Copyediting sample 38:
The wrong bridge

In this novel, the author misidentified a well-known bridge, put an air force base in the wrong place, and didn’t realize that daylight savings time must have been in effect. There were also problems with punctuation and other things.

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This sample is presented here with the author’s permission.

Original
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The Freedom Bird took its time shepherding the weary men home, with intermittent stops in Tokyo and Alaska, considered a final penance to pay in the culmination of many sacrifices. The heavy tires finally rolled to a stop outside the dark, deserted terminal at Travis AFB. As Mickey peered out into the dim-lit night, there were no celebrations…no cheers…no waiting families…and oddly enough, just the looming despair of having to engage another adversary…their ungrateful countrymen, nestled peacefully asleep in the warm sanctity of their beds. The headlights from a convoy of Army buses pulled alongside the metal stairway, then callously shuttled their sleepy cargo directly across the bay to the Oakland Army Depot. As Mickey stepped off the bus, he gazed down at his shiny Rolex…0300 hours, Pacific Standard Time. They endured the extended pre-dawn physical, numerous tests to verify and document that they would not become wards of the Veteran’s Administration, then brashly ushered along to cope with the administrative out-processing fiasco before they tersely administered the final coup de gras. Apathetic civilian clerks deftly cut up their military ID cards and threw them in the trash…the thankless, uncontested divorce was final. Mickey put his khakis back on and laced up his jump boots. He found his overseas bag in a green pile of baggage against the far wall and picked it up and headed to the front door. Outside, he stood in a long, single line for a taxi to take him back across the fabled Golden Gate Bridge to the airport in San Francisco. The chill morning air, smeared goose bumps down his arms as he stared up at the tall, bare flagpole in front of the depot. When he finally arrived at the empty airport, the spry, blonde ticket agent informed him that the next flight to Dallas wouldn’t leave until ten. He paid cash for his ticket and found a small coffee shop to pass the time. Mickey lingered impatiently until nine-fifteen, when sheer boredom finally motivated him to head down to the gate.

Markup
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The Freedom Bird took its time shepherding the weary men home, with intermittent stops in Tokyo and Alaska, considered a final penance to pay in the culmination of many sacrifices and Anchorage, a long and mentally draining trip, in no way a recompense for the new veterans’ many sacrifices. [did I capture your intended meaning?] The heavy tires finally rolled to a stop outside the dark, deserted dark, mostly deserted terminal at Travis AFB Travis Air Force Base. As Mickey peered out into the dim-lit night, there the dimly lit night, there were no celebrations…no cheers…no celebrations, no cheers, [the ellipsis should be restricted to pauses within dialogue, speech that trails off (in academic prose, it has another function, to indicate text that has been left out)] no waiting families…and oddly families. And oddly enough, just enough, the men felt just the looming despair of having to engage another adversary…their adversary: their ungrateful countrymen, nestled countrymen, who were nestled peacefully asleep in the warm sanctity of their beds. The headlights from a convoy of Army buses of army buses pulled alongside the metal stairway, then stairway, and then callously shuttled their sleepy cargo directly across the bay to the Oakland directly some thirty miles west to the Oakland Army Depot. [Travis Air Force Base is not across San Francisco Bay from Oakland (that is, it is not in San Francisco or in neighboring San Mateo County)--it is 31 miles inland, toward Sacramento, near Fairfield, CA] As Mickey stepped off the bus, he gazed down at his shiny Rolex…0300 hours Rolex: 0300 hours, Pacific Standard Time Pacific Daylight Savings Time. [The narrative present is late summer 1970. DST ended in California October 25, 1970] They endured The men endured the extended pre-dawn physical extended predawn physical, numerous tests to verify and document that they would not become wards of the Veteran’s Administration, then brashly the Veterans Administration. Then they were brashly ushered along to cope with the administrative with an administrative out-processing fiasco before they tersely they were tersely administered the final coup de gras. Apathetic final coup de grâce: Apathetic civilian clerks deftly cut up their military ID cards and threw them in the trash…the trash. The thankless, uncontested divorce was final. Mickey put his khakis back on and laced up his jump boots. He found his overseas bag in a green pile of baggage against the far wall and picked wall, picked it up and up, and headed to the front door. Outside, he Outside, where he stood in a long, single line for a taxi to take him back across the fabled Golden Gate Bridge to the [the Golden Gate Bridge is way out of the way for him to go from Oakland to the SF Airport] him across the gigantic Bay Bridge to the airport in San Francisco. The chill Francisco, the chill morning air, smeared goose air brought goose bumps down his arms as he stared up at the tall, bare flagpole in front of the depot. When he finally arrived at the empty airport, the spry, blonde ticket spry, blond ticket agent informed him that the next flight to Dallas wouldn’t leave until ten. He paid cash for his ticket and found a small coffee shop to pass the time. Mickey lingered impatiently until nine-fifteen, when sheer boredom finally motivated him to head down to the gate.

Result
Click to go to the next sample in the series.

The Freedom Bird took its time shepherding the weary men home, with intermittent stops in Tokyo and Anchorage, a long and mentally draining trip, in no way a recompense for the new veterans’ many sacrifices. The heavy tires finally rolled to a stop outside the dark, mostly deserted terminal at Travis Air Force Base. As Mickey peered out into the dimly lit night, there were no celebrations, no cheers, no waiting families. And oddly enough, the men felt just the looming despair of having to engage another adversary: their ungrateful countrymen, who were nestled peacefully asleep in the warm sanctity of their beds. The headlights from a convoy of army buses pulled alongside the metal stairway, and then callously shuttled their sleepy cargo directly some thirty miles west to the Oakland Army Depot. As Mickey stepped off the bus, he gazed down at his shiny Rolex: 0300 hours, Pacific Daylight Savings Time. The men endured the extended predawn physical, numerous tests to verify and document that they would not become wards of the Veterans Administration. Then they were brashly ushered along to cope with an administrative out-processing fiasco before they were tersely administered the final coup de grâce: Apathetic civilian clerks deftly cut up their military ID cards and threw them in the trash. The thankless, uncontested divorce was final. Mickey put his khakis back on and laced up his jump boots. He found his overseas bag in a green pile of baggage against the far wall, picked it up, and headed to the front door. Outside, where he stood in a long, single line for a taxi to take him across the gigantic Bay Bridge to the airport in San Francisco, the chill morning air brought goose bumps down his arms as he stared up at the tall, bare flagpole in front of the depot. When he finally arrived at the empty airport, the spry, blond ticket agent informed him that the next flight to Dallas wouldn’t leave until ten. He paid cash for his ticket and found a small coffee shop to pass the time. Mickey lingered impatiently until nine-fifteen, when sheer boredom finally motivated him to head down to the gate.