April 17th, 2019

Cordon C3

Oh, look. It's bedtime.

Yesterday was better than today. It's not that today wasn't just as dull, because it was. However, the dullness had an oily sheen – and here I'm thinking of the oils of especially potent peppers – of anger, and that sorta spoiled the usual blandness one associates with the dull. But the weather was nice, at least. We didn't get any rain, and the temperature went above 80˚F.

I spent a chunk of the day checking over all the copyedits to "La Belle Fleur Sauvage," scribbling STET every few seconds (or so it seemed). And, likely, that accounted for a goodly chunk of the oily, angry sheen that stained the day. And it's why I really got nothing else but the copyedits done. On a related note, this is something I posted to Facebook yesterday, because I knew today was coming:

Of all the hideous indignities visited upon me as a writer in the last decade or so – and it's a long list – being expected to use "track changes" in MS Word to address copy-editors' (who no longer even know proper CE symbols) changes is likely the worst. And I refuse to accept this one. I've been fighting it now since 2015, I think, back with Dark Horse. I will not do it. I also don't do "electronic signatures." Ever.

This morning, I printed out the file, wrote my replies to the CE in ink on paper, and now I will mail it, by USPS, back to the publisher.

Tonight, we watched John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969), because I hadn't seen it in a very long time and Spooky never had, and we followed it with Adam McKay's truly brilliant Vice (2018).

Later Taters,

1:27 p.m.