Pretty is as pretty does

Blonde curls. Rosy cheeks. Eyes like wet forget-me-nots.

Beauty is reflected a thousand times in tiny, multi-faceted eyes. A small smile--cupid's bow lips drawing back to reveal perfect, pearly teeth as she peals the iridescent wings off another victim.

Ooooh, Cashmere, creepy.

Have husband buy copy of magazine on way home from work.

Heh. I'd do that, but:

1. I have to go buy a new toner cartridge anyway.

2. This is one of those cases where there are several magazines with very similar titles--X Digest, X Companion, X Monthly, The X, etc. I love DH. DH is very smart. But unless I nag him to the point of annoyance about making sure he knows the exact right title, there's a chance he brings home the wrong magazine. I won't.

Annabel foiled my plans for rushing madly out of the house by falling asleep the instant I set her in her playpen to get ready. Instead I just called the choir director to warn him I'll be late for practice, and I'll go once DH is home. Much saner.

ION, I've added "getting this copy editor" to my list of "things that could go horribly wrong after selling a book": [link]

One of my teachers in middle school had a rule that every paper had to have at least some certain number of adjectives per page. He pretty much told us, "Yeah, no one's going to be counting adjectives once you get beyond this course, but it'll force you to look at how you can be more descriptive."

Heh. Cindy, no, that wasn't at you - I had actually been talking about the whole "but amateurs do it for love" thing in email, on an entirely different subject, earlier, so it was fresh in my memory curcuits. Robin, yep, I'm with you, but have you noticed how the whole idea of "no one's paying you for it yet so you must suck!" has crept into common intonation when the word is used in speech?

Cashmere, dayum. Yummy-creepy-cool.

He pretty much told us, "Yeah, no one's going to be counting adjectives once you get beyond this course, but it'll force you to look at how you can be more descriptive."

I actually like the idea of using the single adjective as a freight car: let it carry the load of infinite possibilities.

I mean, I may talk the hind leg off a spitting llama in meatspace, but in writing, I'm far more likely to say "the night sky was abalone and ink" than I am to say "the night sky, shivering under a load of stars like tiny golden irridiscent pearls, fell upon her bowed shoulders like mantle of purest indigo velvet", or whatever.

I've added "getting this copy editor" to my list of "things that could go horribly wrong after selling a book"

Oh my good god. As a copyeditor, I'm offended -- it's so very much *not* a CE's job to change words arbitrarily to ones she prefers. You want to write dialogue? Make something minty instead of woodsy? Write your own damn book.

And as an editor? I once had a CE who changed every instance of what she considered un-PC prose in a Western-set historical (Texas 1860s). So one guy no longer had a hairlip, another guy was a Mexican-American (uh, no), etc. She also changed "mad dog" to "angry dog". Not the same thing, you fucking twit.

I know Alison, and I feel so awful for her. It's such a nightmare to open up a manuscript and find someone has decided to put her fingerprints all over it.

I was looking at some of those papers a few months ago, and none of them seemed really overloaded with adjectives, so I'm figuring his limit was something reasonable, and mostly to sort of jump-start us out of the "They woke up. They got dressed. They ate breakfast. They went to school" sort of elementary school writing.

"the night sky was abalone and ink"

This is evocative, and makes the scene vivid, and makes me work just enough to make the image part of my own mental landscape.

"the night sky, shivering under a load of stars like tiny golden irridiscent pearls, fell upon her bowed shoulders like mantle of purest indigo velvet"

This makes me close the book.