Copyediting sample 39:
Handhold and handset

This sample is from a science fiction short story set far out at the edge of the solar system well into the future, when love and romance is no longer part of the culture and the state needs to mandate “genetic pairing” in order to replenish the dwindling human population. Besides routine style issues, I addressed problems with coherence and word choice (particularly, to distinguish the “handhold” supporting rail from the “handheld” communication device—which I revised to “handset”). I also revised phrases or inserted words to convey a more precise meaning, and I suggested interrupting long portions of back-and-forth speeches with short cinematic actions that provided context to the dialogue.

In the “Result” section of this sample, you can see how the author provided some new text (subject to my copyediting), which addressed and incorporated the suggestions I brought up in the markup.

Skip this sample and advance to the next one in the series.

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

Original
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Malcolm Andersen, Commanding officer of the GSS Triumph, watched with amusement as the GSS Tempest pulled into the dock. Captain Claire Dubois was certainly talented, and definitely ran a tight ship. “She might be as good as you,” remarked Senior Technician (Engineering) Raul Ishikawa as he grabbed a handhold next to his CO. While not one of the Triumph’s senior officers, “Senior” Ishikawa was respected by everyone on board and had the ear of the captain. Malcolm trusted him more than he did his own exec. “She might indeed.” “Another kill on her record,” Senior Ishikawa said. “She does us Kuiper Belt Bandits proud.” Malcolm nodded, eyes focused through the hardened glass as the docking clamps latched onto Tempest and held her in place. Four-legged robot repair drones were already moving to the hull to start her overhaul. One year in overhaul while her captain, and incidentally, two other members of her crew, provided their genetic code to keep the species alive and well. “You going to make a play for her?” asked Ishikawa. “I haven’t decided.” “That’s weird.” The senior technician shifted his stance and reached for a different handhold, one a little closer to his captain. “I hear she doesn’t like artificial insemination.” one scene (2 pages) later Her apartment, if it could be called that, had a small bunk situated over a too-small desk with a small lamp next to a connection dock for her handheld. She had a shared shitter between her studio and the one next to her. She’d made a mistake of not knocking the first time she had to pee and got a full view of a man taking a dump. She had knocked every time since. Such as it was, it would do. In the quarter-g gravity she could pretty easily get into and out of her bunk and the desk was kind of a nice getaway from the one in her cramped cabin on the ship. Her doorbell buzzed, freezing her where she stood. Anyone reporting in from the ship would have reached her through her handheld. She looked at the door like it held an ominous secret. Her room was small enough that it was only a few steps to the door from her desk, yet it felt like time had somehow slowed down. She looked through the door and didn’t recognize the face on the other side. She pushed the talk button under the eyepiece. “Who are you?” “Hey.” “Hey back,” she said with annoyance. “Now, who are you?” “Malcolm Andersen.” Suddenly, she’d regained her composure. “Shit,” she murmured, relieved. “Can I come in?” She sighed, then opened the door. He looked very good in his dress uniform, though why he was wearing a dress uniform was beyond her. She had only agreed to meet with him in order to discuss options for genetic mating, and they weren’t supposed to meet for another hour, and certainly not in her apartment. Why was he dressed up? Being paired as part of the Genetics Control Ministry program wasn’t a big deal. Just a part of life. She’d already met the other two and they didn’t take it that seriously either. He pulled something from behind his back and handed it to her. A handheld, presumably his own, with flowers on the screen. She gave him a quizzical look. “I’ve been doing some reading while the Triumph was in drydock,” he explained. “Turns out men used to do this when they met with women.” He looked down at his uniform jacket and shrugged. “They used to dress up, too.” She took her hand away from the door and walked the few steps to her desk. Sitting down in her chair, she held out the handheld. “You’re speechless in a way that makes me hope you are impressed,” he said. “I’m confused.” He opened his jacket and put the handheld in his inside left breast carrying pocket. nine scenes (26 pages) later “I’m starting to pick up fire control quality radar,” reported the radar operator. Now the enemy was hunting them. “Damn it,” growled Malcolm. He grabbed a comms handset near the radar operator and punched the button for weapons. “Load the rail gun magazine and throw the switches. When engineering brings the engines back online, I want to get power to the gun and start shooting.” “Yes, sir.” Senior Technician Ishikawa was on the case.

