There’s probably a more graceful way to say this, but someone else will have to come up with it, because I’m the author, and the whole subject makes all the gears in my head freeze up at once.
NESFA Press, publisher of my essay collection Making Book, has given it a third printing. That’s very nice. I’m appropriately pleased and grateful. The bad news is that they accidentally shot it from the wrong copy. They used the first edition, the one with all the typos, including the really bad one in the eighth line of page 150 that I correct and initial every time I autograph a copy of that edition. There are lots of other typos, but that’s the one you can’t read past.
Some day, it will seem funnier to me that this happened to a book that’s partly about copy editing. An errata sheet is in the works. It would go through the works faster if the aforementioned gears stopped freezing up. Any day now. Really.
I was at work when I first got wind of this. I don’t know what I looked like for a while there, but people kept stopping in my doorway to ask if I were all right. “I’m being very auctorial,” I told them; meaning, approximately, I am in shock, and I observe that at the moment I have zero sense of perspective about this, and This hurts like hell. In short: I’m taking this like an author. I couldn’t think of any other way to say it. Fortunately, they understood what I meant.
I recall thinking that if I were some other author, I’d at least have that little period where you still think something might be done about the problem, and then the distraction of trying to figure out how this happened, and then the cathartic rant about how no other author in the history of the universe has ever had this abominable thing happen to them.
I’ve watched authors get over this. My turn now.
Anyway. If you buy a copy of the third printing and I’m not around, please turn to page 150, eighth line, and replace the word Silence with Silkience. Thank you.