Dear kind reader,

Have I ever mentioned how completely blind I am to my own writing mistakes?

Yesterday afternoon I sat down at my laptop to draft my next letter to you. But then something jumped out at me from Friday’s letter. Did I really write that? Does that say “Vanity Fairy”? I blinked hard, looked again. Good grief. And it’s been days since I sent you that letter.

Of course, it’s supposed to have been Vanity Fair, as in one of the most famous magazines in America. I somehow managed to make them sound like a dreadful series of books for preteen girls in which the beautiful, popular fairy bullies the other fairies in her class.

I called my mom.

“Oh no. Did you see that?” I asked her.

She hadn’t. But then through a stifled giggle she said something like, “Oh, and I’ve been meaning to tell you that there’s a typo in one of your comments last week. I’m sorry. I’ve been meaning to point it out, but I just kept forgetting.”

I quickly flipped through the comments and there it was, in response to something the wonderful Biblio-Files blogger Kelly Kegans had written to me, and even more embarrassing than “Vanity Fairy.”

“It’s been so much fun working with you so far,” I wrote, “and your blob is beautifully put together.”

I wanted to disappear under my dining room table. Your blob is beautifully put together? Dear God.

Have I mentioned that my mom is my highly-paid, well-regarded copy editor?

“Is this a hint?” I joked with Mom. “Am I not paying you enough?” As in, isn’t my deep admiration and appreciation and the occasional cappuccino from Vagabond Blues not enough for catching the silly errors in every single thing I send out into the world?

“Yeah,” she said as we both were laughing. “I’m demanding a better salary package. Benefits? Insurance?”

Luckily, we have a sense of humor over these things. I’m really hoping you do, too. To quote Homer Simpson, “Doh!”

Cheers!

Eowyn