This week I have been cursed by homophones. At this point in my novel experiment, that may sound like an odd jinx to have, but they hover in my brain nonetheless.
Little, humanoid versions of to, too, two dance around in my head while cheered on by knew and new, ceiling and sealing, and of course coif and quaff. (Though to be fair, I only typed quaff because I was thinking about ducks at the time, and if quaff doesn’t sound a little like quack, then I don’t know what does.) Sometimes odd rhyming partners will even pop in. I typed things like ‘stew’ instead of ‘grew’ more times than I want to count.
Though I’m glad that I’m catching these errors, it is strange to stumble across them so frequently. It justifies all of the time I put into editing if nothing else. I suspect part of the problem is that I am constantly tempted to rush through rewrites and edits. I know what I want to say, but sometimes it seems that my fingers and my brain have trouble communicating.
With that in mind, I suppose that my lesson this week is that there is a reason people say that patience is a virtue. Perhaps I should try to embrace that more patient inner self a bit more.
Hopeful no homophones have haunted your dreams or your writing this week. Though if they have, then I’m going to start thinking it is a plague rather than a personal curse for me.