Need for Speed
When I was a kid in grade school I was in a bunch of special classes (I'll leave you to guess at why and what was so special). As part of this program we were taken out into the school hallways and sat in front of a movie screen with a special projector that showed filmstrips containing nothing but sentences. The machine could be set for particular speeds and would essentially flash a sentence on the screen, pause, then flash the next one. The rate at which you could read and comprehend the sentences was recorded and your progress was graphed, all with an eye toward increasing your reading speed.
What the hell for?
Later, in high school, I went to one of those free Evelyn Wood Dynamic Reading seminars at a Holiday Inn in Burnsville, MN. Their method is to teach you to read without subvocalizing, or saying the words "aloud" in your mind, thereby increasing your reading speed because you learn how to recognize the words more by "looking" at them then listening to your inner voice read the words to you.
If I recall correctly, and who can from that long ago, I was the fastest filmstrip reader in my special classes. And during the Evelyn Wood course I tripled my starting reading speed. In between those two events, though, I had tried to slow down my reading rate to some more rational seeming speed, one that made reading more enjoyable. At the time of the Evelyn Wood experiment, while interesting, I knew it wasn't something I was going to pursue.
It might have something to do with growing up as such a comic book fan. Who wants to blow by the text and finish the book in nine seconds? What about the art? What about the pacing and variations thereof? What about the ambiance, the atmosphere, the suspense, the mood, of the work? And for god's sake, what about the writing?
A while ago I blogged about books so full of typos that I wondered where the publisher was, or the agent, or anyone who would have read the manuscript had gone. Were there no galleys, no proofreaders, or what? I actually sent an e-mail to one of them complimenting them on their willingness to publish the books but expressing how unreadable the presence of so many typos rendered the books. I ended up offering to proofread the books for the publisher, to be paid by receiving a "corrected" copy of the books, and my offer was accepted.
I worked on my first book, a "twofer" containing two novels by Peter Rabe, a wonderful author in clear need of rediscovery. I tried to figure out the best methodology for the proofreading: do I read through a chapter once, then go back and do it again? Do I do it a paragraph at a time? A page?
The first goal, of course, was to catch every damn error and inconsistency. I found a word spelled "goddam" one time, then "goddamn" every other time. I found an ellipsis with four periods instead of three. Quotation marks facing the wrong way, or raised up half a line above where they should be. I found typos, missed paragraph breaks, and periods that should have been commas. I think I did a good job.
Unfortunately, tomorrow marks the third week since I sent the corrected pages back to the publisher. They have not yet been received. This does not make me happy.
In any case, the method I ended up using was simply this: slooow and careful reading. I was worried that if I re-read units of the text over and over, I'd lose focus and concentration with each pass. And with that, my mind would be taken out of the story and the loss of engagement, I felt, would hurt my ability to concentrate on the text. So the hard work I put in, and it was an adjustment, at slowing down my reading all those years ago was useful.
What else does slow reading do? I found I was really struck by the sentence structure and the words used by the author. Constructs that when read at "normal" speed simply register as "good" or "engaging" or "fast moving"; when read slowly, though, it dawned on me that probably no other writer would have chosen those particular words or written a particular sentence at a particular length. The writer's style really shone through.
My conclusion in all of this is that a) there's a reading speed that I think is appropriate to the work that you are reading, and it's one that is in harmony with the pacing of the writing and the story, the events that unfold within. And b) the post office sucks. Every time I mail something it seems like it costs two dollars more and they have an utter inability, despite the fact that you can pay for it, to track anything. They can show it came in, then they can show it was delivered. In between, they have no clue. Aaaargh.
Once there was just re-reading. Now it looks like there will be re-proofing. The glitter fades. I took ten days to do the two books the first time and now I think I might have to take longer to ensure that I'm completely focused. Reading slow I can do. When's the last time you heard someone brag about that?
What the hell for?
