Natalia Real

The Ambition of the Short Story

Natalia — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 07:56:23 +0000

A friend told me about an amusing and thought-provoking essay by Steven Millhauser. You may enjoy it if you are a reader and/or writer of short stories like I am. Let me know what you think!

The Ambition of the Short Story

The short story — how modest in bearing! How unassuming in manner! It sits there quietly, eyes lowered, almost as if trying not to be noticed. And if it should somehow attract your attention, it says quickly, in a brave little self-deprecating voice alive to all the possibilities of disappointment: “I’m not a novel, you know. Not even a short one. If that’s what you’re looking for, you don’t want me.” Rarely has one form so dominated another. And we understand, we nod our heads knowingly: here in America, size is power. The novel is the Wal-Mart, the Incredible Hulk, the jumbo jet of literature. The novel is insatiable — it wants to devour the world. What’s left for the poor short story to do? It can cultivate its garden, practice meditation, water the geraniums in the window box. It can take a course in creative nonfiction. It can do whatever it likes, so long as it doesn’t forget its place — so long as it keeps quiet and stays out of the way. “Hoo ha!” cries the novel. “Here ah come!” The short story is always ducking for cover. The novel buys up the land, cuts down the trees, puts up the condos. The short story scampers across a lawn, squeezes under a fence.

Of course there are virtues associated with smallness. Even the novel will grant as much. Large things tend to be unwieldy, clumsy, crude; smallness is the realm of elegance and grace. It’s also the realm of perfection. The novel is exhaustive by nature; but the world is inexhaustible; therefore the novel, that Faustian striver, can never attain its desire. The short story by contrast is inherently selective. By excluding almost everything, it can give perfect shape to what remains. And the short story can even lay claim to a kind of completeness that eludes the novel — after the initial act of radical exclusion, it can include all of the little that’s left. The novel, when it remembers the short story at all, is pleased to be generous. “I admire you,” it says, placing its big rough hand over its heart. “No kidding. You’re so — you’re so —” So pretty! So svelte! So high class! And smart, too. The novel can hardly contain itself. After all, what difference does it make? It’s nothing but talk. What the novel cares about is vastness, is power. Deep in its heart, it disdains the short story, which makes do with so little. It has no use for the short story’s austerity, its suppression of appetite, its refusals and renunciations. The novel wants things. It wants territory. It wants the whole world. Perfection is the consolation of those who have nothing else.

So much for the short story. Modest in its pretensions, shyly proud of its petite virtues, a trifle anxious in relation to its brash rival, it contents itself with sitting back and letting the novel take on the big world. And yet, and yet. That modest pose — am I mistaken, or is it a little overdone? Those glancing-away looks — do they contain a touch of slyness? Can it be that the little short story dares to have ambitions of its own? If so, it will never admit them openly, because of a sharp instinct for self-protection, a long habit of secrecy bred by oppression. In a world ruled by swaggering novels, smallness has learned to make its way cautiously. We will have to intuit its secret. I imagine the short story harboring a wish. I imagine the short story saying to the novel: You can have everything — everything — all I ask is a single grain of sand. The novel, with a careless shrug, a shrug both cheerful and contemptuous, grants the wish.

But that grain of sand is the story’s way out. That grain of sand is the story’s salvation. I take my cue from William Blake: “To see a world in a grain of sand.” Think of it: the world in a grain of sand; which is to say, every part of the world, however small, contains the world entirely. Or to put it another way: if you concentrate your attention on some apparently insignificant portion of the world, you will find, deep within it, nothing less than the world itself. In that single grain of sand lies the beach that contains the grain of sand. In that single grain of sand lies the ocean that dashes against the beach, the ship that sails the ocean, the sun that shines down on the ship, the interstellar winds, a teaspoon in Kansas, the structure of the universe. And there you have the ambition of the short story, the terrible ambition that lies behind its fraudulent modesty: to body forth the whole world. The short story believes in transformation. It believes in hidden powers. The novel prefers things in plain view. It has no patience with individual grains of sand, which glitter but are difficult to see. The novel wants to sweep everything into its mighty embrace — shores, mountains, continents. But it can never succeed, because the world is vaster than a novel, the world rushes away at every point. The novel leaps restlessly from place to place, always hungry, always dissatisfied, always fearful of coming to an end — because when it stops, exhausted but never at peace, the world will have escaped it. The short story concentrates on its grain of sand, in the fierce belief that there — right there, in the palm of its hand — lies the universe. It seeks to know that grain of sand the way a lover seeks to know the face of the beloved. It looks for the moment when the grain of sand reveals its true nature. In that moment of mystic expansion, when the macrocosmic flower bursts from the microcosmic seed, the short story feels its power. It becomes bigger than itself. It becomes bigger than the novel. It becomes as big as the universe. Therein lies the immodesty of the short story, its secret aggression. Its method is revelation. Its littleness is the agency of its power. The ponderous mass of the novel strikes it as the laughable image of weakness. The short story apologizes for nothing. It exults in its shortness. It wants to be shorter still. It wants to be a single word. If it could find that word, if it could utter that syllable, the entire universe would blaze up out of it with a roar. That is the outrageous ambition of the short story, that is its deepest faith, that is the greatness of its smallness.

