An Introduction to Copyediting

I finished a month-long workshop on copyediting last week and learned a few new things. I was also relieved to find that I haven’t been making too many mistakes in my own writing. So what exactly does a copyeditor do? And what’s the difference between editing, copyediting and proofreading?

Copyeditors work in the world of publishing, whether it be book, newspaper, magazine publishing, or online publishing. Any industry which requires written material will need a copyeditor. The copyeditor will perform his or her complex set of tasks behind the scenes: fixing awkward sentences, correcting mistakes in grammar, punctuation and spelling, and checking that titles and other proper names are accurate. Copyediting is much more than proof reading; it requires a mastery of the rules of grammar and a desire to make the written word shine. A copyeditor will transform an awkward or clumsy sentence into one that is as smooth and graceful as a choreographed dancer.

The process begins with the writer producing the article, feature or novel. This raw material is presented to the editor, who reads it with an eye to the story and structure of the piece. The changes they may recommend will include: plot modifications, character adaptations; and in nonfiction pieces, adding additional resource material. After the writer has made the changes and the editor has approved the manuscript, deeming it to be ready, the piece will passed on to the copyeditor.

Using the company stylebook, Chicago Manual of Style or the Associated Press Stylebook, the copy editor reads the manuscript with an eye toward lucidity, consistency, and errors. He will closely scrutinize punctuation and spelling, check the accuracy of titles and other proper names, and modify sloppy or lazy sentences. When changes are made, the copyeditor does so while keeping in tact the author’s voice and meaning. If the author’s meaning is unclear, the copyeditor will include a note asking for clarification. When the changes made are satisfactory to the writer, editor and copyeditor, the manuscript is passed along to the proof reader to check for typos or other errors that may have sneaked into the copy. The manuscript is nearly ready for publication and if the editor and copyeditor have done their jobs, the piece is now the best it can be.

I’m sure you can see how learning the basics of copyediting would be beneficial to an aspiring author. A submitted manuscript that is clean, free of errors and smoothly written will be much more attractive to potential agents and publishers than one that is sloppy and clumsily written. And especially for the Indie author going the self-publishing route, having a copyeditor’s eye is absolutely essential!

Taking a break

I’m taking a short break from work and from writing. It’s crazy hot, the pool is open and I’m finished with my copyediting workshop. I need to rest and recharge. My regular posting schedule will resume on Sunday with my drawing for the week and I’ll have some things to share from the workshop sessions on the next few Wednesdays. Plus, I’ll begin the final round of four scenes for Small Cuts on Friday, July 13.

Wishing everyone a good week!

Small Cuts (16) Genevieve

To find links to all parts of this story, please visit the Small Cuts Page. Here is Genevieve:

Dark. Warm. Safe. The dark never frightened but comforted. In nature, being visible is a threat to one’s existence, but invisibility is a defense against predators. They can’t eat you if they can’t find you. In the dark I could be myself, because no one would see anyway. It was a relief. Maybe I should sleep. I was so very tired.

If only the birds would be quiet. Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.

The old nursery rhyme went through my head. It reminded me of my Nana. When I was little, Mom and Dad would leave us kids with her when they traveled. I was always afraid to sleep over, even with my older sister and little brother in the same room with me. I’d lay awake for hours, imagining all sorts of terrors. The nightlight Nana left on only made things worse. That little bit of illumination would help the monsters find me. The shadows cast by a dim light are far more sinister than the absolute dark. You can see the monsters just like they can see you. Most nights, I’d run to Nana’s room and crawl in beside her. To try and soothe me to sleep, she would sing. Nursery songs, old church hymns, anything that she knew by heart. Funny how gruesome most of those nursery rhymes were. No wonder we were frightened as children.

When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing—
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before the king?

Dainty. No one used words like that anymore. Language was so crass these days. I suppose it was just a reflection of the world. The harsh, mean, cruel world. What was it I’d seen on the news this morning? Morning. The last thing I remembered: checking the time on TV. Could I have lost time again? The darkness made it seem like night, but I wasn’t sure. Then again, I was so sleepy it must be late. What had happened? Where was I? I tried to reach out, to see if Oliver was next to me, but I couldn’t move my arm, couldn’t feel anything with my fingers. Oliver? Are you there?

The king was in the counting-house
Counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlor
Eating bread and honey,

Oliver had gone somewhere. I needed to find him. It was very, very important that I find him. I just couldn’t remember why. Was Oliver the king? Was I his queen? Was there someone else?

The maid was in the garden
Hanging out the clothes.

Someone else. Someone else. Someone else was in the room with me. I could hear the whispering, murmuring. Blood. Bruises. Broken bones. Brain damage. Whisper, whisper, shhhhh…

Along came a blackbird

The flapping of wings. Thousands and thousands of wings. Monstrous, evil birds. Just like that Hitchcock movie.

And snipped off her nose.

Could they see me? Had they found me? Run! I couldn’t run, couldn’t move, couldn’t see. I could only hear those infernal birds chirping their monotonous song. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Wait, keep still and they can’t find you. Breathe slowly and they won’t hear you. There. The sounds were fading. They were leaving. I was alone again. Safe. Warm. Dark.

Header Image via Google Images. And the nursery rhyme is “Sing a Song of Sixpence” by Mother Goose.