“Creativity is intelligence having fun.”
So let’s have some fun! As a way of saying ‘thank you’ to faithful long-time and new followers here, I thought it might be fun to have a contest for folks to try their hand at a little bit of editing.
What’s that you say? That sounds more like punishment than fun? Well, even editors need editors, and I hope you’ll all help me edit my novel before I’m through with this third draft.
Besides, there’s not much, it’s easy, and it might help train our eyes for things to look out for as we write.
Maybe this will persuade you: everyone will be a winner. Everyone who participates will receive mention and grateful thanks in the acknowledgements.
Wait, there’s more! The person who finds the most corrections – I count 16 mistakes (with one that could be counted as a 17th) spread out among the four paragraphs that follow – will receive a complementary edit of up to ten pages in any genre.
And here’s a bonus: If someone finds something I’ve missed, or has one or more suggestions for improvement that I agree with, s/he will receive a free copy once the novel is published.
So if you’re ready to help out this editor …
You’ll see four paragraphs below. Each one is from a different part of the book. I’ll start you off with a hint: there are a couple of things among the usual spelling, punctuation, and grammar mistakes that need to be corrected.
Okay, another hint is that one graph has several mistakes in it and another has only two.
The contest runs through the weekend. Let’s set a deadline of 7:00 Eastern Standard Time (in the U. S.) on Monday morning. Use the ‘Comments’ feature to post your corrections or send me your email if you prefer more privacy.
I truly hope you have fun with this. Good luck, and thank you so much for your faithfulness and company!
Abby slowed down to the posted 25 MPH, passing the historic cemetary at the Episcopal Church where some members of the famed Green Mountain Boys were buried; crept up to the intersection behind a car of slower-moving tourists who seemed unsure how to navigate a major junction without a traffic light; turned right onto Main Street; then made a quick left. After a few hundred yards up the hill on East Main Street, Abby turned left into the parking area, waved to a group of woman heading into the glassed-in school lobby, and parked. When she herself walked into the building, she was glad to see a bulletine board display of student’s artwork that portrayed the herron rookery in the different seasons.
“Who can possibly be busier than you?” a voice exclaimed as they reached the middle of the back room and a large round table that was covered with a crazy quilt-patterned oilcloth. Gina Frost, owner and manager of the dinner, distributed napkin-wrapped cutlery as she talked. “With all the running around for patients that you do, you’re essentially full-time at Abby’s clinic. Straightening up, she added, ”Your on call at the hospital, and you house- and pet-sit in what you call you’re spare time. I don’t know how you have time to breath.”
As the four friends fell into a comfortable silence, Bud ate his pie slowly, almost contemplatively, as he was watching all his friends and colleagues all around him. It felt like everyone was letting off steam after the tensions and questions of the afternoon, enjoying each others’ company as they waited for answers. He thought – not for the first time – how glad he was to live in this proud little town, and how thankful he was for how they took care of each other.
By now the crowd was completely silent and the blackbirds grew ever louder as the sunlight grew bright around the mountaintops. Bud and the student faced each other and bowed slightly. Now Bud had the bowl in one hand and, in the other, a large white feather and a bundle of the sacred white sage of Bud’s people. He lit the dried sage from the hot ashes in the bowl, blew on it until red sparks were visible.