Tackling writer’s block, Pt. 1

Natalia — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 05:55:36 +0000

All of us writers – whether writing fiction or nonfiction, frequently or not, professionally or for leisure — come across the nefarious and infinitely frustrating phenomenon called writer’s block at some point in our writing adventures. It is ineluctable, at least as far as I know (and if you’ve never suffered from it, please let me know so I can alternately admire and envy you for your phenomenal luck!).

Lucky for us, there are copious methods and tricks we can try to combat a block, monolithic as it may be.

First, a couple of notes: 1) My suggestions may not be enough if you’ve got very little time left to finish your work. 2) None of the links below are affiliate links.

Now, I believe that the very best way to clear your head is by opening it. With an axe. Crack. And then cleaning it out.

However, if you’re not into brain trauma or blood creeps you out, you could try any of the following tactics:

Yoga is for everyone

Yoga

An hour — or just a half hour! Or even 15 minutes! — of yoga. You can access a different, full-length class for free each week at Yoga Today. YT offers anusara, kundalini, ashtanga-vinyasa, and hatha blends (these are different styles of yoga). For a pretty low monthly price you can sign up and access hundreds of full-length classes. You can also find several full-length yoga classes and short sessions for free on YouTube; just look up “Yoga Today.” I highly recommend their work.

Another brilliant set of classes is The Flow Series (Earth, Water, and Fire) by Ganga White and Tracey Rich. These are plain hatha classes and the instructors are serious, not as friendly and goofy as those on YT. It depends on what you like. If you’re new to yoga, you can begin with the Earth video, which is a level one.

If you have never done yoga, I recommend you attend a few classes before you venture out on your own at home. This will help you make sure you don’t injure yourself and are getting the most out of your poses. If you are in a rush, however, an online class will do.

Yoga nidra

Yoga nidra, also called yogic sleep, is guided relaxation, a state of conscious deep sleep that rejuvenates both mind and body. Sessions last between 20-45 minutes on average. The teacher may use body scanning, guided imagery, or other methods to lead you to a state of deep relaxation. Read an article about yoga nidra here. You can look up classes in your area, purchase CDs or mp3s online, or find free guided meditation mp3s at Dharma Talks or one by Tom Volkar here.

Dancing Shiva

Dance of Shiva

An intriguing and fascinating practice I began last year is called Shiva Nata, or the Dance of Shiva. This also takes your mind to new and higher places. The amazing Havi Brooks (whose blog and products at The Fluent Self will blow your mind) says that shiva nata “uses movement patterns to generate new neural connections and huge understandings that let you rewrite your patterns.” You will begin having epiphanies like crazy. Your mind will clear. You may feel inspired. Shiva nata might look weird, but trust me (and Havi!) when I say it rocks.

The Fluent Self

Like I said, Havi Brooks will blow your mind. She offers plenty of ideas and exercises you can do to “destuckify” yourself, whatever your particular type of stuck is. She’s huge on self-kindness and patience, which is perfect for when you’re having a hard time no matter what the circumstances. Just go visit her blog – you can thank me later! You can even download a free “recoding your mind” meditation mp3 from her website.

I will discuss additional, less esoteric tactics you can try in my next post. Meanwhile, let me know if you take on any of the ones I recommend in this post!

May your writer’s block dissipate with ease and speed.

