I have found both format editing and blizzards painful while
in their midst, but each also results in wonderful connections and beautiful
art.
The last true
blizzard I was in, I was fortunate to be near our house in Wolf Point. As I
drove the short mile from work with my husband, Jerry, only fifty yards behind
me in the Acadia, the cross streets disappeared as sheets of snow beat in waves
from the northwest. A white and gray pall covered the landscape and sky,
obscuring any distinct shapes and forms. I diligently plowed my way up the 4th
Avenue hill.
I feared I wouldn't recognize the way home. A similar
fear and trepidation sometimes comes over me when I sit down to edit a long
literary piece. I don't know my way through the mass of words and punctuation. I
fear making a mistake and causing more problems and errors.
In a state of confusion that day, I gripped the steering
wheel, and peered out into the haze. The outline of the towering cottonwoods at
the corner of our turn finally broke through the dense whiteness, their bare
branches rattling in the wind like angry giants.
My Impala bravely bucked through the drifts forming
across the city streets. I stared out the windshield, and nervously hoped no
one was hidden in the blinding snow. My foot on the gas pedal, I dared not slow
down, knowing one of those drifts would grab my wheels and not let me out.
In the process of editing, when I hit "find"
and "replace" in a document, especially when it has resulted in 1,000
cases "found," a tremor of dread runs through me before I hit
replace. What if I make it worse and get
stuck? What if I ruin the whole novel?
That afternoon as I approached an unsheltered curve in
the road, less than a half of a block from our house, the shadowy form of a
van, obviously tightly stuck in a drift, came into view. I let up on the gas
and steered to the side to avoid hitting the vehicle. First mistake. With a
sudden "fump!" my car came to a halt. The right side of the car sat
higher on the wind-packed drift, as my wheels spun.
My husband stopped a hundred yards behind, got out and fought
his way to my car. As I opened the door, a rush of snow blew in, covering the
floorboards in a fine layer. He suggested I back his Acadia up to the next side
road to open up the center of the street while he tried to get my car unstuck.
I clambered into his vehicle and backed into the side road, firmly hitting
another two foot drift. Second mistake—beware of side roads. I tried to go
forward or backward, to no avail. Now the Acadia was unable to move.
Sometimes I do get stuck and bogged down when I am
editing. The time I fought with fixing my "smart" quote marks and
"straight" quote marks, I couldn't figure my way out. I finally got
it done, probably not the easiest way.
Jerry and I trudged to our house, only seventy-five yards
in distance. The wind chill was an unbelievable fifty degrees below zero or
more. We changed from our office clothes into jeans and down parkas, gathered
more shovels, and headed back into the onslaught.
Frantically we pulled shovel-fulls of snow from under the
car. Each time we pulled out a chunk of snow, new snow replaced what we had
just removed. Every time we opened the car door to attempt to rock the car
free, the white powder filled the compartment like piles of flour. Whenever we
opened our mouths to speak, the wind-driven snow blasted our throats like pieces
of sand and knocked our breath back down our throats, resulting in gasps of air.
The snow melted on our faces and then refroze wherever it could. My eyelashes
were thickly caked, heavy with ice that threatened to freeze my eyes shut. The
whole endeavor seemed hopeless. I felt like we should just quit, but we couldn't
leave our vehicle blocking the road.
Through the blinding snow, a huge four-wheel drive
pick-up from the Fort Peck Tribal Police crawled its way toward us. A big,
burly tribal cop climbed out, snow nearly up to his hips. He grabbed one of the
shovels and got to work on the dense drifts under my car. A tribal high school
student clambered out of the truck, wearing what looked like a spring jacket.
They both shoveled, pushed and pulled alongside of us. It seemed like an
impossible task, but the guys never quit, never expressed any doubt or dismay.
Finally, with one more big effort of all hands pushing, my car broke free. Relieved,
I promptly drove it into my driveway and parked it.
Then we went to work on the van and our Acadia. By then
glasses were useless, only reservoirs for ice and snow. Hands worked clumsily,
the painful cold beginning to numb. With tireless effort, the cop, his young
friend and other neighbors chipped in to fight against the relentless wind and
snow.
There is nothing like friends, books, experts,
co-travelers posting up on Google, to assist with the process of learning to
edit more skillfully, I have had very good input, knowledge and suggestions
over the years. I marvel at how little I knew about writing—that is, the whole
process—seven years ago! Eventually with much effort and help, I/you will make our way
through an edit, a process, a piece of art or a new woodworking project.
Finally, our vehicle and the van broke free. Trudging up
the driveway late that day, exhausted, frigidly cold, I spiked our shovel into
the snow bank at the corner of our house, an offering for the next stuck
vehicle. Jerry, by then nearly hypothermic and shaking uncontrollably, fell
into a hot tub of water.
How many people and cars that policeman and his friend
freed from drifts that day, I don't know. But I admired their courage,
tenacity, and willingness to take on such a daunting task—cheerfully and
optimistically.
The results that day—freed vehicles, grateful people safe
at home—and eventually, artfully created drifts, and moisture for the land to irrigate
and grow summer crops and pastures.
Format editing long documents like a novel or a thesis
can feel a bit like facing the relentless onslaught of a blizzard. But bit by
bit, sentence by sentence, with persistence and some help, a structurally sound
and beautiful document can be created.
Happy editing, formatting and digging out of snow drifts
if that is what is needed. The outcome may be awesome. Spring will come.
