There's an old saying: writers are the gods of their worlds.
They're not. Editors are the gods in writers' worlds.
I used to pull off some dumb graveyard shifts at Call Centres; half the time because it meant getting money, the other half, pushing same money off on booze and parties with chicks and dudes too sleepy to care otherwise. I was pretty much the same then... I mean, who isn't fucking sleepy at three in the morning? When all you have for entertainment is the occasional jackoff calling for a repair.
Nah, it's nuts there.
Money come, money go; mindfucked brain, remain.
I should wash out my mouth with soap. I'm going back to my heydays, when all this blog used to see was profanity enough to make God turn the other cheek.
But where was I? Ah.
I had a particularly disheartening grammar lecture today. God in heaven knows who invented Grammar. I don't, and if I did, that sonuvabitch would be sleeping with the fishes. If a junkie can write, and write passably well; I hope I do; then why the hell do you want to force stuff on him that comes out properly when he's writing?
Let's face it- there are only two rules to life. The rule that lets us do as we fucking please, and the rule that makes us face the consequences of our actions.
If you can bargain with these two, you've got it made. And I don't mind... I've done my bargaining.
When the call centre days went on, I often had the dubious post of having to edit reports and stuff. I could just pick up the typos by the kilo and toss them into the dustbin.
I suppose that habit disappeared, of keeping track of my own typographical errors, when I started working in Print seriously. The idea of having an editor above- having anyone above you to keep track of your mistakes and rectify as needed- makes you grow complacent in your own ability to report, until you find yourself saying, 'Fuck typos! I'm paid to report, bitch!'
Ya, I did say that.
That's when the Latin phrase "Memento Mori" hits me. "Remember your mortality".
It's a pretty good thing to keep in mind, isn't it? When things like small, dumb mistakes you don't remember making come back to bite you in the ass, they, more than world-altering mistakes, remind you that you're a human.
Side note: The inspiration for this blog comes from the fact that I sent a piece full of typos as an assignment. I've regretted it since afternoon... well, to Beelzebub with it! Shan't make the mistake of being an eager beaver again.