Namaste.

‘I could feel the words bubbling up inside me’

Natalia — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 18:07:36 +0000

The other night I watched the film Factotum, which is based on Charles Bukowski’s novel of the same name. The man in the film is Henry Chinasky – Bukowski’s alter ego – and he is a loser: he’s a dysfunctional drunk who can’t keep even a menial job and is shown hitting his girlfriend Jan and calling her a whore. How lovely.

Charles Bukowski

As a writer, Bukowski was tremendously prolific: he wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories, and six novels in his 73 years. In Factotum he produces three short stories a week and submits them to magazines. He isn’t often lucky, at least at first. In any case, I wish I were as lucky as Bukowski all the time: “I could feel the words bubbling up inside me,” he wrote. He makes inspiration resemble hunger, or anger, or love.

When writing fiction and poetry, I sometimes experience the same luck – if that’s what you want to call it; I am definitely fortunate. Other times, of course, I hit a big writer’s-block wall. It is high, light yellow, and several feet thick. Oy.

I leave you with one of my favorite love poems (it seems awful at first, but just get to the ending). It was shocking to me that I could ever like something by Bukowski, as I once picked up his novel “Women” and it was so misogynistic that I couldn’t get past page 5. But this is different.

The best love poem I can write at the moment

listen, I told her
why don’t you stick your tongue up my ass

no, she said.

well, I said
if I stick my tongue up your ass first
then will you stick your tongue up my ass?

all right, she said.

I got my head down there and looked around
opened a section
then my tongue moved forward

not there, she said
ahhahahaha
not there, that’s not the right place

you women have more holes than Swiss cheese
I don’t want you to do it
why?

well, then I’ll have to do it back
and then at the next party you’ll tell people
I licked your ass with my tongue

suppose I promise not to tell?

you’ll get drunk, you’ll tell

o.k., I said
roll over
and I’ll stick it in the other place

she rolled over
and I stuck my tongue in that other place

we were in love

we were in love except with what I said at parties
and we were not in love
with each other’s ass holes

she wants me to write a love poem
but I think if people can’t love each other’s ass holes
and farts
and shits
and terrible parts
just like they love the good parts
that ain’t complete love

so, as far as love goes
as far as we have gone
this poem will have to do.

Now, something to depress those who have a tough time churning words out:

Somebody at one of these places [...] asked me: “What do you do? How do you write, create?” You don’t, I told them. You don’t try. That’s very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It’s like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.

And finally:

So you want to be a writer?

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Why I write – and is writing my Thing? (How do you find your Thing?)

Natalia — Sat, 10 Apr 2010 05:39:04 +0000

Writing is my Thing (read: the thing I want to do with my life because it nurtures and challenges me while giving me pleasure all at the same time).

What I’m not sure of is what I want to write about. You know, if I got to choose 100% of the time. I have eclectic interests and love to learn, so I am happy to write about myriad topics. Yet, of course, I have my favorites.

My two biggest passions in life are women’s and non-human animal rights (why “non-human”? Because we are animals too – but we like to pretend that we aren’t, that we’re better than non-humans, because that perspective enables us to feel okay about exploiting them. Yeah, don’t get me started.).

I am fascinated by topics like environmental issues; pornography’s effect on viewers and its consequent impact on gender relations; animal rights and speciesism in general; feminism(s); the increasing threat of genetically modified foods (GMOs) and how Monsanto is attempting to take over the world through its manipulation and ownership of food across the globe (you can watch a very informative and frightening documentary on the topic here); and so on.

But ultimately, I would like to be the next Slavoj Žižek, continental philosopher and critical theorist (not that I support all of his views); or the next Judith Butler, poststructuralist and gender and queer theory philosopher extraordinaire whose mere genius makes her sexy. Of course, I may need to go on to get a Ph.D. or two for that. And although I’m not in the mood for it [yet], I’ve got time.

So how do you find your Thing?

Ahh, one of the quintessential existentialist questions. And one for which I don’t have a definitive answer.

Victoria Shmoria says it’s a process, not a destination, to find your Thing. And that you don’t get a spontaneous confetti party when you think you’ve found it! (I was not happy to read that, Victoria. Just so you know.)

