Why an Editor Is Your Friend!

Excerpt from eContent Pro International

It takes time to increase proficiency in academic writing, whether you have a knack for words or cringe at the idea of stringing together research. It has its own set of rules: structure, university or publishing formatting requirements, reference style, literature components, a specific audience, and of course, the conventional items, like tone, syntax, punctuation, and grammar.

Compared to novelistic or personal writing, the academic writing process differs almost by its very nature because it deals with tying together complex theories, concrete research findings, and a variation of causal explanations rather than formulating a narrative.

Editors expect manuscripts to contain quality, thought-provoking research. Equally, they expect the writing to adhere to the traditional formalities of punctuation, grammar, syntax, and reference style.

Often, authors immerse themselves in their research articles and submit to a book or journal without having their content proofread and copyedited. With that said, we wanted to reach out to two Editors-in-Chief, Drs. Anabela Mesquita and Chia-Wen Tsai, of the highly respected International Journal of Technology and Human Interaction, to talk about their outlook on and approach to poorly edited manuscripts.

The entire article (A Conversation with Editors-in-Chief of a Journal about the Role and Value of Copy Editing Services) is worth reading if you are writing academic or research papers, reports, or grants proposals and other requests for funding.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Limits of Words

"Bruno knew he was a good writer. No doubts there. But what he didn't know was how long it lasted: this state of good writerliness. He feared that being a good writer wasn't a constant. It wasn't a state or a plane of existence. Maybe it was a pinnacle you reached only momentarily. What he feared more than anything in the world was that each writer had a limit. A tab. And when your credit ran out, you were done, the well run dry."

David Baker

Vintage, 2015

Posted in Creative Writing | Leave a comment

The Homeless Rose

We were sitting outside drinking beer at a moderately clean, somewhat uncomfortable micro-brewery in downtown Gainesville. The air was dry and cool. It had not rained for a month and probably wouldn’t for several more. We were saying good-bye to a friend—ten or so of us gathered around a table with only four chairs. Some us leaned on the wrought iron rail; others propped their elbows on a round bar table; a couple of people shared the chairs.

Suddenly a man appeared on the sidewalk and bent over the rail ever so slightly. He held an assortment of roses, various sizes and colors, as if they had been just recently plucked from someone’s backyard.

“Hey, man? A nickel? Just a nickel,” came a deeply resonant and pleasant voice. An educated voice. I looked up. I began to smile. A woman always smiles when she is offered a rose. I think this reaction is as old as myth and may seem sexist to the modern woman, but I think an honest soul search will produce agreement. I would have given him a dollar. But his eyes were focused on the male members of our group. I imagine he thought a gentleman would certainly buy a lady a rose. I glanced across the table. My friends turned stoic. No one spoke. And so our interloper babbled on with his monologue. I felt uneasy. I wanted to reach in my purse and give him money.

He left the rose. “Aw. I don’t need a nickel. You can have it!” And then he turned his attention toward working the crowd at the other end of the sidewalk patio.

Without moving or lowering his voice, one of our group said, “The roses are from the city park, and he gestured toward the east. “They’re from the park.”

Soon the peddler came back with a few dollars in his hand but no roses. He muttered and recaptured the flower he had left on our table.

“I think you should have it,” I said. Not really knowing what else to say. He mumbled and walked away, holding his last rose like a cherished prize in his hand.

So the roses were from the park. The man had stolen them. Stolen public roses and wandered around downtown selling them for a dollar or less. It seemed like simple commerce and trade to me: the foundation of this country.

How is this any different from the first settlers who came here, stole property from Native Americans and sold it to other settlers? Or any different from men who stole other men and women and sold them to the highest bidder?

These were roses. Roses from the park. Free roses. Roses that grow on public land. Roses that are a renewable resource. Roses that thrive the more they are picked. Roses that offer pleasure.

But this man was disdained for picking them. For violating some law that says you cannot take roses from public land.

And from whom, I wondered, was that public land stolen?

Creative Writing: Essay, Nonfiction

Posted in Creative Writing | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment