365 True Things: 201/Work

This is not said book;
this book is about ants.

On Monday, I finished off a big editing job: a textbook; over a thousand manuscript pages. It took me eight weeks, but I confess I did not exactly jump into the job with both feet. I trudged very slowly into it. Toward the end, though, I was pretty much living and breathing "Judaisms," as the book is called.

Because, deadlines.

I had been "batching" the project, meaning sending it to the author piecemeal—which is not my typical practice, but it's such a big book that I figured it would help expedite the schedule. So on Monday I sent off the last chunk, chapter 12: text, copious notes, and sidebars (renamed "special topics").

And then I sat back and let out a big sigh of relief. Then promptly curled up on the couch and got back to reading Ruth Ozeki's A Tale for the Time Being.

When I'm editing, I don't usually read, for pleasure or otherwise. If I do read, it's a schlocky mystery: plot driven, a puzzle to be solved. But a Facebook friend recommended the Ozeki, saying it's transformative —and transformation is just what I need at the moment, so I cracked the book open a few weeks ago. And fell in love with the voices and observations and philosophies of the book. So yes: I've been picking it up as often as I can. Even while I've been editing. (This may be unprecedented.)

So what a pleasure it was, on Monday, to be able to settle in and just read. Then on Tuesday, I spent the day with fellow wilderness rangers hauling some abandoned sleeping bags out of a backcountry camp. My left knee is still complaining after the twelve-mile hike (especially the couple of long downhills), but it was wonderful to do work, hang out with friends, and sweat. On Wednesday, I cleaned house. Also a pleasure, at least the aftermath—but yeah, even the activity of cleaning was a pleasure, because I could slow down and do it with concentration, without any neglected chores (or jobs) niggling at my conscience. In the interstices I've visited with friends, both in person and on the phone—reconnecting. Always returning to the book, though. Every time I realized I had a little time and no editing to worry about, I was back to the Time Being.

That abruptly ended yesterday, when a long file of "activities" to accompany the textbook arrived via email, belatedly. So now I'm back to editing. Should finish that up tomorrow or Sunday.

And then on Wednesday, I'm off to a weeklong writing retreat.

What will Monday and Tuesday bring? Perhaps I'll finish the Ozeki book. And start a new one. I have a few on my bedside stack, waiting patiently. My main goal, in any case, is to relax. Have a little vacation.

Because in November, a new editing job will hit my laptop. But this one, about some aspect of music, promises to be beautifully written. I worked on a two-volume biography of Stravinsky by this author many years ago, and I recall that the most I ever had to do was, very delicately, add or delete a comma here or there. It was a matter of rhythm— appropriately enough, for a musicologist.

I've edited hundreds of books since then, and maybe my memory of the Stravinsky is tinged with nostalgia—but at this point, I'm looking forward to this next job.

Which will be my last.

I've said that before, but this time? I'm ready to quit. Editing, anyway.

I did, coincidentally, get a query from the Getty Museum today about proofreading exhibition catalogues.

The Getty—art? And proofreading? That sounds like a winning combination. (And I bet they pay better than an academic press.)

But after the music book, I'm going on a nice loooooooooong vacation. And I will focus on reading. And writing. And book arts. Maybe even some painting. Back to my own projects.

I look forward to it.