BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

This is a typo. This is a typo on drugs… Any questions?

Today’s missive is just a quick Public Service Announcement. Granted, it is as much for my own sanity as it is for serving the public… Actually, it might not serve the public that much… Maybe not at all… But, I’m pretty sure it will make me feel better, so I’m going to do it anyway… (and, as it turns out, it’s nowhere near as quick as I thought it was going to be…)

So, anywho… Long about once each year I receive an email from someone who is itching to tell about “it.” I mean literally, they want to tell me about the word “it.” In particular, the possessive form “its” and the contraction for “it is,” that being “it’s.” You see, these folks are under the impression I don’t know the difference.

To be fair, I can see where they may believe this to be true. I’ll explain that in just a minute. But, moving right along…

Sometimes these folks are exceptionally rude and pedantic about “it.” They have even been known to call me names and write very uppity, nasty, holier-than-thou missives, talking down to me from their crumbling pedestals – I say crumbling because it never fails that the folks who elect to be nasty about “it” send letters and email that are riddled with other typos and horrendous grammatical errors. To their credit, however, they do get “it” correct. But, credit or no, I think these people should seek counseling for anger management and learn to interact with others sans the attitude.

Now, on the other hand, some folks are very nice about it. While the belabored point is still very annoying to me, I can appreciate folks who are nice and to them I raise a glass. Hell, I actually take the time to answer their letters and emails about “it.”

The nasty folks, not so much…

At any rate, time has rolled around again for me to receive an email about “it.” This time the young lady was very nice about it and we exchanged a few notes, played with pencils on the group W bench, and generally had a good time. So, no problem there…

Still, in the interest of trying to make this whole thing go away – which I never, ever will I’m sure – not that I won’t keep trying – we have today’s blog entry.

Around a decade ago, my first novel landed on bookstore shelves. Harm None: A Rowan Gant Investigation. Not my best work… I mean, hell, it’s a first novel. Even so, it’s pretty damn good – in my opinion, anyway. Good enough that it is in its umpteenth printing at this point. But, I’m not here to brag on Harm None. I’m here to apologize for an error that in and of itself is a comedy of errors. A sad, tragic, and painful comedy, but a comedy nonetheless. Both the publisher and I have apologized for this screw-up countless times. However, I suspect I will continue to do so for the rest of my life when I receive my annual complaint email.

You see, it’s like this – As is often done, a manuscript will see a rough layout and be bound with basic cover art, all for the purpose of rushing it out to reviewers. These ARC’s (Advance Reader Copies) are usually either imprinted with the above acronym, the words themselves, or “stickered” as such. This way the reviewer knows that the book is likely to have typos, formatting anomalies, and even grammatical errors which haven’t been fixed yet. The reason this is done is that most all review publications and reviewers are so swamped that it is necessary to provide them with a review copy 4 to 6 months in advance of the book release. Often times the editing process is only just entering its stride at this point, and is far from over.

And so, this brings us to the sad, sad comedy of errors that has plagued me these last 10 years…

When I wrote Harm None I was using an ANCIENT DOS based word processing program, with a very buggy, “freeware”, auto-correcting third-party spelling and grammar checker. Unfortunately, you get what you pay for and while the programmer who wrote this bit of freeware was good with code, s/he wasn’t so stellar with grammar. And so, all of my “its” became “it’s”.

I neglected to double check things after running the checker. My bad.

No biggie though. Editors fix these things, and in fact, the “it’s” that needed to be “its” were corrected. But alas, the tragic comedy still wanted its day in the sun.

Through an unfortunate mix-up, the uncorrected ARC files were mounted when the first print run was scheduled for Harm None. The presses whirred, paper flew, ink splattered, and before anyone caught it, close to 2000 copies of the novel were printed using the wrong signature and cover files.

No worries… The presses were stopped, the proper files mounted, and the process began all over again.

Of course, the not so funny comedy wasn’t through yet.

Through mis-communication, overly efficient workers, and not so divine providence IMHO, books printed from the improper files – which had been set aside to be destroyed – were instead bound, trimmed, stacked, packed, and then shipped.

Shipped to distributors, stores, and the four winds.

