Page numbers. A simple but necessary prop for every masterpiece of literature.
And the stuff the rest of us write.
Sloppy pagination, or the complete lack of, will sorely peeve your critique partners, or requesting agents, or harried editors.
As to that, I offer another minimal mock memoir title.
Curious about the image?
CV Grehan gettin’ minimal here.
I’m present, with pencils, just like high school–back when school buses were powered by oxen.
(Time permitting, here’s where I’d insert a team of oxen with a photoshopped bus number on their flanks, and a stop sign that flips out. What a chuckle we’d all have.)
Mock memoir title.
Curious about the image?
Still haunted by a typo from the past?
Who hasn’t been
their they’re there?
Spell-checkers are fallible, and proofreading is tedious.
Believe me, the Fool understands.
This is your lucky day, Blog Visitor, for I have a product
to desperately sell you desperately need to …
Cultivate a chi-licious proofreading practice.
Due to restrictions imposed by the BBB, the FTC and the ABCDE* I can make no claim that my break-out CD will eradicate a recurring spelling bee nightmare.
*Agency Banning the sale of CD’s which do not Exist
Curious about the images on this page?
oKay, Here’s a post of anything.
This Fool was absent for a few days. Life happened. I apologize for the lull.
I had not yet prepared for K, but I do have material from the previous days which I was unable to post.
Today’s offering is a mock memoir title.
I have a lot of catching up to do … commencing.
Curious about the image on this page?
I’m something of an expert on procrastination. I recognize the vice in all of its forms. Consider this: a writer dallies on Brainy Quote, or binge-listens to Blue Öyster Cult. The technical term is goofing off on the job. To assuage the accompanying guilt, they insert the fruits of their time-wasting into the work-in-progress. The technical term for this is epigraph.
Two great assumptions have been made. First, that the reader has similar time to waste. Second, that the reader will not have to hire a Navajo code talker to decipher the connection between the quote and the actual story they showed up for.
Call me a lowbrow. You wouldn’t be the first but, come on, Career of Evil isn’t exactly high literature.* Not that I didn’t enjoy the Cormoran Strike novels. Not that I won’t soon Netflix the series. (Considering the success of JKR’s previous body of work, you’d figure Blue Öyster Cult backstage passes would be easier to score.)
Imagine if epigraphs became an industry requirement. Suddenly, publishing’s gatekeepers couldn’t spare a glance for any manuscript naked of chapter preambles. This would force many of us to comb through our procrastination cache for material. Just as a mental exercise, I examined my YouTube history: Dr. Phil. Bad Dachsund. Australians Tasting American Sweets. Lucky for me, we’ve already established that epigraphs don’t have to make sense. At least mine will be entertaining. (Those Australians!)
Why do you take me seriously? I’m the Fool! I don’t mind epigraphs. They are tiny thoughtful gifts from the writer to their reader. A bonus. A long pour. The cherry on top.
To those writers who took the extra time, I thank you.
For those writers in more of a hurry, I’ve located a tool. Here’s the ad for it. A prescription might be required:
*High literature: the lowbrow term for any fiction that isn’t fun.**
curious about the image on this page?