The Pressure

If it was procrastination that delayed my first entry, then it's pressure that's delayed my second. I just don't know if I'm cut out for this whole blog-thing. It's a lot more complicated than it looks. But maybe that's just me and my need to overanalyze everything.

Okay, so I've been going through the copyedited manuscript of my new book, HOW TO STAY BITTER THROUGH THE HAPPIEST TIMES OF YOUR LIFE, and it's been a bit... harrowing. When my editor went through it, it was relatively painless. In fact, the process was actually enjoyable. I felt like he was able to clarify and hone my writing in places without compromising my tone. It was strange, because the relationship between the editor and the writer can be such a contentious one and if there's an opportunity for contention, I'm usually there. But it was contention-free. Then I got the copyedited version last week and it's like all my feelings of self-righteousness and defensiveness came out on this fanatical person with a red pencil. I think the anonymity of the copyeditor also really bugged me. I know my editor. I have his name and his phone number. We've had lunch together. But just who the hell is this copyeditor person? Is it a he or a she? Is she young or old? Happy or sad? Experienced or just starting out? And why is his/her identity being protected from me? Why doesn't he/she sign his/her work? Leave a phone number, an e-mail address, a note saying, "If there's anything that's unclear or if you just want to talk, feel free to contact me." But no, apparently my copyeditor is in the Copyeditor Protection Program being protected from the likes of me. So instead, when I have questions, I have to call the editorial assistant and she contacts someone in the copy department who then either answers my question or tells her that she'll get back to her and then contacts the freelance copy editor who worked on my manuscript. It's all very complicated. It's all very Alias. Again, I ask, who is this person? And what is he/she hiding? What does she think? What does she feel? What does she look like? Who is she? I definitely think of her as female. And single. And looking for love in all the wrong places. But maybe that's just the cliché talking. (Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe she's not a she. Maybe she's a he and he's in his mid-forties and is happily married. He lives in New Jersey and does freelance copyediting so that he can stay home with the youngest of his three kids so his wife can continue her work as a high-power lawyer at a prestigious law firm in the city. Maybe he read my book and fell secretly in love with me. Maybe he's thinking about me right now.)

At any rate, here's what I do know about her (let's just say it's a "her"): She doesn't like commas. She's not a fan of all-caps. She prefers italicization to bold. She thinks she's smarter than I am. I know she does. There's attitude flowing through the tip of her red pencil all over my manuscript. I can see it. I can feel it. I just feel so, so ...."corrected." Like she's the teacher and I'm her student. But there's no validation to soften the blows. She's just there to find my weak points. And sometimes she succeeds. She knows how to spell "frappuccino." She knows that when I refer to my "cerebellum" that I actually mean my "cerebrum." Even though I took French classes all the way through college, I misspelled "raison d'etre." (Actually, there should be a little carrot-top on the "e," but I couldn't figure out how the hell to make one on this blogger program.) I guess I want more from her than she's willing to give. (A common theme in my relationships, so I'm not surprised.) There is no indication anywhere that she likes my book, that she's interested in my book or even that she condemns my book. There's no opinion revealed. Well, actually, there was one page where I thought she'd given me some sign of her true feelings. She drew a little frownie-face in the margin of one page. Two dots for eyes and an upside-down "v" for a mouth. A really sad and frustrated-looking little frownie-face. A really disappointed-in-you frownie-face. But then I looked closer and realized that she was just making a mark to add an "umlaut" over the "a" in "doppelganger." It wasn't a frownie-face after all. But, ya know, it wasn't a happy face either.