Markup
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Malcolm Andersen, Commanding officer Andersen, commanding officer [a title is lowercase when not preceding a name] of the GSS Triumph, GSS Triumph, watched with amusement as the GSS Tempest GSS Tempest pulled into the dock. Captain Claire Dubois was certainly talented, and definitely and she definitely ran a tight ship. “She might be as good as you,” remarked Senior Technician (Engineering) [capitalized because it precedes a name] Raul Ishikawa as he grabbed a handhold next to his CO. While not [insert “technically” (or, with tongue in cheek, “officially”) here?] one of the Triumph’s senior the Triumph’s senior officers, “Senior” Ishikawa was respected by everyone on board and had the ear of the captain. Malcolm trusted him more than he did his own exec his exec. [“his own exec” would be a contrast to Ishikawa’s “exec” (which he does not have) or to, perhaps, Claire’s exec, Reginald. Since you do not need to make such a contrast, “his exec” is sufficient.] “She might indeed.” [Consider a short sentence here with a cinematic description of something Malcolm does (either an action or a grimace).] “Another kill on her record,” Senior Ishikawa said. record.” Senior Ishikawa [insert here something that Ishikawa does (Malcolm’s POV)] “She does us Kuiper Belt Bandits proud.” Malcolm nodded, eyes focused through the hardened glass as the docking clamps latched onto Tempest onto Tempest and held her in place. Four-legged robot repair drones were already moving to the hull to start her overhaul. One year in overhaul while her captain, and captain—and incidentally, two other members of her crew, provided crew—provided their genetic code to keep the species alive and well. “You going to make a play for her?” asked Ishikawa. “I haven’t decided.” “That’s weird.” The senior technician shifted his stance and reached for a different handhold, one a little closer to his captain. “I hear she doesn’t like artificial insemination.” one scene (2 pages) later Her apartment, Claire’s apartment, if it could be called that, had a small bunk situated over a too-small desk with a small lamp next to a connection dock for her handheld her handset. [Up to here, it’s been “handhold” rather than “handheld”; “handhold” seemed to mean something to hold onto in order to keep balance, but now your “handheld” seems to mean a communication device. This would be sure to confuse a reader. In scene 11, you use “handset” for the communication device, and I am making that change throughout for your “handheld”—okay?] She had a shared shitter between her studio and the one next to her to hers. She’d made a mistake of not knocking the first time she had time she’d had to pee and got a full view of a man taking a dump. She had knocked every time since. Such as it was, it would was, the apartment would do. In the quarter-g gravity quarter-g gravity, she could pretty easily get into and out of her bunk and bunk, and the desk was kind of a nice getaway from the one in her cramped cabin on the ship. Her doorbell buzzed, freezing her where she stood. Anyone reporting in from the ship would have reached her through her handheld her handset. [Okay?] She looked at the door like it door as though it held an ominous secret. Her room was small enough that it was only a few steps to the door from her desk, steps from her desk to the door, [let’s reflect the direction of her imagined movement] yet it felt like time felt to her as though time had somehow slowed down. She looked through the door and didn’t recognize the face on the other side. She pushed the talk button under the eyepiece. “Who are you?” “Hey.” “Hey back,” she said with annoyance. “Now, who are you?” “Malcolm Andersen.” Suddenly, she’d regained her composure. “Shit,” she murmured, relieved. “Can I “May I come in?” She sighed, then opened the door. He looked very good in his dress uniform, though why he was wearing a dress uniform was beyond her. She had only agreed had agreed to meet with him in order him only in order [“only” belongs close to what it restricts] to discuss options for genetic mating, and they weren’t supposed to meet for another hour, and certainly hour. And certainly not in her apartment. Why was he dressed up? Being paired as part of the Genetics Control Ministry program wasn’t a big deal. Just a part of life. She’d already met the other two and they didn’t take it two, and they hadn’t taken it that seriously either seriously, either. He pulled Malcolm pulled something from behind his back and handed it and passed it [or “presented it”? (“handed it” with “handset” is awkward, maybe even risible)] to her. A handheld, A handset, [Okay?] presumably his own, with flowers on the screen. She gave him a quizzical look. “I’ve been doing some reading while the Triumph was in the Triumph has been in drydock,” he explained. “Turns out men used to do this when they met with women.” He looked down at his uniform jacket and shrugged. “They used to dress up, too.” She took her hand away from the door and walked the few steps to her desk. Sitting down in her chair, she held out the handheld. she thrust the handset [Okay?] out to him. “You’re speechless in a way that makes me hope you are impressed,” he said. he said, [please insert some action here of Malcolm’s, using the “-ing” form of the verb (describing something he does simultaneously to his saying those words—Claire’s POV)] [Consider a short sentence here with a cinematic description of something Claire does (either an action or a grimace).] “I’m confused.” He opened his jacket and put the handheld the handset [Okay?] in his inside left breast carrying pocket breast pocket. nine scenes (26 pages) later “I’m starting to pick up fire control quality radar,” reported the radar operator. Now the enemy was hunting them. “Damn it,” growled Malcolm. He grabbed a comms handset near the radar operator and punched the button for weapons for Weapons. [These operation stations aboard the Triumph should be capitalized.] “Load the rail gun magazine and the rail-gun magazine, and throw the switches. When engineering When Engineering brings the engines back online, I want to get power to the gun and start shooting.” “Yes, sir.” Senior Technician Ishikawa was on the case.

