On one of the many writer feeds to which I subscribe I found this software program that will edit your manuscript electronically. I gave it a whirl with a few pages of the first chapter of my novel.
According to this electronic editor, I probably shouldn't have passed grade school composition. In fact, if I interpreted the critique correctly, I'm a barely functioning idiot. And, apparently, I'm also very much in love with the filler word "that". Okay. Fine. I can handle that.
What I'm not sure about, though, is how this 'editor' felt about my characterization and my injection of humor. What about my fantastic descriptions of the location and the scene in general?
What about my perfectly epic use of sense of smell?
I suppose this editor had no time for such drivel. This editor has one purpose and one purpose only--criticize bloodlessly. It is an executioner of fluff and filler. I suppose since so much fiction is being read electronically these days, it makes sense to have an electronic editor determine the worth of your manuscript.
However . . .
The reading itself--the consumption of the story--is still being done by humans. Ah, humans: those flawed, emotional, often irrational beings who can't make sense out of their own thoughts half the time. God, I love them. And I will continue to write with them in mind.
The relationship between this electronic editor and me might not be long for this earth. Then again . . . the abuse was strangely addictive. It was a love/hate thing; fifty shades of the good kind of pain. I might just have to feed it some more of my book to see how many other ways I've so terrifically failed.
Yeah. That'll be fun. Right?