ABOUT ME, THE EDITOR, THE BRAT
This is usually where a photo is inserted, a brief history of where the person of interest grew up, how he or she was raised by wolves or something else of particular significance, how they overcame adversity, and despite great odds how they have achieved greatdomeness. [No, greatdomeness isn’t a word, so don’t use it on your next English assignment saying, “But a real copy editor used it so it must be—” it just isn’t. I make up words all the time; it’s my blog. Even though it’s super irritating when other people fabricate words, I seem to cut myself extra slack.] A notation regarding the person’s family, if applicable would immediately follow the wolf-raising information.
Well, my blogging friends, you will find this About the Editor piece lacking in that capacity. First, I do not intend to discuss my family. Please read the title again. If this piece were about my family, I would have correctly titled it About the Editor’s Family. Since I did not do so, one can assume that I intend to provide you with information about me—not my family. An About the Editor’s Family section may be forthcoming for those of you who might be interested in such information.
In addition to the contents falling outside the parameters of my chosen title, I was not raised by wolves, nor have I overcame any particular adversity. And it would be a gross exaggeration to say that I have achieved greatdomeness (and not just because it isn’t a real word, either). This would make for an empty blog save the where I reside part. As for that tidbit of information, I’m keeping that on the down low lest any of you have a propensity for stalking.
In addition to the above making for a very scarce About Me section, the problem with it is that it does not really tell you anything about me anyway—not really. Telling you where I live doesn’t tell you who I am. Telling you how many kids I have doesn’t tell you who I am. Rather it is factual information that any resourceful stalker can glean from a few hours of Internet research.
So, who am I? Julianne Geiger, aka Juli Geiger. Not helpful? Fine….
In brief, I run this chop shop. There is something satisfying about scrutinizing every detail of a document and pointing out every teeny weenie speech fault, punctuation error, misused word, or biased term or phrase. Even more satisfying is the redlining of superfluous wording, so that when complete, a 500-word document now consists of only 436 words.
As you might have guessed, I am that annoying girl who corrects your speech faults. I am the fun sucker who corrects you when you flippantly misstate a fact that is, in all honesty, irrelevant to the conversation anyway. I am also that annoying person who, when some obscure subject is brought up, can seem to drone on endlessly about it, while others stare, mouths agape, wondering why on earth I would know why Greater Swiss Mountain dogs can pull more than a draft horse, pound for pound (and secretly wishing I would shut up).
I am the girl who cringes when people make up words, (at over one million words in the English language, we don’t have enough already?*) such as solopreneur. Just because Dr. Seuss did it? Everyone is not Dr. Seuss. Have you written a series of children’s books lately, withstanding the same test of time? I thought not. Then no new words for you! It’s not as if you use more than 2,500 words on any given day anyway. When you employ the remaining 999,975,000 words (I told you I was good with math) and still feel the need to expand your vocabulary, go ahead and write Mr. Webster and lobby for yet another to be added. The rest of us will try to keep up.
I am the girl in your kindergarten class who took away your crayons if you colored outside the lines or if you colored someone’s face purple (I mean, come on–purple?).
I was the girl in your fourth grade class who sold punishment sentences to classmates that read “I will not chew gum in class” for $2.50 a pop. I had them at the ready—a true entrepreneur in the making. I also sold school supplies to lesser-prepared classmates for a profit. Just a small one, for my time, of course.
I was that geeky girl in junior high, half the size of my classmates, who appeared two years socially behind everyone. You still had to be nice and include me in everything, as I remained a valuable resource for all, honing my entrepreneurial skills by branching out into new markets such as “reviewing” classmates work, providing self-made study guides for final exams, and offering typing services.
I was the girl in high school, who, after switching schools and quickly making up lost ground in the social area, was the first to be denied entry into the National Honor Society for reasons other than poor grades (my grades were perfectly acceptable for NHS purposes). I believe it had something to do with a “bad attitude” and “poor character.” I have no idea what they are talking about.
I was the girl in high school who sat next to you—if I chose to show up that day—and fell asleep often. An A student, mostly (does it really matter than I nearly failed phys ed?); it seemed pointless to go to class if the teacher were just to read from the textbook (I could do that at my convenience). I figured if I got an A without having to attend class, good on me! Why make me go just to sit there? I could think of no good reason, and the school administration couldn’t think of a good reason other than “because it was the rule” and so I went when I thought it prudent to do so. The school’s tardy policy (and the state’s truancy policy) was in direct conflict with my relentless need to be efficient. Sitting in class without a return on my investment (of time) was to me an inefficient use of my time. It also logically followed that if the reasoning behind any rule could not be explained to me to my satisfaction, I firmly but politely chose not to follow it. I think they call this being passive aggressive. If I remember correctly, the school administration referred to it as “being a brat,” but I really think that was over simplifying it and prefer the former terminology. (It is also possible that my exclusion had something to do with my habit of parking in the principal’s parking space–it was funny to me–but I cannot be sure.)
I was that girl in your eleventh grade class who went to a private college after school hours–you know, to get a jump start. No sense wasting time. The first two semesters, 4.0, baby!
I was also that girl in college who got a 0.0 in every single class during a later semester. (I guess I would consider this a low point in my education history.) You try that. Booya! Yes, the parental units were proud, especially since it was on their dime.
My work history, you ask?
Hmmm… how about non-response follow-up enumerator for the census bureau? (a fancy name for the people that come to your house when you don’t fill out your census forms). A cashier at Fisher Big Wheel. A dishwasher at various restaurants. A waitress at various restaurants. A singer in a cover band for local bars near MSU campus. A photo lab technician, production planning supervisor & financial analyst for a foam cup manufacturer, a video rental store owner. Then…..
I was just at the right place at the right time (in Bosnia/Herzegovina) when a news venue (In Switzerland – but whose Editor in Chief lived in Bosnia) needed an editor, and needed one right now (like that very minute). And voila! And so my editing story began.
My propensity for ignoring rules may make my being a stickler for the grammar rules appear somewhat ironic—refusing to break even a single one, but it really is not. For grammar rules are quite logical, and logical things make me happy. Perhaps this is why I enjoy my profession so much. There is no room for error, no shades of grey. It’s right or it’s wrong, and even more so in the technical editing field than in the nonfiction field. There is comfort in the unambiguous nature of these rules.
Juli
* It is debatable as to how many words there actually are in the English language. The highest estimate is one million. This includes antiquated terms, scientific terms, all derivatives, and all foreign terms that the English language has adopted. The discrepancy in the counting is attributable not only to the foreign words (do we count those, like ciao?) but also to words like “skinny dipping” (do you count that as three words—skinny+dip+skinny dip–or two?). Do you count a word more than once if it has more than one meaning? For comparison’s sake, a thorough English dictionary lists between 250,000 and 300,000 unique entries. This is double that of an average Spanish dictionary, and nearly 10 times that of a French dictionary. So no matter how you count it, our language. has more words than yours.(forgive me, but isn’t there a song that goes like that?).
And that’s just the way it is.