Later, in high school, I went to one of those free Evelyn Wood Dynamic Reading seminars at a Holiday Inn in Burnsville, MN. Their method is to teach you to read without subvocalizing, or saying the words "aloud" in your mind, thereby increasing your reading speed because you learn how to recognize the words more by "looking" at them then listening to your inner voice read the words to you.
If I recall correctly, and who can from that long ago, I was the fastest filmstrip reader in my special classes. And during the Evelyn Wood course I tripled my starting reading speed. In between those two events, though, I had tried to slow down my reading rate to some more rational seeming speed, one that made reading more enjoyable. At the time of the Evelyn Wood experiment, while interesting, I knew it wasn't something I was going to pursue.
It might have something to do with growing up as such a comic book fan. Who wants to blow by the text and finish the book in nine seconds? What about the art? What about the pacing and variations thereof? What about the ambiance, the atmosphere, the suspense, the mood, of the work? And for god's sake, what about the writing?
A while ago I blogged about books so full of typos that I wondered where the publisher was, or the agent, or anyone who would have read the manuscript had gone. Were there no galleys, no proofreaders, or what? I actually sent an e-mail to one of them complimenting them on their willingness to publish the books but expressing how unreadable the presence of so many typos rendered the books. I ended up offering to proofread the books for the publisher, to be paid by receiving a "corrected" copy of the books, and my offer was accepted.
I worked on my first book, a "twofer" containing two novels by Peter Rabe, a wonderful author in clear need of rediscovery. I tried to figure out the best methodology for the proofreading: do I read through a chapter once, then go back and do it again? Do I do it a paragraph at a time? A page?
The first goal, of course, was to catch every damn error and inconsistency. I found a word spelled "goddam" one time, then "goddamn" every other time. I found an ellipsis with four periods instead of three. Quotation marks facing the wrong way, or raised up half a line above where they should be. I found typos, missed paragraph breaks, and periods that should have been commas. I think I did a good job.
Unfortunately, tomorrow marks the third week since I sent the corrected pages back to the publisher. They have not yet been received. This does not make me happy.
In any case, the method I ended up using was simply this: slooow and careful reading. I was worried that if I re-read units of the text over and over, I'd lose focus and concentration with each pass. And with that, my mind would be taken out of the story and the loss of engagement, I felt, would hurt my ability to concentrate on the text. So the hard work I put in, and it was an adjustment, at slowing down my reading all those years ago was useful.
What else does slow reading do? I found I was really struck by the sentence structure and the words used by the author. Constructs that when read at "normal" speed simply register as "good" or "engaging" or "fast moving"; when read slowly, though, it dawned on me that probably no other writer would have chosen those particular words or written a particular sentence at a particular length. The writer's style really shone through.
My conclusion in all of this is that a) there's a reading speed that I think is appropriate to the work that you are reading, and it's one that is in harmony with the pacing of the writing and the story, the events that unfold within. And b) the post office sucks. Every time I mail something it seems like it costs two dollars more and they have an utter inability, despite the fact that you can pay for it, to track anything. They can show it came in, then they can show it was delivered. In between, they have no clue. Aaaargh.
Once there was just re-reading. Now it looks like there will be re-proofing. The glitter fades. I took ten days to do the two books the first time and now I think I might have to take longer to ensure that I'm completely focused. Reading slow I can do. When's the last time you heard someone brag about that?
posted by Rick Ollerman at 5:01 PM
2 Comments:
Hmmmm. I definitely believe the UPS or FedEx route is better when you only have one copy of something. I media mailed a box load of first editions out on my first e-bay sale and according to the buyer they never showed up. Did they really? How could I tell.
Lose my mail once? Shame on you. Lose my mail twice? What's the extra $.02 for, huh?
The post office is doomed. Any organization that has an apparent philosophy of raising prices for diminishing services cannot and should not survive. Open it up for private carriers and see what happens. As it is, people will continue to mail fewer items, the PO will lose more money and respond by raising prices, and on and on...
Ben Franklin would be sad.
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