Writer’s nightmare: a typo. After countless proofreading it still happens. I find it hard to proof my own writing. Somehow, I manage to see what I want to see (in writing and in life) and miss my errors.
Twenty years ago, when I took the UConn Master Gardener class, I reviewed the section on “How to Grow Rhubarb” and it said: “Plant early in the spring as soon as the soul can be worked.” Hmm, that’s a good one, but maybe it isn’t a typo? Maybe this was a master gardener class and a spiritual lesson as well?
My friend Adrian, who missed her calling as a proofreader, can spot a typo anywhere. Years ago, we went to an art opening and as she read the prominently displayed artist’s statement, she motioned me over and whispered: “Read sentence one in paragraph three.” It read, “I have displayed my work at many pubic galleries.” What a difference one little dropped consonant can make, eh? “Should we mention something to the artist?” I asked her. “No, don’t say a word.”
I’ve never been to a pubic gallery, but, I want to remain open to new experiences in and out of the garden.
Today the garden is shrouded in haze from the Quebec wildfires. But as soon as the air clears, I’ll follow the advice to “work the soul.”
Most days I do just that.