Now I Know Why Writers Hate [Some] Copy Editors

I truly didn't get it - because at Rodale, where I dealt in nonfiction, we had wonderful copy editors. (At lunchtime I would go running with my favorite one.) I learned enough about copyediting to do it myself, armed with a copy of The Chicago Manual of Style, when I wanted some freelance income.

But then I read this post by Louise Ure over at Murderati, whose LIARS ANONYMOUS comes out soon in trade paperback, and I understand why authors rail (okay, rant and rave) against some copy editors.

I cannot resist quoting from her post, but get over there and read the whole thing yourself.

From Page 72: I parked around the corner with a clear view of the back door through a tiny slice of space between a tree and a three-bay body shop. Felicia probably wouldn't recognize my truck from here and, parked behind the tree the way I was, she wouldn't be able to see my face either. I'd been there a half hour when the garage closed.
(Note to author: Three-bay body shop? Is this a brand name? I don’t drive so I don’t know.)
Response to copy editor: No, it’s not a brand name. And by the way, I don’t eat tofu but I still know what it is.

From Page 100: Beverly was just as petite as I remembered from our high school days -- soft, rounded curves and pouter pigeon breasts -- but her face had become that of a disappointed adult, with a built-in scowl and the onset of gray where she parted her hair.
(Note to author: What kind of breasts do pigeons have?)
Response to copy editor: Oh, my. Where to begin?

From Page 107: He put my keys and purse down on the concrete slab porch and stepped over to an ice chest near the sliding glass door. He pulled out two bottles of beer, opened them with a hinge on the side of the Igloo and held one out to me.
(Note to author: Are you calling the ice chest an igloo as a joke or is it a brand name of something?)
Response to copy editor: See above-referenced note about tofu. And the one that asks “where to begin?”

From Page 160: I heard the throaty roar of a big V8 outside, bragging on its horsepower and torque. I pulled the curtain to the side. The black low rider came around again and this time the song blasting from the windows was about the hazards of smuggling. The four bandanaed bobbleheads in the car nodded and swayed to the beat. The guy in the front passenger seat stared at the house, then finger-shot me the way he had at the intersection on Friday.
(Note to author: I cannot verify the meaning of “bobbleheads.”)
Response to copy editor: Well, there you go. I guess there are some mysteries in life that just aren’t meant to be solved.

From Page 198: The setting sun turned the sky to persimmon then to bruise.
(Note to author: Is bruise a color?)
Response to copy editor: In my world, yes. And a noun. And a verb. And a threat.

From Page 216: "I'm telling you, man. I only just heard about it. I was in Nogales when you and the chica came in. I heard you asking about Carlos. That's why I called." The kid was flop sweat-nervous, but I didn't know if he was afraid of Guillermo's temper or the Braceros' retribution.
(Note to author: Flop-sweat? What is this?)
Response to copy editor: It’s that unique combination of chills, stinky sweat and light-headedness that overcomes you when you see your career as a copy editor disappearing before your eyes.

Note: Louise didn't actually make these responses to her copy editor - she just imagined making them.

PS And I have worked as a copy editor - or at least passed as one - and I would absolutely never ever question anything that I could look up! And thanks to the internet, we can look up just about anything without leaving our desks.