Put together with thanks to Lynn Rosen for her first-hand insight regarding a proofreader’s experience.

Winding through a maze of cubicles, passing spacious offices, the proofreader begins the day by finding her—or, certainly, his—way to the proofreading office, a dimly lit hole in the wall that can only generously be called a room (it is, to use Rosen’s word, almost an afterthought). There, she is confronted by the inevitable fileholders. Surveying the plentitude, giving a wary eye to two particularly thick and dreary-looking files, she decides that the files can wait a few minutes, and heads for her desk.

The proofreader is fortunate enough to have a desk of her own, covered with office supplies and choice trinkets. Somewhere among the clutter may be found style guides, to help her navigate through the day’s work. And, of course, located within easy reach are the real tools of the trade: the red pens. Casting another glance at the ominous files, the proofreader busies herself with organizing her desk, then starts a pot of coffee.

Her co-workers slowly trickle in, bringing chatter and life to the dim-dusky room. All are reluctant to begin the day, preferring to perform odd tasks and simply enjoy one another’s company. Though they rarely see each other outside of the office, the proofreaders have formed almost a family of their own, bonding together in their little piece of the world.

Our proofreader at last decides that she has lingered long enough: the time has come to begin the routine. She resolutely selects a file and returns to her desk.

What might she find upon opening the file? Working in an advertising agency, she may discover all manner of fliers, catalogues, and pamphlets. Perhaps it will be something quick and colorful, perhaps something tedious. Perhaps she will find a piece for American Express, for JC Penny, or perhaps for some start-up company whose name she has not yet heard. It is never all that interesting—she seeks always the same basic errors—but at least there is variety.

Whatever the material, she is confronted by two copies. On the left side, there is the dead copy; it has already passed through a round of editing, and bears the red marks of correction. On the right side is the live copy; this is the clean copy that presumably reflects the notes made on the dead copy. The proofreader’s task is to check the dead against the live, making certain that all changes have been made. The lucky proofreader may even make exciting new catches, spotting erroneous spellings or absent hyphens that have gone thus far unnoticed. Red pen in hand, the proofreader examines the document thoroughly, ever-alert for mistakes new and old.

The proofreader’s world is one of mechanical mishaps, of misplaced bits of punctuation and misspelled words. Typeface must be examined for consistency, misaligned margins must be noted. The proofreader does not dabble in reworking grammar or phrasing; such big-picture fixes fall within the purview of the copyeditor or copywriter. Although the proofreader may attempt to argue over such matters, she must not expect to be heard or long endured. Proofreaders exist to catch very basic—if undeniably important—mistakes. That is their purpose.

Once she has thoroughly examined and appropriately corrected the document, the proofreader returns the file to its place. It will soon be taken up by one of her comrades, for each document must be checked and re-checked. After all, even the best proofreaders are only human.

Now the proofreader takes up another file, returns to her desk, and begins again. And so the day passes.

Tedious at times, perhaps, but it certainly is not a bad job. Catching little (but in their own way, momentous) mistakes can be fun, and at the very least, there is the incentive of salary. Indeed, the proofreader is able to support herself entirely through her earnings here. She need not take on a second job, need not worry over the stress and physical labor of such employment as waitressing or stocking shelves. No matter how dull the work might at times seem, the proofreader can always anticipate a hefty paycheck. She may cherish also the knowledge that this job supports her outside, earnest interests. She does not wish to remain a proofreader forever, after all; she is an artist.

Many of her fellow workers are also artists, or perhaps students, who happen to proofread for pay. Sharing their admittedly monotonous experience, the co-workers weave small talk and conversations that carry them away from the office, and laugh off the small troubles of each day. They discuss their days, they discuss their dreams and speak of successes to come, of the day on which they will make it big and leave all office work behind. They encourage one another, making hopeful notions seem inevitable realities. There is comfort in this.

Like any group of people living in close quarters, the proofreaders have their trials and tribulations, and even slight hitches can become major events. A missing office chair creates a heart-pounding mystery, a server outage seems a tragedy, and the dispute over the newly vacant desk becomes a battle of epic proportions. The proofreader knows how to take these incidents with a grain of salt, even to enjoy the excitement that they add in the day. After all, it will all be resolved by the time they head off to lunch (and what a wonderful time that is, when they are free to explore the outside world).

Between the enjoyable familiarity of her co-workers and the delight of catching errors in the ads that pass over her desk, the proofreader makes her way through the day. She even begins unknowingly to cling to her job, determining that it isn’t so bad, that she could certainly do worse, and that she has plenty of time to escape and focus on her writing, her music, her acting. There will be time, she thinks and tells herself, tells her co-workers. There will be time.

When at last the day has ended, the proofreader breathes a sigh of relief, gathers her belongings, and returns to the outside world (leaving a new shift of proofreaders to carry on the worthy business). Tomorrow, it will be much the same. And the day after. And the day after.

It is a living.

PROOFREADERS AND THE INTERNET

In recent years, proofreaders have begun to go the way of the dinosaurs or of, well, Joyce. Perhaps relying on the aid of computers or simply unable to continue paying proofreaders, many businesses have cut the position entirely (often piling the work of the absent proofreaders onto the copyeditors).  The position has not yet been entirely erased, and some companies do still employ on-site proofreaders; there are simply more opportunities to be found over the internet.

Utilizing the joys of the World Wide Web, freelance proofers—having navigated past sketchy businesses and questionable opportunities—are able to take on clients from the comforts of home. The workplace atmosphere has been lost, the business is largely electronic (even the red pen has gone somewhat by the wayside), but this new realm provides greater freedom, allowing proofreaders to set schedules more to their own liking, and to more easily make time for their own pursuits.