The second time I met The Fogel, we decided to chat while sitting on a bench in front the Marriott in Ottawa, the concrete cover above providing shade. The Bloody Words Mystery Convention was winding down, and the authors who had packed The Fogel’s workshop were spilling out to hop in cabs and cars, waving to us as they headed home.
We’d worked together for years by e-mail but had only met briefly once before, so it was strange and pleasantly surprising to discover we liked one another in person, even after all the excruciating edits of the Sioux Rock Falls short stories.
The Fogel chained smoked while we talked, which didn’t bother me since the fumes from the cabs were way worse for my lungs than second hand smoke. She’s a tough lady with a gravelly voice and the energy of the Eveready Bunny. And you’d want her beside you in a bar fight. She’s no bullshit.
Still, I’d prefer life without an editor. They’re bossy, grumpy and snarky. They have no hearts and don’t care about your feelings one bit.
They’re also damn necessary, unless you’re the literary equivalent of Mozart.
The Fogel has sent me a few links and notes about writing in the last few weeks, so I’ve decided to start a separate page, The Fogel Speaks, for anyone who wants to know more about writing. I’ll add to it as the links come in.
But remember: rules are good, but sometimes they need to be broken.
When we finished our chat and got up from the bench, we discovered we’d been sitting in front of a NO SMOKING sign. Yup, you heard me, a no smoking sign in a covered drop-off area, cars idling away, coming and going. Now that was bullshit.