AAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHH!!!!! (or, SHM's first erratum)

I'm putting stamps, address labels, and envelopes together in what I dearly hope is a meaningful pattern. So far I've managed not to mail myself any copies of the mag, and I'd like to keep it that way.

It's around midnight. My son's asleep; my husband's in back playing around on the computer. Buffy and her friends are trying to figure out if they're up against zombies or demons. I'm trying to figure out where exactly to put the "It's time to renew!" slips. If I just put them in the envelope, they might stay in there and be thrown out (or, knowing my readers, recycled) without anyone the wiser. If they're right in front with the table of contents, they seem to be too easy not to see. If I put them smack dab in the middle, they're in the kids' section.

For the last issue, I tried putting them about a quarter of the way into the magazine. That seems to work -- the renewal rate was pretty good last time around.

I'm still saving up for a "Time to renew!" ink stamp, so for now I'm also handwriting that message right under address labels in my best plain calligraphy. I really do care about keeping subscribers informed; it's just hard to find something that works for all of us on my budget.

So I'm tucking slips into the correct magazines, and I try putting them next to a page I haven't tried yet. It's -- oh, yes, the second page of the article by Lorel Shea about homeschooling for introverts and extroverts. I really like that piece, and not just because the author is a BellaOnline writer. I used to be the Chocolate Editor over there. Wonderful site, lovely bunch of people. Great to have an article from a pro.

I glance at the article -- if I had to actually watch Buffy in order to keep up with the plot, I wouldn't have chosen her to help me with this job. (Chosen? Get it? She's the chosen one? Get it? Okay, I'll shut up now.) The author mentions her son's name in the article -- Ajax. So cool. I love it when people pick unabashedly awesome names for their kids.

The paragraph looks funny. Not right. Puzzled, I leave off mailing for a moment and read:
 
"Ajax still felt uncomfortable with large group functions in close quarters (such as our science fair), but he could usually remove himself from the center of the action and find a quiet corner to talk with a friend or read a book. He had the option of not attending"
 
and that's all she wrote.

Except that it wasn't all she wrote. Of course it wasn't. The article doesn't end mid-paragraph. I'm hard up for material, but I'm not so desperate that I'll just grab at fragments.

The page had plenty of room for the rest of the piece. And there was nothing else there.

Panicked, I looked at the next page. There was Nanette Blank's essay, "Arguments Around the Math Book." Which I'm very happy with, but really didn't want to see right that moment. I wanted to see where the bleepity-bleep the rest of Lorel's article was.

I flipped back a page. This is a very content-dense issue, and we had to really play around to make everything fit. Maybe the article had somehow gone in reverse order -- first the ending, then the beginning. That would be bad, embarrassingly bad, but people would figure it out. Just -- please -- let the whole article be somewhere!

The sad part is that even as I became increasingly frantic (and vocal about it, though I didn't know it yet; fortunately my feelings on the subject were summed up in a loud but G-rated repetition of "No! No! NO NO NO NO NO!") -- part of my mind was trying to explain to the universe that all things considered, this must simply be a nightmare. Not a metaphorical one, but the real thing. Look, it was late at night, right? I specifically remembered being really really tired an hour ago, but had decided to soldier on anyway. I'd probably fallen asleep and was having one of those really really realistic and vivid dreams. Because come on! I'd proofread this entire issue! Really given it a going-over! And I pay, if anything, more attention to articles by other writers than I do to my own, partly because I owe it to them and partly because I'm not bored out of my mind by their writing the way I am by mine. I'd proofread this issue at a decent hour, too. It wasn't as if I'd been forcing myself to stay awake at two in the morning and must have nodded off at a critical point. I'd actually allowed myself plenty of time to get the job done for once.

So what I was seeing obviously couldn't really be there. I'd fallen asleep over my mailing work and my mind, as minds will, had picked the scariest material it could find to knit together this terrifying dream. The fact that it seemed so real was just one more edge of scariness.

There's nothing more frightening than hearing your own mental voice soothingly trying to talk you into the idea that none of this is really happening. Because it's never true.

By now, my husband had heard the one-woman commotion and had come out to see what was going on. Obviously not burglars or murderers or terrorists or anything trivial like that. I would have welcomed a burglar at this point. "Here! Take this! And that! And how's about a couple of these!"

"HOW??????" I demanded the second my husband stepped into the room. "WHAT IS????? WHERE????? THIS ISN'T!!! NO NO NO NO NO!!!"

Over time, my husband has learned to speak my language. He's still not completely fluent, but he can get by. Peering over my shoulder at the magazine still clenched in my hand, he figured out what had happened.

Which was this:

We have two articles about home education in Scotland in this issue. One talks about the general legalities and logistics; one is a little piece by a woman who home educates there. I thought they would tie in well with the pieces we're also running about the ghastly proposed legislation in England, which is bad enough that some home edders have already moved north of the border.
I told my husband, who typesets the magazine (and who is going to start teaching me how to do that all by myself RIGHT NOW), that I wanted those articles in that order: first the longer, more clinical piece, and then the little personal one. Made sense to me: from the general to the specific.

