Remember my review of two 1930s-style "cozy" mystery novels featuring C.S. Lewis as sleuth? Well, the author sent me the manuscript of his next book, requesting comments. Now it's been published, so here's the story.
Will anyone believe that I really do know which word is which? My fingers just type the wrong thing sometimes. I just caught myself writing "on" when I meant "and".
True of me too. Just a day or two ago I wanted to type a comment referring to Finnegans Wake. I typed the author's name as "James James." What's worse is that I tried to correct it—and did it a second time! The typing part of my brain carried out the orders it thought the language part had given, even when the language part knew they were wrong.
This is why I've said for years that no one can copy edit their own writing.
There is a tradition behind that sort of thing: Dorothy Sayers, for example, noted that she had placed Shrewsbury College on part of the grounds of one of Oxford's men's colleges.
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This is why I've said for years that no one can copy edit their own writing.
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