Wednesday, 30 March 2016


"I'd better get on with editing this stuff," I said to the guy I talk to, "or I'll never get it finished."

I'm still not finished.

I've been editing my way through some - frankly quite turgid and worryingly a little racist - stories, apparently designed for the 8-to-14 age bracket (but I privately think that the only child who would like them would be about 4, and even then, they'd need to be edited severely down a bit), which may well be written with the best of intentions, but tend to lean too heavily upon repetitive moralising and "side stories" (read: completely irrelevant tangets not cohesive enough to constitute a B-plot).

I wouldn't be doing this, but it earns me money and I want to be able to afford an Eroticon ticket.

Editing erotica for anthologies like this is often quite fun when I get around to it. This is a chore. I realise that I'm not meant to enjoy it, but still, I'd appreciate something slightly better. The guy who wrote it appears to have not even tried with basic things like spelling, punctuation, grammar, or even consistent indents. It hurts, and reminds me why I didn't go into editing professionally. It'd break me.

I haven't stopped giggling for about 20 minutes, though, because of a section of the story which conjures up something completely different in my mind:

“There’s nothing we can do but wait for the rain to stop,” replied Stuart.
“I wonder what he’s doing?” said Carl, looking over at Sheldon’s house.
“I can only think of one thing,” replied Stuart confidently. “It's that thing that everyone loves to do. The best way to pass the time!”
“Ah, yes!” said Carl.

You know... for kids!

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