amanuensis
[uh-man-yoo-en-sis]
1. a person employed to write what another dictates or to copy what has been written by another; secretary.
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The typist's fingers clicked on the keyboard and his eyes glazed
over. His mind wandered to other, more pleasant
things. It was the only way to keep his
mind in check. The man speaking just
kept on blabbing while the other kept typing.
It was a trying experience for the writer. The speaker had hired him to write out his so
called “brilliance”, seeing as the man was unable to type himself, what with
being blind and all.
The
only problem was, the blind man was a terrible writer. His story was convoluted and overly
elaborate, his characters were flat and one-dimensional, and his descriptive language
was nearly nonexistent. The typist did
have to give the man some credit on that last part though. From the way the man talked, he had most
likely been blind from birth, so it was only natural that his visual descriptions
would be lacking.
That
did not excuse the rest of the horrid writing the typist was forced to do. He wanted nothing more than the scream and throttle
his blind employer, but that would not turn out well. He considered fixing the story on the fly,
but the blind man was sure to find out somehow.
Even though he could not read himself, he could easily get others to do
so for him. The typist’s reputation as a
transcriber would be ruined on the spot.
No, no matter
how painful it was, he needed to record the blind man’s terrible attempt at a story
perfectly and professionally. They could
go over the problem later. The man
seemed fairly reasonable, so he should listen to his suggestions about fixing
the story. And even if he didn’t listen
to the typist, they could talk to a proper editor, who would hopefully fix the
many, many problems the story had.
The
blind man stopped speaking. The typist
stopped typing not long after. Questions
were asked about the state of the story, and to read back what was
written. Reading back such horrid drivel
left a bad taste in the typist’s mouth.
Even so, he did his job faithfully and did his best not to let his
distaste color his words.
The
blind man seemed satisfied with what was written, telling the typist he was
done for the day, and to come back the next to continue. The typist started to break down his
equipment, more than ready to do something else. The blind man interrupted this by asking with
the typist thought of the story.
His
mind reeled. Should he be honest? Should be humor the blind man? If he was honest, the man might take offense,
but if he said he liked the story, the blind man might be unwilling to change
it later on. Neither option was terribly
appealing, but something had to be said.
The typist settled on polite honesty, figuring that would lead to the
fewest problems later on.
The
blind man said nothing for a moment while he considered the typist’s
opinion. He then stood and told the
typist not to come back the next day.
When the typist asked why not, the blind man said he wanted someone with
good taste to transcribe his masterpiece.
Apparently the blind man was not as reasonable as the typist had
thought.
Even
though he had just lost his current job, the typist could not say he was
upset. After all, he no longer had to
listen to the blind man’s terrible story.
To him, that was far better than the loss his payment.
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Some people just can't handle criticism. Which is kind of a problem when writing. Well, not just writing. Anything creative, really. But writing is interesting because it can be changed so easily provided it hasn't been published yet. Criticism and editing are very important parts of the writing process, so if you can't take the heat, don't try it.
