I had an interesting conversation at a family dinner with my
father-in-law a few days ago. Sorry, that's a lie. The conversation was mostly
boring and frustrating as hell because he's a wee bit on the senile side, but
he made a point. We gave him a book for Christmas, which is pretty normal,
(something about living during the time of Christ, honestly not important).
What was a big deal was that there was an error. Not factual, but a typo. In three hundred pages, this
eighty something year old caught a typo. Personally, I'm impressed. Not only
that he caught it, but that there was only one, and I told him so.
That was, of course, the wrong answer. It spawned a big
debate about the quality of the books being produced.
I write. My in-laws know I write, which is why I had this
conversation with my father-in-law to begin with. They just don’t understand what I write. The word ‘romance’ is
never, ever uttered in their presence. To them I write paranormal, because my
first book was. So the whole family thinks I write Twilight fanfic, even though
at the time I hadn’t heard of Twilight. Considering the truth . . . why yes, I
write Twilight fanfic. Grit my teeth and smile.(The internet is a vague concept to them, and blogs are so far in left field I'm really not concerned.)
So you say there was an error in the book, Dad? That doesn't
surprise me. Most books sent out by major publishing houses do go through an
editor, but it’s a quick technical edit looking for major errors and plot
holes. They’re human. They’re hopped up on caffeine. They’ve read four books
already that week and have a virtual stack on their desktop to go. Give them a
break. Don’t misunderstand, I respect these people. I cannot do what these
editors do and I know that. When I pick up a book from a major publishing
company and see the occasional error, I chalk it up to Starbucks and pressure
from the independent publishing companies cranking out a hundred romance
novelas a week in ebook format. They are many and they’re bringing the goliath
‘Big Six’ to their knees bit by bit. And don’t even get me started on editing
in the self publishing market . . .
Father-in-law now has a slightly glazed look in his eyes and
the rest of the family is horrified by my rant. Only the patriarch of the
family is permitted to rant. And there’s a look in his eye like he has something
to say. Heaven help us, a speech is coming.
I sat and made myself comfortable like a good little
daughter-in-law who sits at home and writes Twilight fan-fiction. Which I
don’t. Oh goodie.
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