Old Habits

A comment by The Music Whore (interesting handle, yes? fun blog also) in my recent whine about NaNoWriMo jitters reminded me to re-focus on A Primary Purpose for Participation.

My semi-automatic editor will be taking a nap. A very long nap. At least, that's the plan. Perhaps I should have found her employment elsewhere for the month. Idle hands and devil's workshops being playgrounds and such. It could be downright dangerous to just leave her twiddling her thumbs in the corner. She's not half bad really. Maybe she'll behave.

If you don't possess your own semi-automatic editor, you'll not relate to the molassas effect it has on the whole process of writing anything. My semi-automatic editor requires me to re-read and usually re-structure every paragraph as I write it. It goes something like this. Write. Save. Read. Edit. Save. Read. Edit. Save. Read. Move on. Go back. Read. Edit. Save.

Is it possible for me to write a sentence and 1) not correct a spelling error or 2) not correct an obvious grammatical error or 3) not re-read what has just been written and make adjustments as desired?

Well in the instance of spelling errors, no. It is not possible. I'll continue to correct spelling because while a spelling error may be one of those mistakes that we all make once in a while, if I realize I just misspelled something, frankly it is impossible for me to not to go back and correct it.

But as for the grammar and re-reading? That's history. At least for this exercise. That's A Primary Purpose for Participation.

This post was practice.
I flunked.
Or maybe I didn't.

The only class in school I ever failed was a typing class in high school. A typing class. In high school. This was back when typing was taught on actual typewriters, albeit electric ones. My teacher's name was Mrs. Blake. She pulled me aside one day and recommended I drop the course. I was like "huh?" She said she'd have to give me a failing grade because I looked at the keys while typing.

Turns out Mrs. Blake knew her shit. As long as I looked at the keys while I typed, I never was a passable typist. It took a concentrated effort as a young adult to eradicate that habit. It was a hard habit to break. Maybe even harder than quitting smoking. But I did it. Because I had to. At the time I was attempting to earn a living as a typist. One does not succeed as a typist unless one can type without looking at one's fingers in order to determine which keys should be pressed for whatever letter is in line to be typed next. Hunger is a powerful motivator.

These days I type like the wind.
And I don't smoke either.

Breaking the semi-automatic editing habit should be a breeze.
This post was practice.
Can you tell?