devi: (bookish)
Thank you all very much for your comments on my post about naming my freelance proofreading/editing website. It really helped clarify things for me. I think I'd got hung up on finding a memorable name and was stuck on "memorable = dramatic" (as [livejournal.com profile] marnameow said, "Fire! Melt! Extreme!", which made me laugh). Drama was the wrong thing to convey. If I was sending my precious novel off to an editor, I wouldn't want to feel that it was going to be hacked about by a frustrated-artist drama-queen. A very important part of proofing and editing is being sensitive to the writer's style and not imposing your own on it. [livejournal.com profile] venta made another piece fall into place for me with the words "brisk and businesslike".

So I took a completely different tack. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Friendly Pedant.

I've included the formatting/DTP kind of design in this site. The rest of my design - the stuff that warrants an artier approach - is going on a separate one. There'll be a copywriting page too when I've managed to dig out enough reviews of my writing.

Also: seriously, how much does Google Analytics rock? I can't stop refreshing it.

Edit: particularly interested in comments from people viewing it in Internet Explorer. I've used a bunch of online IE emulators on it, but I'm not very confident in what they've told me.
devi: (Default)
Today I am awake. Just... wide awake.

It's a strange, delicious feeling. It's like my head is full of cold, clean, clear water. I'm seeing and hearing everything, not just the narrow window of stuff you see when you're propelling yourself around town on autopilot. I'm gulping down the pages of my book at high speed. Watching people get off the tube earlier, I could suddenly see all their faces. (That sounds like stating the obvious, but when you're living in London, after a while you stop taking in all the faces, it's too much to process.) Most of the faces looked closed, turned in and preoccupied. I wondered how awake they were feeling.

And I feel like a trapdoor's been left open in the top of my head, and words are sleeting in and tumbling together into sentences without any effort on my part.

I remember drunkenly talking to my muse on Friday night. Maybe she was listening?


...Must not spoil delightful state of wakefulness by drinking pint of cider in fridge.

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