However, when I got the proofs, I saw that they were running the other way around.

It wouldn't have been a complete disaster to leave it that way, but it wasn't what I'd had in mind, either. So I marched right in and asked if there was any way to switch them around. Good thing we started early and all that.

After some hemming and hawing, he said that, yes indeedy, they could do a switcheroo. Great.

While he was playing Rubik's Cube with my magazine, I was still proofreading the galleys I'd been given. I was searching for typographical and other errors that slipped by me the first million times I read, edited, and proofread these articles.

I finished that job and marched right back to see how things were going on his end.

Magazine done? Yup. Articles in the desired order? Yes. Kids' section still right in the middle, so it can pull out should anyone be so inclined? Righto.

See where I screwed up? I asked. I accepted an answer. I took his word for it.

I didn't demand to look at the new layout on the computer -- his computer, the one I hate being anywhere near for fear it will explode. I didn't ask for a new set of galleys. Because I'm an idiot. Yes, his say-so has always been solid in the past. That's not the point. And I'm not blaming him. I really am blaming me. Okay, I'm blaming him, but I'm also blaming me. I'm especially blaming me. The buck stops here, and all that.

Back to the night in question.

Once I understood what had happened, I started weighing my options. Suicide was right up there, of course; but I've been having a pretty healthy month for once and it would take some doing.

Begging the printers for mercy. No way. This wasn't their mistake. If I wanted a new batch, I'd have to pay for it.

Paying for a new batch. Also no way. Not because I don't feel like paying for that, or because I'm just fine with the idea of this flawed issue, but because I quite literally don't have the money for the job.

That was everything I could think of. That was quick. I'd circled right back to suicide in under thirty seconds. And it had seemed like such a nice weekend just a few hours ago.

"We can post the article online," my husband said. "People can read the whole thing there."

I screeched something about how in the name of blahbiddy blah were we supposed to let readers know that they needed to do that. Also, how nice. They'd purchased a paper magazine, and now they just needed to go online in order to actually read all of it.

"We'll put in an errata," my husband went on.

"Telling them what happened? I think they'll bleeping figure that out for themselves!"

"Giving them the rest of the article," he said.

Still not beautiful. But better than my other ideas. Not as bloody as the first one, though I do have some paper cuts from opening up envelopes that had already been sealed and stamped, taking out the magazines inside them, inserting the slip, and taping up the envelopes. And then slapping on a cute little sticker apologizing for the beautiful packing tape and explaining its presence.
This was bad enough. Having to run right out the next day and buy a toner cartridge because our old one decided to give out was bad enough, too.

The WORST part (sorry for shouting) is -- are you ready for this?

I mentioned in the last posting here that we have a "Here We Go Again" column in this issue. One of the things I rant about there is...

...oh, man, this hurts to even talk about. Okay, type about.

...okay, one of the things I rant about in this column is another writer who messed up in an online article about homeschooling laws. I called her on it (I wasn't the only one, either), and she did a half-arsed job of fixing it up. Then she excused her mistake by claiming that the last paragraph of her essay had somehow, mistakenly been left off.

And of course I ripped her apart for even attempting such a lame, obviously fabricated excuse.

Oh, shin splints. (That's a pretty satisfying fake swear phrase if you ever need one when the kids are around. It's got all the right sounds and it's completely innocent.)

Did I have to say that? In this issue?

I mean, I was right. Don't get me wrong. The woman was clearly trying to save face rather than just admit she'd gotten her facts wrong. And it was completely feeble because, under the circumstances, her explanation didn't even make sense. The first half of the essay now contradicts the ending. It's absurd.

But still...I wish to high heaven that I'd decided to do that particular bit of screaming another time.

Getting back to the main point, which is that I blew it. I should have checked. I didn't. I'm very sorry. I feel like an idiot, possibly because I am one.

The irony gods enjoyed the good laugh I gave them so much that they had a little mercy on me. I had sealed and stamped a decent number of envelopes, but I hadn't sent any out yet. (My mother-in-law did grab one, but I think she'll understand.) The repair job wasn't fun, but it was infinitely preferable to hearing about my mistake from a reader. Or (shudder) a bunch of readers.

Lorel Shea was incredibly decent about all this. She said that as long as people were getting the whole article one way or another, there was no harm done. (Except to my ego, which will never stop bleeding.) And, hey, maybe people might be more interested in her article now?

I went ahead and posted that article as a free-to-read as well. She deserves a little extra publicity, plus if people lose the slip of paper, they can find the whole piece online.

Just wanted to let you know what’s going on. Now I have to go back to mailing this issue, and cringing every time I look at one particular page.

Another holiday birthday!

The new issue came home from the printers just in time for Thanksgiving!

