both satisfying and powerful. Characters evolved, and the reader got to be right in that evolution. Once it’s published, this book (whether the author uses any of my suggestions) is a recommended read.
I wanted to improve the technical aspects of this story, so the grammar and punctuation was raised to the level of the author’s ability to set worlds of imagination onto paper (and e-ink).
And once I was finished, I began to fret. I began to worry. Will the changes I suggested be deeply offensive? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.
Right now, I’m reading another book, and it’s also a story which has that quality of storytelling with some punctuation issues. It’s clear, though. It’s absolutely clear. What I am doing is all about reading as an editor, mentally putting marks here and there to make it match the punctuation I worked so hard to learn (for my own work).
This nitpicking behavior isn’t ruining the story experience, but it certainly isn’t allowing me to immerse myself in the writer’s rich and fascinating world. It’s ruining my reading experience, and the fault lies fully within myself.
So I am working on abandoning the inner editor as I read, and I am fretting that my nitpicking will hurt another author’s feelings–despite it coming from a place of admiration. Yes, it actually does come from a place of admiration. The writer whose work received a pre-publication run-through from me is better than I am at creating a compelling tale. My intent was only to smooth a few things here and there to improve the reading flow of the story. And my ego got involved in what was supposed to be a quick proofread looking for the really big typographical issues. I worried that I would be blamed if I let something go and it was criticized by others after publication.
So in an effort to avoid blame for passing over infinitesimal technical issues which I caught, I am inviting anger and frustration for bringing those to the fore. I know most of the technical issues I caught are just nitpicking. The read in some of those places is fine; it’s a visual issue, not a clarity issue.
I suppose what’s left is to apologize if my proofing work causes offense and keep reminding myself (while I read this current novel, which . . . oh, it’s so good and I’m not even 1/5 of the way through!) that my inner editor is not invited when I read for pleasure.
I still feel guilt and some regret over my nitpicking behavior. I catch many more issues than some of the editors out there do, which both improves my final product and destroys my prose’s personality. Maybe that’s part of feeling guilty: I worry that in the pursuit of trying to perfect the reading experience of another’s work, I become responsible for the loss of immersion and the deterioration of an author’s voice under the weight of “proper” grammar in this incongruous mutt of a trade language we call English.
And I think I understand why my nitpicking is so damnably ludicrous: to adulterate an extraordinary author’s voice is far worse than sending to publication a five-star story with a smattering of technical issues.
Now, puppies. I think discovering that I’m a nitpicky grammar bitch–and acknowledging that it’s a serious character defect that I need to fix–deserves puppies: