Having a Healthy Relationship with Typos
For nearly a decade, I existed in a typo-anxiety state.
There is a special arrogance when you notice a typo.
In pointing out a typo, you send the message “I am smarter than you.”
Smugness and typos have built a lovely relationship with one another. That’s because typos are easy to make and easy to point out. A cheap shot, if you will. They also carry another message that you don’t know your own language.
Nobody knows this better than editors.
For nearly a decade, I existed in a typo-anxiety state. It began six months after graduating when was hired at a monthly print entertainment guide. In another six months, I went from staff writer to associate editor.
There is a distinct difference between the two roles:
A typo here and there is excusable for a writer. It is not for an editor.
A writer knows their job is to tell a comprehensive and engaging story first and focus on the nuts and bolts during the self-review process.
In reporting, there is chaos every step. A writer has to be an active listener while holding their next question in their head during an interview. They have to piece the quotes and story together with seamless transitions. On top of that, they need a strong background in grammar and spelling.
An editor, on the other hand, is dedicated to the final product.
Does the writer capture the full story?
Is the reader left with questions?
Are all the facts correct?
Do we have art?
Is spelling and grammar perfect?
My work shifted from strictly storytelling to heightened storytelling, being hyperaware of how each letter is placed on a page. I had my journalism degree to help guide me, however, I now realize my self-esteem was rooted in creating a perfect product. Anything less was a mental health blow, as I beat myself up any month perfection was out of reach.
The typo jar
Nobody made me more afraid of typos than my boss, the magazine’s publisher.
He’d often say “It’s journalism, not heart surgery,” suggesting we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves. His actions said otherwise.
When the magazine printed each month, he’d make a spectacle flipping through the latest issue. I would always hold my breath as he scanned, knowing I was his first target if he noticed something off.
“Ooooooh, a typo!”
The office was small and he used his billowing voice to fill it up, ensuring all employees knew: Lindsay fucked up.
One day, he introduced a “typo jar.”
The rule was I had to put $5 into the jar every time he found a typo. The problem here is he did not pay me a living wage, let alone a wage that could support regular typo jar contributions.
The typo jar was also not realistic relative to staffing.
The magazine’s staff was small—two full-time salespeople, one full-time designer and one full-time editor—with interns and contract writers filling gaps. As managing editor, I had minimal editorial support. No assistant editor, no copyeditors, no fact-checkers. Instead, I turned to our unpaid (not my decision) interns to help.
Managing individuals with new knowledge bases—especially when my own base was so fresh—is challenging. Diving into this challenge, though, kept me afloat and created a symbiotic relationship where each person felt supported. Even today, more than a decade later, I still feel supported by these lovely individuals.
Without our interns, I would’ve been even more vulnerable to criticism and worse off in general. They excused my fumbles and bumbles, brought a positive attitude to the office, took pride in their work and rolled their sleeves up for magazine distribution. I think many interns recognized this internally, that I was doing my best under too-high expectations. Years later, I am still grateful.
No more shame
I’ve been challenging my relationship with shame for the past decade. Shame was a huge manipulation tool during my formative years and typos only added to that dysfunctional relationship. But I’m trying.
This publication has helped me lighten up. I’m giving myself grace in that I don’t have an editor, I am my fact-checker and, with ongoing digital marketing projects, my time is limited.
I used to scan through my newsletter weekly. I’d anxiously wait to punish myself upon finding an out-of-place word or nonsensical spelling. After beating myself up a few weeks in a row, I realized I didn’t have to punish myself anymore. I was the only person doing it, and I had the power to stop, so I did.
If anyone is going to contact me about a typo, it will likely have helpful intentions instead of self-assured smugness. That’s if they notice. I must remember the lessons I picked up during my childhood theater stint: I am more likely to notice my mistakes than someone else.
Most importantly, though, nobody will criticize me in front of my peers or implement a typo jar. My mistakes no longer carry consequences. And, with my writing being mostly digital these days, I have the luxury to simply edit the typo and move on.
I live with chronic migraine, which affects how much work I can take on. On average, I lose one workweek a month to migraine attacks. Not a Fit for Our Publication is my way to raise funds to manage my disease while offering something in return. You can help me out by subscribing to Not a Fit for Our Publication, sharing the website, sharing a free blog post and gifting a subscription.