I spent last week chasing widows and orphans. It’s all in a novelist’s job.
When at long last your book galleys arrive, you think: Hooray, it’s done! But the dear wee book is never done. Though you’re bleary with rewrites, you are profoundly motivated to get the book out the door, so you fine-tooth-comb-it through every single page, studying spacing, hyphenation (Ste-phen?! Not good.), quotation marks (which show up backwards after ellipses), capitalization,
paragraph indents, extra line breaks, italics, and the proverbial widows and orphans.
Widow: the first line of a paragraph appears alone at the bottom of a page.
Orphan: the last line of a paragraph appears alone at the top of a page.
These look odd and are to be avoided. (I just learned these definitions on Ehow! When I was proofreading my book, I thought I was looking for single lines at the top of an otherwise empty page. And we’ve already sent in the galleys. Arghh. As I said, the wee book ain’t never done!)
Unless you have nerves of titanium, you also cannot resist making a hundred or so tiny changes that you just know will make the book irresistible. Add to this sleepless nights from note-taking at four A.M. for those final final details—check the spelling of Vere’s maiden name, what would a 1,200 mile train fare be in 1875, when did the Curlew Valley herds change from sheep to cattle, was “butt” a word back then!?
I quote, “Butt: In sense of 'human posterior' it is recorded from mid-15c.” Oh, how I LOVE the Online Etymology Dictionary. It’s a historical writer’s best friend. I have used it several thousand times while writing Tributary. I want to send them a cheesecake.
When at long last your book galleys arrive, you think: Hooray, it’s done! But the dear wee book is never done. Though you’re bleary with rewrites, you are profoundly motivated to get the book out the door, so you fine-tooth-comb-it through every single page, studying spacing, hyphenation (Ste-phen?! Not good.), quotation marks (which show up backwards after ellipses), capitalization,
paragraph indents, extra line breaks, italics, and the proverbial widows and orphans.
Widow: the first line of a paragraph appears alone at the bottom of a page.
Orphan: the last line of a paragraph appears alone at the top of a page.
These look odd and are to be avoided. (I just learned these definitions on Ehow! When I was proofreading my book, I thought I was looking for single lines at the top of an otherwise empty page. And we’ve already sent in the galleys. Arghh. As I said, the wee book ain’t never done!)
Unless you have nerves of titanium, you also cannot resist making a hundred or so tiny changes that you just know will make the book irresistible. Add to this sleepless nights from note-taking at four A.M. for those final final details—check the spelling of Vere’s maiden name, what would a 1,200 mile train fare be in 1875, when did the Curlew Valley herds change from sheep to cattle, was “butt” a word back then!?
I quote, “Butt: In sense of 'human posterior' it is recorded from mid-15c.” Oh, how I LOVE the Online Etymology Dictionary. It’s a historical writer’s best friend. I have used it several thousand times while writing Tributary. I want to send them a cheesecake.
What is it like to write and publish a novel? Non-stop long-distance attention. Call novelists the long-haul truckers of American letters. And give ‘em a break when you spot errors in their books. Or is that brake? Truckers are known for chasing tail. Novelists chase tale.
Thanks to Denver novelist Veronica Breville for the cute photo of the tail-chasing dog.
Thanks to Denver novelist Veronica Breville for the cute photo of the tail-chasing dog.