Sorry, let me rephrase that:

I cleaned our entire apartment (okay, my bedroom's still a mess, but the rest of it is SHINY), prepared a Thanksgiving dinner that didn't offend any vegetarian sensibilities or kill any food-allergy-carrying family members (the Bitter Homeschooler will have more to say on that one on her blog, including a not-so-bitter VEGAN recipe for yams topped with marshmallows), and got the new issue of the magazine edited, proofread, sent to the printer, and back from the printer so quickly that I didn't even have time to whine about it here — all in one week.

The new issue is still getting out to readers later than I would have liked, but I'm getting into the groove of a bimonthly publication. This issue came home less than two months after the previous one did. I've still got to keep pushing on it to get mailing dates to line up better with the date on the cover; but it's getting out every other month, and that's a good start.

Issue #9 includes:

Some tips from yours truly on not being driven completely insane at holiday gatherings by relatives who just don't get this whole homeschooling thing;

An article so good that I wish like heck I were a good enough writer to have written it myself — but I’m just so glad that somebody put together these 25 jewels of advice for homeschoolers of all ages and philosophies;

The latest legal nastiness being inflicted on our home educating neighbors in England;

A spotlight on home edding in Scotland (and why some of our English friends may be moving there);

Articles on teaching math, language arts, and personal finances;

A humor piece by the always-wonderful Sue Landsman;

And more and more, including product reviews, book reviews, Hot Chocolate and Here We Go Again...

...which I would love to tell you more about, but I have to go and start sticking labels and stamps on envelopes.

'Tis the season...

...to be grilled by so-called loved ones like an airport hot dog.

Okay, the analogy is a little outdated. But I know you get the point.

One of my homeschooling loops is hosting a chat tonight specifically about coping with relatives at holiday gatherings, and it got me thinking about writing an article about that part of our lives.

Sadly, my own relatives are nothing but supportive of -- nay, enthusiastic about -- our decision to homeschool. So in terms of leavening the essay with some hilarious (provided they're not about you) anecdotes, I need to do some outsourcing.

I'd love to hear your "horrifying holiday relatives" stories for possible inclusion in an upcoming article. I swear on my three-chocolate brownie recipe that I will not include names, locations, or any other identifying information that I can possibly leave out and still have a viable story.

You can send your story to me privately if you like:

deborah @ 2ds dot org

or you can post it here, so everyone can admire your fortitude.

And now I have to go fight the urge to eat all the brownies. And a hot dog.

That is SO last issue!

Kate Miller of Charlie's Playhouse just emailed me with the latest fun her company has to offer. I'm lazy and she's a better writer than I am, so I'm just going to post the info in her words:
 
I wanted to ask your help with a new Charlie's Playhouse project called "Ask the Kids!", which I think would interest secular homeschoolers.

To celebrate the 150th anniversary of Origin of Species (Nov. 24th), I'm hoping to get families talking about evolution with their kids. I'm asking parents to ask their kids "What is evolution?" and send me a video of the kids' very first answer. I've tested this with a few folks so far and the responses have been so funny, like: "Isn't that something about the evolutionary war?"

Then we'll weave all the raw materials into a catchy video for release on Nov. 24th, the anniversary itself.

Should be fun, and hopefully will get some good discussions about evolution going. We'll point parents toward good books and websites that can help with a kid-friendly chat about evolution.

So the participants get:

1. a great discussion about evolution with their beautiful children
2. the chance for global super-stardom for their kids in the project video
3. a coupon for 10% to 20% off our products, just in time for the holiday season.

The project home page is here:
http://www.charliesplayhouse.com/ask-the-kids.php
and the deadline for submissions is one week from today, November 16th.

Well, it's ABOUT time!

I know, I know. But there was Halloween! And, um, homeschooling! And editing! Lots of editing!

Okay, okay -- every time I thought, "I HAVE to do the drawing now," someone wrote in saying, "Ooh, I just heard! Pick me!" And I felt all guilty at the thought that, had I been just a bit prompter, some lovely soul wouldn't have the chance to enter the drawing. So then I'd wait another day, and just as I thought, "Okay, NOW I have to do the drawing -- " well, you get the picture.

So seriously! Enough dawdling!

I'm on random.org (which keeps insisting on being called RANDOM.ORG, because apparently their numbers scream a lot) right now.

Now I'm going and getting a cough drop, because my allergies are acting up.

Now I'm checking my email ONE MORE TIME, just in case.

Now I'm counting names again, to make sure I'm working with the right number.

Now I'm shouting something at my son, who is down the hall practicing one violin of a two-violin concerto and seems to be having some disagreements with Mr. Bach as to what key this piece should really be in.

And now I'm typing numbers into the random number generator.

After checking my email one more time.

Okay, okay, now I'm getting the number. Really.

And the winner is...

Chrystal!

Okay, lady, send me your info! I probably have it already! Send it anyway! You know how things get around here! Too much paperwork, not enough chocolate!

And now I'm going to very quickly post about something else that I want to get the word out about; and then I'm going to post some more giveaway stuff. 'Cause like I said, I still have a lot of books begging for good homes.