2017 March

Earlier this year, during a stay at a friend’s beach house at the Oregon Coast—a beach house with a view at that!—I watched an SUV bump its way over a rocky access point and roll out onto the sand. On emerging, the SUV’s occupant held up her camera and presumably took a few photos. She then got back into the vehicle and spun it around, at which point the SUV started spinning its wheels. When she halted the spinning and got back out again, she looked at the craters in the sand and then up toward the beach house. Although I had no shovel to offer when she asked for one, I did lend her the house’s dustpan—which I have since replaced. A tow truck arrived within the hour.

Rather than attempt to extract the vehicle by tugging on it, the truck instead patiently coaxed the SUV from its moorings. The straight, taut line between the two held firm, and neither vehicle budged a micron for a very long while. Then, nearly imperceptibly, the SUV began to float forward. The process continued for some time as the tow truck held its ground. It was only when the SUV was completely clear of ruts in the sand that the tow truck began a patient move forward, SUV in tow.

I asked the young woman asking for the shovel why she’d driven onto the sand. She told me she had four-wheel drive—as if that explained everything. There are times when I approach writing and editing as if I, too, have four-wheel drive. And I know I am not alone during those days when nothing is working, nothing is happening, and no amount of will is contributing to the work at hand. On such days, perhaps use of will even serves to push the project further from reach. Perhaps my sharpened pencils, no matter my drive, would better serve the work if I ease up, recognize what’s possible, and simply stay the course for the time being.

I had the thought when that little truck first appeared on the scene how fun it would be to be able to perform such a rescue. On reflection now, I think it’s clear that I might do well to keep the wisdom of the tow in mind to rescue writing and editing projects at hand.

To Proof or Not to Proof? It’s not a question to even think to ask. There’s only one option!

The Habit

And yet, I have a habit of making changes in documents even as I proof and—often as not—after I have proofed. It should have come as no surprise then that when I picked up the printed copies of a conference program I had designed and edited last fall, I saw that I would have done well to have proofed yet once again.

The Example

Although my enthusiasm lies primarily in the process and the work, I also appreciate the end stage of projects. In this case, after days of contacting presenters with requests for abstracts, bios, and photos; after gathering ad copy and tracking vendors; after obtaining details about time and location of presentations and events; and after sorting, editing, arranging, indesigning, photoshopping, and redesigning because of those to-be-expected, last-minute program changes, I was able to hold something in hand.

The Moment of Truth

As I pulled a copy of the program from one of the printer’s boxes and quickly leafed through, the error virtually leapt from the page. The appreciation I had written was at the end, thanking those who made the various presentations during the conference. My intended last-minute edit involved a change from thanking presenters to thanking those presenting—along with those attending and so forth. Rather than lop off an ers, I had cut only the s before adding the ing; as a result, the “word” is presentering. It sits in a very conspicuous spot. And it sits in that very same spot in hundreds of copies.

Although I know that stuff happens to us all, I do aim to avoid such preventable errors. There are times when I have met such errors, whether introduced by myself or by someone else, with a desire to burn the whole lot.

As the moment of surprise passed, however, I found myself laughing.

The “Justification”

Those who travel to a conference and present the results of their research, share their years of experience, express their concerns and values, and all the rest do far more than make a presentation. They are present. They are available to those attending the conference as well as to other presenters for discussion, elaboration, problem solving, and developing new ideas. They are indeed a presenter and what they do is known as presenting, yet their involvement goes beyond the act of making their presentation. Presentering, in its own way, suggests something more.

The Lesson

Even so, in the future, I’ll be more mindful of the final proof. I may even turn on my computer’s spell check, just in case!