The dark and tragic comedy laughed as it watched bookstores, distributors, and even me sell the flawed books to unsuspecting readers, all the while unaware of the ugly practical joke fate was playing upon us.

Then, we found out. Unlike the comedy itself, we did not laugh. In fact, I cried, as did my publisher, publicist, and even some of my friends.

So, there you have it. Something on the order of 1800+ horribly flawed copies of Harm None have been in circulation for 10 years now, and it seems that many of them have found their way into libraries. And, as will happen, I get my annual email/letter from someone who wishes to lecture me – or, more rarely, simply point out in a polite manner – the difference between “its” and “it’s.”

For the record, I know the difference. And, also for the record, you have my most profuse apologies for this horrible error that has been perpetrated upon you, me, and the rest of the reading public. If I could make those 1800 flawed copies go away, I would. But, I cannot. My Kung-Fu just isn’t that strong…

So, in closing, here is an easy way for you to know if you or your library is in possession of one of these flawed copies of Harm None:

If the cover on your copy of Harm None looks like the picture above, with a delineated grey panel down the center, and a grey box on the back, you are holding either an original ARC or an ARC that should never have been. If this is the case, please don’t email me with a lecture on grammar, spelling, “its vs. it’s”, or any other complaint about formatting or even coffee stains for that matter.

If the cover looks like this one, then you are in possession of a proper and/or later printing. This is not to say you won’t find a latent typo. One or two squeak by now and again, no matter how good the editor. But, look at the copyright page to check the date of the reprint, because reported typos are always fixed in subsequent printings.

On a next to final note – The cover art for Harm None might be changing. I have recently been informed that the Mass Market Paperback editions of the first three Rowan Gant Investigations novels – the only books in the series to have been released as Mass Market originals – are to be discontinued when the current stock runs out.

However, do not fear – the books will remain in print.

They are simply being re-formatted to a 6X9 Trade Paperback size to match the rest of the RGI novels. In making this format switch, it is entirely possible fresh cover art will be employed.

Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing what they do, as I am constantly amazed by the cover art they come up with for all of their titles, not just mine.

Now, for the final note – regarding the flawed copies themselves. I have heard – though I have only the words of some eyewitnesses – that at least one of these flawed copies sold at a charity auction for nearly $200 due to its “rareness.”

Personally, I won’t consider it truly rare until I stop receiving the complaint emails, but hey, if $200 was raised for charity then I am willing to say this tragic comedy had itself a happy ending.

Of course, that note probably isn’t as final as I’d like, because I suspect I’ll be writing about this again just one short year from now, just like I have for the past decade…

More to come…

Murv

My child is freakin’ brilliant.

I realize you’ve all heard me say this before, but hey, it’s the truth. She got her looks from her mother and her brains from me. Just don’t tell E K I said that… The brain part, I mean.

But seriously, The Evil Redhead and I ended up as some downright lucky parents, because the O-spring truly is brilliant.

Quirky, yes. Not quite Ally Sheedy from The Breakfast Club quirky, but then we don’t ignore our daughter like the parents ostensibly did to the character in that movie.

So, maybe with a little more luck on our side, the O-spring won’t end up being an “outcast shoplifter pickpocket with ungodly bad dandruff” who eats potato chip and pixie stix sandwiches for lunch.

Of course, knowing her current culinary tastes, potato chip and pixie stix on Wonder bread would probably appeal to her quite a bit. Hell, throw a few slices of bacon on there and even I might give it a go.

But, back to this whole language thing. Something I’ve never brought up before is the fact that our child used to be bi-lingual. Yes, I said used to be. She’s back to speaking only one language these days, although she does know a smattering of Spanish. But, back in the day she was fluent in two different languages.

Allow me to explain…

You see, we knew the o-spring was at the head of her class when she was still dumping loads in Pampers and falling asleep face first in her strained green beans. Well, to be honest we used cloth diapers and a diaper service in order to be a little more environmentally sound, but we won’t go into that. The thing is, even at that early an age, the child was fascinated by everything and couldn’t wait to assimilate any information she could possibly absorb, just like a dry sponge in a bucket of water.

