Copyediting sample 19:
Useless politicians

Editors need to be ever vigilant about any possible ambiguity with what a pronoun refers to. Another issue is word choice that might engender an unintended relationship. An editor should look for opportunities to enhance the dialogue—whenever possible (without sullying the author’s voice) to move out-of-dialogue description and expository “stage directions” so that a character’s spoken words can echo in the reader’s mind.

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Original
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“I assume you let someone know about the disruption . . .” “Of course. I called my county board rep over and over.” “Who’s your rep?” “A guy named Daryl Bork.” He sneered. “He don’t give a shit about little guys like me. None of them politicians do. These big companies like Norwell Mining, they roll in with deep pockets and teams of lawyers and get everything they want. Our county board is nothing but a pile of ass-licking, weak-kneed losers who roll over and give them whatever they ask for.” He paused and looked away. “They don’t give a shit about all our small businesses, like mine, run by people like me who’ve worked hard all their lives to squeeze out a modest living.” He looked right at me. “They’re fucking useless.” I believed him, sympathized with him, but also knew that a lot of these smaller businesses, motels, especially, were hurting mostly because of competition from chain hotels and Airbnb. I wasn’t ready to blame the trucks for his demise. “How much of a drop have you seen in your business?” “It took a couple of years for my regulars to give up, but my business is down by more than half in the past five years. I keep hanging on, hoping something will change, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait. One more year like this year, and I’ll be done.” He pursed his lips and looked like he was fighting back a tear.

Markup
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“I assume you let someone know about the disruption . . .” “Of course. I called my county board rep over and over.” “Who’s your rep?” “A guy named Daryl Bork.” He sneered. “He don’t give a shit about little guys like me. None of them politicians do. These big companies like Norwell Mining, they Mining—they roll in with deep pockets and teams of lawyers and get everything they want. Our county board is nothing but a pile of ass-licking, weak-kneed losers who roll over and give them give the mining companies [“them” needed disambiguation (the pronoun refers to the mining companies, not to “them politicians”)] whatever they [“now (after “the mining companies”) it’s clear who “they” refers to] ask for.” He paused and looked away. “They don’t “The politicians [disambiguation; in this case, “They” now refers to the politicians, not to the mining companies; consider changing “The politicians” to “The goddamn politicians”] don’t give a shit about all our small businesses, like mine, [consider changing “mine” to “this one”—to avoid a word that resembles “mining”] run by people like me who’ve worked hard all their lives to squeeze out a modest living.” He looked right at me. “They’re fucking useless.” I believed him, sympathized with him, but also but I also knew that a lot of these smaller businesses, motels, especially, were businesses—motels, especially—were hurting mostly because of competition from chain hotels and Airbnb. I wasn’t ready to blame the trucks for his demise. “How much of a drop have you seen in your business?” “It took a couple of years for my regulars to give up, but my business is down by more than half in the past five years. I keep hanging on, hoping something will change, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait. One more year like this year, and I’ll be done.” He pursed his lips and looked like he was fighting back a tear. wait.” He pursed his lips and looked like he was fighting back a tear. “One more year like this year, and I’ll be done.” [Sentence switch okay? (to enable the speech to echo in the reader’s mind)]

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

“I assume you let someone know about the disruption . . .” “Of course. I called my county board rep over and over.” “Who’s your rep?” “A guy named Daryl Bork.” He sneered. “He don’t give a shit about little guys like me. None of them politicians do. These big companies like Norwell Mining—they roll in with deep pockets and teams of lawyers and get everything they want. Our county board is nothing but a pile of ass-licking, weak-kneed losers who roll over and give the mining companies whatever they ask for.” He paused and looked away. “The goddamn politicians don’t give a shit about all our small businesses, like this one, run by people like me who’ve worked hard all their lives to squeeze out a modest living.” He looked right at me. “They’re fucking useless.” I believed him, sympathized with him, but I also knew that a lot of these smaller businesses—motels, especially—were hurting mostly because of competition from chain hotels and Airbnb. I wasn’t ready to blame the trucks for his demise. “How much of a drop have you seen in your business?” “It took a couple of years for my regulars to give up, but my business is down by more than half in the past five years. I keep hanging on, hoping something will change, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” He pursed his lips and looked like he was fighting back a tear. “One more year like this year, and I’ll be done.”