IMPORTANT NOTE: I wrote this piece in pure jest. It is not to be taken seriously (a good rule of thumb for roughly 72.83 percent of everything you see on Dances with Bass.)
The past 19 years of book editing have been absolutely amazing. During that time, I have worked with some simply brilliant authors—many of whom I now consider friends. Many of the books I’ve edited have come together without a lot of requisite heavy lifting on the editorial end. Some books—especially those written by new authors—have required patient and loving attention to be made into the beauties they were intended to be. Still others require so much work on the editorial end the line between author and editor becomes pretty blurry. And then sometimes—not often, but sometimes—you just have to throw in your editorial towel and cry “uncle!”
So, without further ado, I give you The Five States of Editing a Book:
1. ELATION: Oh, what a glorious morning. Never before has thine eyes seen such a beautiful sunrise. But, alas! Mine joy is madeth more complete by the smelleth of a new book in the air. Oh, what a perfect day tis.
2. REALIZATION: This booketh is much longer and more difficult than I wast anticipating on this quite quaint falleth morning.
3. SUFFERING: Wherefore, oh wherefore, didst methinks this wast a valorous idea for a booketh? I loveth the smell of napalm in the morning as I rip thine manuscript to shreds, good sir. Methinks I might has’t a problem with mine wine cup. It runneth o’er.
3a. CRYING: I shall shed a tear, good sir, in thy honor. I cannot save thee. Good luck to you, good sir.
3b. DEPRESSION: How could I ever wend on like this, lief friend? Alas, what is this dark of night that surrounds mine heart?
3c. DRUNK: 99 bottles of beer on the mure, 99 bottles of beer. If ‘t be true one of those bottles should befall to falleth, 98 bottles of beer on the mure!
3d. RESIGNATION: Oh, sweet glory. I type by fate words in desire that those words shalt maketh sense to mine author. Curses. I don’t giveth a rat’s rampallian. Publish ‘t like tis, I don’t care, you of small brains and bad words. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!
4. ANGER: Alas, no more brain than stone booketh. I fart in thy general direction!
5. ELATION: Thee booketh hath madeth me so joyous. I cannot believeth I wast once cross with thee. Allow me to hug thee to mine bosom, lief friend. Your booketh is just what I at each moment wanted. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and your book is the sun. I wilt name that gent George, and I wilt hug that gent and pet that gent and squeeze that gent…