However, we had no idea just exactly how far to the head of the class she was until one day when I arrived to pick her up at the day care.

She was all of about 2 1/2 years old at the time. We had already discovered that when the other kids in her age group were down for a nap in the afternoons, she refused to join them. Instead, she would spend nap time wide awake, and would put the time to good use by designing highly advanced, non-polluting mass transit systems using Legos and Lincoln Logs. Being quite the multi-tasker, she would simultaneously be explaining the theoretical properties of singularity event horizons to her caregivers. A couple of them even admitted to referencing the dictionary in order to understand her.

However, it wasn’t until this particular, fateful day that we discovered our child was a universal translator with delusions of grandeur. Well, actually, according to the stories we were told, said grandeur may well have not been a delusion at all.

It seems our child – who at the age of two had a vocabulary rivaling that of a college freshman as well as the comprehension and clarity of enunciation to use it effectively – also spoke fluent “toddler gibberish.” It actually surprised us to learn that she spoke this language, because she had only studied it for two weeks before moving straight into American English. However, the wide eyed care givers at the pre-school had been witnessing it first hand, but had never made mention of it. Until this particular day when our child had elected to use the ability to her advantage.

She was sitting in a time out chair when I arrived, her tiny little brow furrowed as she plotted her revenge against the system that had placed her there.

“What did she do this time?” I asked. I wasn’t all that surprised by the time out issue because while it wasn’t a regular occurrence, I knew she could be stubborn and temperamental.

“Inciting a riot,” the teacher told me. “And attempting to escape.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you know she speaks two languages, right?”

“Ummmm. No.”

“Well she does. English and Toddler.”

“Toddler is a language?” I had to ask because I hadn’t made it to that chapter in the parenting books. For the record, and much to my surprise, yes, it is.

“Of course.”

I took the teacher at her word, but was still a bit perplexed. “So, what’s that got to do with inciting a riot?”

“Well, you see,” she explained. “Normally we use this to our advantage. When one of the other toddlers is throwing a fit, or we simply cannot understand them, we send your daughter in. She gibbers with them, then comes back to us and explains the situation in English so we can address the need or problem.”

“You’re joking…”

“No, Mister Sellars, we’re serious. She’s an immense help to us. Until today.”

Again, for the record, she was serious. “The riot, you mean?”

“Yes sir.”

“Go on.” I was still skeptical, but willing to listen.

“Well, there was a particular toy your daughter wanted to disassemble and rebuild today, but we had to put it away because it made too much noise and it was disturbing the infants.” She motioned to the nursery next to the toddler classroom.

“So, that was the riot?”

“Oh no,” she replied, shaking her head. “We explained to your daughter that the toy had to be put away but she became very agitated and demanded access to it. She kept muttering something about missing a quantum event for a temporal dilation window or something.”

I nodded. “I see.”

I could actually empathize, as I had stopped the O-spring from building a time machine on several occasions myself.

“Anyway,” the teacher continued. “When we wouldn’t comply with her demands she went over to the other toddlers, gibbered for a few minutes, and then it happened.”

“The riot?”

“Yes. Several of the toddlers formed a barrier between us and the exit and began screaming as a distraction, while your daughter directed the others to build a tower out of the large blocks. Once the blocks were in place she climbed them and opened the fire exit.”

“No way.”

“I’m serious, Mister Sellars.”

“But obviously you managed to stop her and the other kids.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t easy. Somehow she had managed to get my car keys from my purse, and if she’d been able to reach the pedals it could have been a different story…”

As I said, the O-spring doesn’t speak “Toddler Gibberish” any longer. And, of course, that was several years ago. However, her ongoing brilliance never ceases to amaze me.

More to come…

Murv

PS. Another “for the record” – While this story is obviously embellished for entertainment value, as usual, the core of it is entirely true. The O-spring really and truly did translate for the teachers at the pre-school for a period of about 1 year, which is something they found absolutely amazing and would tell us about regularly. And, one particular Autumn day she did, in fact, use that ability to incite a riot as a distraction, build a tower with help from other kids, and open the fire door.

I shit you not. My kid is freakin’ brilliant. 🙂