But I know this: I am now 27, and I’ve had depression since I was about 13. At 15, I fell into a major depression that arguably culminated a year later in a suicide attempt (interestingly, just 9 days after I began taking the antidepressant Zoloft, which has been accused of spurring suicidal tendencies in users). So I wasn’t just blue. I necessitated copious amounts of antidepressants and therapy, which unfortunately didn’t even help much. I am fortunately stable now, although still on medication.

However, there was one single year during which I was able to do just fine – spectacularly, actually – without any pills despite tremendous stress. It was the year I wrote my thesis in college. I was in pure love with that thesis; with my carrel at the college library where I kept most of the books I was using in my research; with the courses I designed for myself during my last semester (French feminist theory, which I took with a friend and involved writing essays and meeting weekly with a professor in her office; and the philosophy of animal rights, for which I met alone with another professor in his office). I am a hardcore nerd and I love it. I reach academic journal articles for fun even today, philosophy books, critical theory, and so on.

And if that year I was able to get past all the crap in my head, all the misery, dismal self-esteem, co-dependency that led me to date emotionally selfish men for five years in a row, the emotional instability, and the crazy in general – I have to wonder whether the cure was doing something I was deeply in love with. And, thus, I wonder whether I would be happiest as an academic, spending my time reading, writing, and discussing intricate ideas, expanding the horizons of my mind at 100 mph (as much as you can expand them through academic learning). Is that, now that my depression is no longer severe, my ultimate cure?

But I want to affect concrete change in the world. I want to make it a better place for women and for non-human animals in particular because they are the most oppressed groups on Earth. And I’m not sure whether writing would be sufficient to accomplish this on my terms.

And, no, I don’t yet know how to get there, or how to reconcile my desire to write with my desire to help change the world.

Meanwhile, I continue to write.

Also, my website is too pink. I intend to fix this.

The limitations of the written word

Natalia — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 10:04:13 +0000

Speaking of terrible first efforts … yes, one does have to start somewhere when wanting to write something.

But – many times, unfortunately, when I entertain the thought of journaling (or, hopefully, writing something more sophisticated, so to speak), I end up not writing about the deluge of thoughts in my head because they appear to be endless and virtually unmanageable to me. There are countless nuances, conflicting perspectives, anachronistic moments related in certain ways but not others, myriad sensations of varying flavors and intensities, heightened shivers and quivers I believe I will be unable to shape into words, …

Do you see my dilemma?

I do not feel exactly as though my problem is that I lack the set of vocabulary necessary to explain myself, as I would to describe the various details pertaining to the texture, taste, and so on of a food product as food tasters do. I simply become so enchanted (and somewhat pleasantly overwhelmed) by the experiences I wish to document or the thoughts that I wish to transcribe that I end up – as my friend’s therapist used to say – “mindfucking myself into paralysis.”

It occurred to me to record myself talking it out. Then it occurred to me that I’d never get around to transcribing the recording because it would be too tedious and I’d lack sufficient motivation.

Is it a shame? Or is the experience itself, in real time and later in fading memories, enough, or even worth more than anything words could possibly convey?

I suppose it would depend on whom you ask.

But listen: how exactly is one supposed to verbally depict mind-blowing multiple and shared orgasms and the connection felt and built with someone you are beginning to fall for? The intense mutual gazing into each other’s eyes while you caress each other, tickling, causing shivers, quick smirks lasting milliseconds, childlike giggling, a lover playing with your hair, a warm pink glow on satiated cheeks, plump seductive lips, dark and soft stubble, adorable dimples, an electrical pulse through the middle of your torso that reemerges every time you replay that one instance…?

I can’t do it.

And, listen, I’ve read erotica and overwrought Victorian novels and I can confidently tell you that it cannot be done. Nothing you can write will compare to what one feels in a moment like the one I just described. There is no way to transform sensations and feelings accurately into words – you can’t even write them so they will simultaneously coexist, because writing and reading are linear processes, and there is thus no way to transmit all coexisting experiences together, in their full intensity, uniqueness, sheen, magic (or a less hackneyed word).

No way.

Writing, alas, is a terribly limited and limiting art, system, and process. Verbal language cannot compare to that of the body and soul. As a writer, this is something I lament.

If anyone believes she/he can prove me wrong, I welcome your efforts!

