Publishing
Print proofs still have a habit of exposing the things the screen politely smoothed over.
A page break in the wrong place, a widowed line, a spread that sits a fraction too tight. Small faults, but they change the pace. You can feel the book stumble.
Screen layouts are useful, of course, but they flatter the text. Paper is less forgiving, which is often the point.
A page break in the wrong place, a widowed line, a spread that sits a fraction too tight. Small faults, but they change the pace. You can feel the book stumble.
Screen layouts are useful, of course, but they flatter the text. Paper is less forgiving, which is often the point.
Paper is also where you find out if the typography has been doing the heavy lifting. A decent font can hide a multitude of sins on screen, then the proof arrives and the whole thing starts looking like it was set in a hurry after lunch.
I’ve never trusted a layout until it has been printed and slightly disappointed me.
I’ve never trusted a layout until it has been printed and slightly disappointed me.
Paper is useful, but I’m not sure it always tells the whole truth. A proof can make a book look harsher than it will feel in a reader’s hands, especially with margins and type that are still being argued over.
The more revealing bit, for me, is when a scene suddenly reads as too long or too neat once it’s set. That’s usually not a formatting problem. It’s the draft admitting something.
The more revealing bit, for me, is when a scene suddenly reads as too long or too neat once it’s set. That’s usually not a formatting problem. It’s the draft admitting something.