Copyediting sample 20:
At the Capricorn Lounge

An editor must attend to every single paragraph, sentence, phrase, and word to ensure the author’s intended meaning is conveyed accurately and precisely.

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Original
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The Capricorn Lounge hadn’t been updated since it opened in 1964, which is one of the reasons I loved it so much. One of the first things that grabs your attention when you walk in is the mid-century décor: vinyl armchairs, handrails that sweep gently around the room, velvet wallpaper, and red lampshades. It didn’t hurt that they also hosted talented bands and the drinks weren’t expensive. I could relax on a streamlined moderne sofa while enjoying a good single malt Scotch for almost half of what I’d pay in St. Louis. I was there on a Friday night during Oktoberfest—poor planning on my part—so the place was packed and loud, and not just because of the jazz trio playing in the back. People were speaking with their outside voices. Most had been drinking all day and wouldn’t sober up until Monday. I got lucky and entered the bar just as a two-seat high-top was being vacated, so I swooped in and claimed it. A server—Mandy, a tall and slender twenty-something woman with blonde hair tied into a bun—came right over. I ordered a twelve-year Macallan, neat. Ted showed up just a few minutes after me. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a slim fit a slim-fit green button-down shirt tucked neatly into his pants. He looked good, damn good. “What’s up?” he asked as he slid onto the stool.

Markup
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The Capricorn Lounge hadn’t been updated The décor of the Capricorn Lounge hadn’t been updated [Okay? (it’s the décor that gets “updated,” not the lounge itself—right?)] since it opened in 1964, which is one of the reasons I loved it so much. One of the first things that grabs your attention when you walk in is the mid-century décor: vinyl armchairs in are the vinyl armchairs, [Okay? (“mid-century décor,” was already accounted for in the first sentence)] handrails that sweep gently around the room, velvet wallpaper, and red lampshades. It didn’t hurt that they also hosted talented bands and bands, and the drinks weren’t expensive. I could relax on a streamlined moderne streamlined Moderne sofa [this architectural style is capitalized] while enjoying a good single malt Scotch good single-malt Scotch for almost half no more than half of what I’d pay in St. Louis. [“no more than half,” emphasizes how small the price is, compared to what it would be in St. Louis, whereas “almost half,” would incorrectly emphasize how large the price would be] I was there Now, however, I was there [Okay? (to prevent a misreading that the narrator is about to sit tonight on “a streamlined Moderne sofa,”)] on a Friday night during Oktoberfest—poor planning on my part—so the place was packed and loud, and loud—and not just because of the jazz trio playing in the back. People were speaking with their outside voices. Most had been drinking all day and wouldn’t sober up until Monday. I got lucky and entered the bar just as a two-seat high-top was being vacated, so I swooped in and claimed it. A server—Mandy, a tall and slender twenty-something woman with blonde hair with blond hair tied into a bun—came right over. I ordered a twelve-year Macallan, neat. Ted showed up just a few minutes after me. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a slim fit a slim-fit a slim-fit green button-down shirt tucked neatly into his pants. He looked good, damn good. [I broke the paragraph here.] “What’s up?” he asked as he slid onto the stool.

Result
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The décor of the Capricorn Lounge hadn’t been updated since it opened in 1964, which is one of the reasons I loved it so much. One of the first things that grabs your attention when you walk in are the vinyl armchairs, handrails that sweep gently around the room, velvet wallpaper, and red lampshades. It didn’t hurt that they also hosted talented bands, and the drinks weren’t expensive. I could relax on a streamlined Moderne sofa while enjoying a good single-malt Scotch for no more than half of what I’d pay in St. Louis. Now, however, I was there on a Friday night during Oktoberfest—poor planning on my part—so the place was packed and loud—and not just because of the jazz trio playing in the back. People were speaking with their outside voices. Most had been drinking all day and wouldn’t sober up until Monday. I got lucky and entered the bar just as a two-seat high-top was being vacated, so I swooped in and claimed it. A server—Mandy, a tall and slender twenty-something woman with blond hair tied into a bun—came right over. I ordered a twelve-year Macallan, neat. Ted showed up just a few minutes after me. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and a slim-fit a slim-fit green button-down shirt tucked neatly into his pants. He looked good, damn good. “What’s up?” he asked as he slid onto the stool.