Anne Lamott on writing

Natalia — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 07:45:38 +0000

If writing is a dominant part of your life – of your being – I recommend you take a look at Anne Lamott’s delightfully inspirational and honest Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.

Because I love quotes and these are jagged and beautiful, I leave you with some words by Lamott:

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

“E.L. Doctorow said once said that ‘Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.’ You don’t have to see where you’re going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard.”

“Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere.”

4 No-Brainer Questions

Natalia — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 07:26:48 +0000

This useful and inspiring exercise was created by the lovely Victoria Brouhard.

What qualities would help you get that No-Brainer, “Hell yeah!” feeling about 2010?

Fun

Stability

Safety

Progress

Success

Growth

Peace

Love

Of those qualities, which ones can your business help you with? For each of them, describe how your business might help bring more of those qualities into your life.

Fun: Writing about exciting and socially mindful topics on my blogs and for work.

Stability: Find ways to steadily develop my income.

Safety: The above, plus organizing my time to better allow for the harmonious coexistence of work and volunteering at the humane society, Shiva Nata, yoga, meditation, exercises like this one, spending time in nature, and nurturing socialization.

Progress, growth, and success: Continue to learn and enrich myself through the things I write about and the strategies I come up with to stabilize my business and income. Develop new ways to help my Right People through new services or products, such as ebooks or courses.

Peace: Continue refusing to sell out working for corporations and companies/people who engage in questionable practices. In other words, keeping my conscience clean. Also, consistency to create stability and safety, as mentioned above.

Love: Continue to write from my heart, to care about what I do and how I help others with my work. Reach and connect with more people who are doing beautiful things in life through my blogs, social media profiles, and the launching of new services.

For the things you described above, what are some ideas for projects, activities or practices that you could explore to accomplish those things?

Developing steady income: Create sustainable products and courses, perhaps in collaboration with others in my field(s). Diversify my sources of income.

Organizing my time: Use my organizer and stick to schedules. Practice more planning ahead.

Reaching more people: Continue hanging out on Twitter and Facebook, increase blogging frequency and collaboration, offer new products. Maybe a newsletter; once I have the other new stuff figured out so I don’t overwhelm myself into stuckness and stagnation. Gah!

There will be some overlap as far as what qualities will increase with which projects. Are there any projects that give you more of the qualities than others?

Yes! Blogging and expanding the horizons of my business – you know, that’s a yucky word, so I’ll call it “work” – through the creation of new products and connections. Diversifying my income to perhaps make more time to nurture myself and, in turn, develop increased strength in myself that I will be able to use in my work!

Super!

Practicing the art of listening to yourself, your body, your true needs, is a gift in itself. It can be frustratingly difficult at first, but becomes easier with – wait for it – practice! Practice practice practice. What a pain in the butt. But, you know, not if you view this process as beautifully nutritious food for the soul, for the whole of you.

Besides, if you don’t nurture yourself, who will? Nobody, that’s who! And even if someone else tries, she or he will not get far without you opening the door to compassion, gratitude, and kindness to yourself. It’s like when you try to cheer up somebody suffering from low self-esteem. You can praise that person for her or his fantastic qualities all you want, but that person will keep on ignoring your words and telling you that you’re full of crap. Self-deprecation will prevail until that person is ready for transformation into self-love. Tough stuff. But never impossible!

Hey, all this self-love stuff is perfect for Valentine’s Day! May you have a happy one!

Starting out: How’d you do it?

Natalia — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 09:01:45 +0000

Recently, I’ve been helping a few job-seeking friends out by teaching them what I know about freelancing, getting started, cover letters, where to look for jobs, and tactics to make them appear professional to prospective employers (as opposed to clueless, which is often the norm at the very beginning).

I am particularly happy to help them because nobody was there to guide me when I first started, and I would like to spare others the limitations and frustration I experienced. Naturally, I would have been able to progress faster had I had a mentor or friend in the industry.

I first started applying to magazines for entry-level freelance work when I was 19. My mother, a change management consultant, helped me draft a résumé and simple cover letters, but I did not know anyone who was already writing or who even wanted to and would join me in my adventure.

For example, at first, I only applied to magazines that explicitly sought contributors. It had not even crossed my mind to apply to publications that weren’t explicitly seeking writers because I thought I wouldn’t have a chance, that they wouldn’t be interested in adding to their repertoire of writers and editors.

