You’ve got to love them.
Especially when they prowl in the paragraphs of your most important papers.
I view it as a blessing when I’m required to read it one more time before the whole class: It’s my last chance to spot that little monster and cross it out.
I’ve had my fair share of typos as I am sure every writer has.
When the words start pounding in my head and flying out my fingers, the scene of the story playing out before my eyes, I can hardly keep up with myself or my spelling lessons. I have no time to check myself and soon the squiggly red lines are blurring until they disappear behind my character’s surroundings.
When I first started editing my very first competed novel, I came across many a misused comma.
There is a great satisfaction to surfing through pages and pages of manuscript and adding those little missing punctuation marks, but after a certain amount of time, as the sun sets in the west and my eyes grow weary and my hands cramp up from crossing out everything.
It is in those moments typos no longer are those embarrassing mistakes, but suddenly my greatest friends, entertaining me when I most need it.
I even began writing them down.
So today, you get a glimpse into what crazy things sometimes pop out of my fingers.
Welcome to my rough draft world, where my character gallop away on their hoses and the air is filled with humility!
First up we have some brilliant prose dug up from the one and only, Unnamed Fantasy Novel of my childhood:
“The chickens squawked widely.”
What profound wisdom is this?
Meaning their range was wide?
I’ve never payed attention to the pitch of squawking chickens, but now I will have to notice.
“The first raised his head and stared at Ethel, screeching, as his boy started to shrivel and shrink until it was a black feathery creature: A vulture.”
Yikes… I feel sorry for his boy.
“Behind, in the courtyard, yelling arose and then something began to thudded below in the streets.”
This sentence is actually pulled from the same scene as the last two…
When it rains, it pours, my friends.
“Ethel could barely see his shadow stop and pull something from a self.”
Wow, is this stranger a magician? O.O
Or is he just a guy reaching into his pockets?
And will Ethel ever really know?
“I have brought you breakfast and a new dress, since the one I dressed you in the first day was too big. It was the only one we had at the moment,” she chattered setting everything she held on the self, along with items from the stool.”
What can I say?
I’m a person of habit.
“Dried herbs dangled from strings off the low rafters, fragmenting the room with a mix of strong smells.”
“He held out the plate and Ethel accepted it sullenly. The rice and rice smelled good. He handed her the fork too.”
Rice and rice guys.
You heard it here first.
Best dish ever.
“…The Riders: Two black dots drifted amidst the blue ribbon that snacked into the horizen’s grasp.”
Blue ribbon snacked into a horizen’s grasp?
Is English even my first language?
And what is up with these descriptions?
All I can picture is a small mythical rodent nibbling on a blue ribbon.
I promise I don’t describe things this way any more.
“Seth grabbed the boy’s shoulders with venomous and leaned forward.”
Wait… so was Seth secretly a venomous creature? Like a snake? 😮
I mean the other guy’s boy turns into a vulture sooo
The things an author doesn’t know about her characters until it happens.
And that’s fun and all, but even more recently as I combed through my first set of twenty chapters from 51, I found stuff:
“Stay with my Zeb,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare faint now.”
Woah, woah, woah.
Charlie, my dear.
Don’t go to fast here… you’ve only known him for 24 hours.
That was supposed to say me…
And then a few lines later Zeb asks Charlie:
“How much father?”
Can their situation here get any more confusing?
Charlie nodded. “I’m sorry… I know it hurts and I quash we were closer.”
There’s even more.
“They limped on and Sarah and she dumped the paper bag into the trash.”
I don’t even have a character named Sarah.
Talk about random people showing up in scenes.
Well, Sarah, you got your little debut in the middle of no where, may we return to the story?
“Zeb looked down at his tights where the bloodied strip of white was tied around his tattered jeans. Where had that come from?”
Ballerina tights are so Zeb’s style, guys.
That’s supposed to say “thigh.”
So where did those random tights come from, Zeb? Do tell. 😉