A knack for copy editing is a bittersweet curse



I have spent my entire literate life, from five onwards, mentally correcting every written work I see. Improper capitalization makes me twitch, typos make me shudder, and exceedingly poor grammar can bring on a fit of outrage usually reserved for some jackass that cut you off while giving you the finger.



My hyper-attention to details makes me an ideal copy editor. People quickly learn that I can spot a typo at fifty paces (ok, not really, but never forget that hyperbole does have its place in providing proper emotional emphasis). Before long, I find myself proofing everything but the kitchen sink.



This is great, in that it means I will always be employed. However, this is bad when it comes to day-to-day life.



Take text messaging, or txt mssg (twitch, shudder, rage). I can't stand it. I really can't. I usually call back the texter, although occasionally I will text back. Every time I enter "u" for "you" a little voice inside me screams, "OH THE HUMANITY!" It hurts, people. Texting hurts me.



Or take trying to write a ten-page research paper. I can spend hours going over my works cited page, making sure I correctly formatted each entry. Is every period in its place? Did I indent each entry exactly x number of spaces? As if that weren't bad enough, I then have to write the actual ten-page paper itself. It's an absolutely exhausting experience, as I must forcibly restrain myself from going back over every single sentence as I write it to check for clarity and flow. (Yes, I really will go back over every single sentence as soon as I type it. I edit as I go. I'm one of those writers.)



I'm glad I no longer write poetry. I would overthink every line break and agonize whether each adjective was the absolute right one, or if perhaps a metaphor would better convey the emotion and thought I want to impart. It's all I can do sometimes to write a blog entry of this length without completely geeking out about how it sounds.

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