The careful writer of novels, I regret to report, knows no rest; he can never indefinitely regard a final draft as final. At best, he arrives at the first printing stage. As soon as such a (haha) finished object comes out of the box, he opens it, a-tremble with anticipation… unerringly to a page on which:
- he’s assaulted by that bit of awkward phrasing which, goddammit, he’d been meaning to tidy up ever since that sentence’s first draft, like, fifteen goddam years ago; and/or
- a character named Lewis is referred to as “Louis”; and/or
- a historical or scientific factoid which he knows to be false shrieks at him in mad hilarity, because he didn’t know it was false until last week; and/or
- the Latin phrase pro bono appears as pro boner; and/or
- etc.
All of which weighs on my mind today because even though Seems to Fit‘s first printing remains hypothetical, even as I noodle around with the book’s marketing campaign, such as it is, I continue to tinker with the work itself. Among this morning’s tasks: the global spellcheck.