Then, after I transferred to New College of Florida in Sarasota and gained more writing and editing experience from working for local magazines and college newspapers, I became interested in feminist jurisprudence and animal law. The college’s savvy and sweet career counselor, Cathy, patiently answered all of my questions, taught me how to write efficient résumés and CVs, and hugged me after each consult. It worked.

But because I had been seeking employment in a completely different field, my knowledge became largely irrelevant when I decided to switch industries and delve deeper into freelance writing, editing, and translating.

Because I didn’t have a go-to buddy who shared my specific professional interests back then, I spent countless hours researching and compiling information on how to go about becoming a successful freelancer—not to mention where I could even find a decent source of job postings that applied to me.

What I would like to know is how other freelancers started out: how you learned the ropes (ack, cliché!); if you were mentored, and if so by whom and how; and what you’d advise and warn newbies about. Please feel free to share.

The power of language and how to hone it

Natalia — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 02:56:53 +0000

An old favorite, this essay originally appeared as a guest post on Pro Writing Tips.

Language, copyediting, and tips for honing your copyediting skills

I love language for several reasons: double entendres, its delicate and potentially brutal beauty, its occasional dive into the abyss of the ineffable, and its unconscious power.

We absorb outward reality—life—through language; it shapes our perceptions. For instance, most insults in the English language (and the Spanish language, among others) make disproportionate use of female gender and non-human animal designations, e.g. throw like a girl, SOB (note the B), he’s a dog, and the litany of your momma jokes. I wonder why a non-human animal as precious as a dog is used to insult a human, why there are no your pappa jokes, and why men aren’t told to get back to the garage like women are told to get back to the kitchen (which would be awful, too).

The obvious answer is that we live in a sexist and speciesist society—but I won’t go into that.

My point is that these terms, the words that we use to communicate with each other and describe the world around us, do influence the way that we see and treat each other and our surroundings. Humans have been penetrating and raping nature for centuries, violating it, and now our ecosystems are on the brink of collapse. Women are second class citizens in this world, and don’t even get me started on non-humans and other minorities. The power of language is not to be underestimated.

Words are weapons, not innocuous tools with which to craft one-dimensional “roses are red” poems. Language can neither be objective nor exist in a vacuum; it is dialogic: texts exist in and are affected by the culture system that encompasses them, including previously written works. Additionally, each reader will perceive content through her or his own mental filter, altering the text’s meaning even further. Words are, then, to be respected and employed with caution.

This is where copyediting (and, of course, writing) gets interesting. It becomes a multidimensional, unwittingly influential feat of taking over the world. Okay, not really. But a single word can, indeed, change everything. We copyeditors are trusted with a creator’s thoughts and get to manipulate them to our heart’s content. It is thus a grand job that we undertake, a privilege. I appreciate and take pride in it.

Throughout my years as a copyeditor, I have discovered tactics to help me sharpen my skills and increase my productivity. Here they are:

Write and copyedit yourself. Then, have a painstaking grammar geek (maybe a copyeditor you look up to) correct your work so you can learn from your mistakes.
Scrutinize books, newspapers, magazines, blogs, shampoo bottles in the bath—anything and everything you can get your hands on. Take notes and, if you aren’t sure, check them against a style guide or dictionary. Be vicious!
Visualize words to help you remember their spelling.
Visualize and punctuate conversations and songs in your head.
Use a thesaurus—and always check your word choice in the dictionary before plugging it into your text.
If you get a chance, take a short, mind cleansing break after copyediting a lengthy or abstruse text, and give it one last look-over before turning it in.
Keep it tight.
Stick to the active voice whenever possible.
Share your wisdom: if you know writers who are receptive to feedback, give it to them, especially if you are the one to edit their work. Not only will you be helping out a colleague, but you will also, hopefully, not have to correct the same mistakes time and time again anymore.
Give out copies of Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style (or whichever guide is most appropriate) for Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa and birthdays to lighten your workload.

The most important thing, however, is to enjoy the process. No matter how advanced your skills may be, there will always be more to learn. And this is good news! It means that there is no such thing as perfection—and if there were, our lives would surely be very boring. So be thorough, but patient; offer constructive criticism (to yourself, too); nurture your skills and others’. And have fun! Because if you don’t have fun, what’s the point?