This Book Is Prefect

Yesterday, I received the first printed copies of my book, “Improv and the Actor’s Imagination”. It was a thrilling moment as I, for the first time, felt the heft of the pages and held a glossy, perfect-bound manifestation of a year’s worth of diligent effort, and (mildly) obsessive focus. I thumbed the pages. Delighted in the colorful illustrations. Felt proud. And then started to read it.

Within moments, I had discovered a typo. Mind you, I work as a graphic designer (and designed and edited my own book), and am very used to identifying and correcting spelling and grammatical errors. Usually the result of uncooperative fingers or rogue keystrokes. Across 268 pages, there was bound to be SOMEthing my hawkish eyes missed, despite two full edits and several rounds of spellcheck. And, in the day since that first sighting, I have, of course, found others.

It seems to me that these discoveries separate us into one of three categories. Perhaps you are the Eye-roller who questions the legitimacy of any author or publisher who would allow a single misspelled word to go to print. Print is forever, right? I find it quite common, actually, to find errors in books from larger publishers than lil’ ol’ me. Places where I assume there are professional editors and proofreaders hired to defend against errors of this type (pun intended).

Or, perhaps you are the Forgiver who equivocates that the ink IS on the paper, it just fell in the wrong spot. You have become so desensitized to grammatical bungles on social media and in online news that it no longer even registers. You manage to put substance over style, meaning over misspelling, and will not be thrown by a little jumbled lettering, or an errant comma. You may be the type who is not bothered, period

Or, perhaps you are among the Blissfully Unaware and don’t even know their is something amiss.

You probably know which type you are based on how you reacted to the title of this blog post. I think I am combined parts of the first two types. What struck me is how I reacted—or, didn’t react, I should say—when I noticed a typo within seconds of opening my book for the first time. The improviser in me kicked in. I accepted, and then responded with action. I can’t change books that are already printed, but I CAN affect moments yet to come. A few fixable errors should not diminish the greater accomplishment or derail the larger narrative.

In improv, we say that the ‘mistakes’ are gifts. So, I contend that a book about improvisation would not be complete without a few of its own.

Nobody’s prefect.