Result (after the author had reviewed the markup and addressed my queries)
Click to go to the next sample in the series.

Malcolm Andersen, commanding officer of the GSS Triumph, watched with amusement as the GSS Tempest pulled into the dock. Captain Claire Dubois was certainly talented, and she definitely ran a tight ship. “She might be as good as you,” remarked Senior Technician (Engineering) Raul Ishikawa as he grabbed a handhold next to his CO. While not officially one of the Triumph’s senior officers, “Senior” Ishikawa was respected by everyone on board and had the ear of the captain. Malcolm trusted him more than he did his exec. “She might indeed.” His gaze landed on a burn mark on the Tempest’s hull. Enemy had gotten a hit on her with their pulse cannon, though it didn’t look like a solid-enough shot to burn through. No holes from projectiles, either, that he could see, so that was good. “Another kill on her record.” Senior Ishikawa floated away from the handhold briefly, moving to Malcolm’s other side, probably looking for the mag-gun turret. “She does us Kuiper Belt Bandits proud.” Malcolm nodded, eyes focused through the hardened glass as the docking clamps latched onto Tempest and held her in place. Four-legged robot repair drones were already moving to the hull to start her overhaul. One year in overhaul while her captain—and incidentally, two other members of her crew—provided their genetic code to keep the species alive and well. “You going to make a play for her?” asked Ishikawa. “I haven’t decided.” “That’s weird.” The senior technician shifted his stance and reached for a different handhold, one a little closer to his captain. “I hear she doesn’t like artificial insemination.” one scene (2 pages) later Claire’s apartment, if it could be called that, had a small bunk situated over a too-small desk with a small lamp next to a connection dock for her handset. She had a shared shitter between her studio and the one next to hers. She’d made a mistake of not knocking the first time she’d had to pee and got a full view of a man taking a dump. She had knocked every time since. Such as it was, the apartment would do. In the quarter-g gravity, she could pretty easily get into and out of her bunk, and the desk was kind of a nice getaway from the one in her cramped cabin on the ship. Her doorbell buzzed, freezing her where she stood. Anyone reporting in from the ship would have reached her through her handset. She looked at the door as though it held an ominous secret. Her room was small enough that it was only a few steps from her desk to the door, yet it felt to her as though time had somehow slowed down. She looked through the door and didn’t recognize the face on the other side. She pushed the talk button under the eyepiece. “Who are you?” “Hey.” “Hey back,” she said with annoyance. “Now, who are you?” “Malcolm Andersen.” Suddenly, she’d regained her composure. “Shit,” she murmured, relieved. “May I come in?” She sighed, then opened the door. He looked very good in his dress uniform, though why he was wearing a dress uniform was beyond her. She had agreed to meet with him only in order to discuss options for genetic mating, and they weren’t supposed to meet for another hour. And certainly not in her apartment. Why was he dressed up? Being paired as part of the Genetics Control Ministry program wasn’t a big deal. Just a part of life. She’d already met the other two, and they hadn’t taken it that seriously, either. Malcolm pulled something from behind his back and presented it to her. A handset, presumably his own, with flowers on the screen. She gave him a quizzical look. “I’ve been doing some reading while the Triumph has been in drydock,” he explained. “Turns out men used to do this when they met with women.” He looked down at his uniform jacket and shrugged. “They used to dress up, too.” She took her hand away from the door and walked the few steps to her desk. Sitting down in her chair, she thrust the handset out to him. “You’re speechless in a way that makes me hope you are impressed,” he said, placing his hands, with the handset, behind his back. Claire sighed again, trying to figure out what was going on between them. She couldn’t hide the disbelief written in her furrowed brow. “I’m confused.” He opened his jacket and put the handset in his inside left breast pocket. nine scenes (26 pages) later “I’m starting to pick up fire control quality radar,” reported the radar operator. Now the enemy was hunting them. “Damn it,” growled Malcolm. He grabbed a comms handset near the radar operator and punched the button for Weapons. “Load the rail-gun magazine, and throw the switches. When Engineering brings the engines back online, I want to get power to the gun and start shooting.” “Yes, sir.” Senior Technician Ishikawa was on the case.