Richard's Online Journal
Spilling Be
Getting letters and e-mail is great. It’s not so hot when you’re dealing with an increasing pile of drive-by smirking about a typo or glitch on the third page of a four page feature. It’s fine when someone’s spotted something funny (nobody in the office noticed that we’d printed a picture of a ‘SEX AMBULANCE’ in a story about Essex, for instance). It’s fine if there’s a serious flub that needs to be corrected. It’s fine if the letter writer disagrees with an argument. No problem at all with that kind of thing.
But usually it’s just a missing apostrophe, or a character substitution, or something equally trivial, and really, what’s the point? What do the people sending these emails expect? A groveling apolohy, written in blood? The whole print run to be pulped and replaced with a corrected version? The writer to immediately jump into a time machine, rush back, and fix it, like Sam Beckett in Quantum Leap?
My time machine is reserved for far more exciting errands. Ask my pal Beethoven.
Sigh. At the very least, they could throw in a few words of comment along with the “Aha! Gotcha!” bit. Something to make it seem that it had more impact than an English essay under a particularly anal English teacher’s evil red pen.
One thing that probably won’t come as a surprise — every time I get one of these letters, there’s always at least one glaring oopsie buried in the righteous indignation. Oddly, the accuracy hounds never seem to appreciate having this pointed out to them.
In short, feedback is essential. One of the toughest parts about being a writer is that most things you do get very little response, and getting nice comments is one of the best ways of reminding yourself that everything you do isn’t just being shot into a black hole somewhere in a distant galaxy. It’s good to hear from readers, even if just a quick “Thanks, I enjoyed that article” or “Did you know…”
But please. Talk about the work, or the subject.
Not the bloody typos.
(The official typo of this post was the word ‘apolohy’. If you were planning to crow about spotting it, please slap yourself around the face and neck with a small shovel. A spade will also be acceptable. Best to avoid the pitchfork…)