English is a tricky language. Even the best of us struggle with it. Whether you’re writing a book, you want to write one, or you’re planning to be an editor, you need to be on the lookout for these common pitfalls.
It had been difficult to get a message off, much more difficult than Ilya had anticipated. He’d been hoping that, after three months in Norcross, he’d be given much more freedom than he had been. He couldn’t guarantee his mail wasn’t being read before it left Norcross. There were no phones, no telegrams, no wires. He’d been reduced to sending smoke signals, but he couldn’t do that within the city limits, and it was impossible for him to get outside the city walls without someone—usually Timmo—trailing him. Everywhere he went, so went one of the Nords. It was more than clear to him that they didn’t trust him, not even after three long months in their midst. It was starting to drive him mad, and not even because of how it was interfering with his mission.
Reese is the fourth of six children, and the oldest boy in his family. Never the brightest bulb in the box, he was hoping to get a swimming scholarship. When that didn’t materialize, he decided to skip higher education and ended up working as a lifeguard at a resort in Miami for a stint. It was there he met a person who would ultimately help him pursue collegiate sport and university-level studies.
Goals: 65. Assists: 60. Points: 125.
Those kinds of numbers are exceptional for just about any hockey player. For superstar Aleksandr Volkov, however, they’re fairly run of the mill. While his 125-point season represents the best of his career, Volkov is no stranger to 100+ points in a season, or 50-goal seasons for that matter. He’s recorded more than 100 points in every single season of his career, solidifying both his reputation and his legacy. There’s a reason he was selected first overall. While many No. 1 draft picks don’t live up to the hype, Volkov has most certainly been a pick who delivered. Sportica caught up with the Russian superstar at the All-Star break.
She paused, glancing over her shoulder at the man as he darted down the marble steps that led into the Ministry building. She flipped down her sunglasses, as if to acknowledge that she was speaking to a superior. “Sir?”
“We’ve had a very interesting report.” The wind whipped his tie up, whisking it to the side. It fluttered in the breeze, like some kind of pennant. The tails of his jacket flowed out behind him.
A slow smirk spread across his face; she was aware of every single wrinkle, every freckle on his pale skin.
Honest question: Have author payments ever truly been fair?
The palace was brightly lit, even at the late hour. Hundreds of lanterns burned softly in the darkness, eating away at it. Their soft glow made the white marble walls of the palace seem even more evanescent. The walls themselves seemed almost luminescent. It was bright, it was white, and somehow, it seemed so pure. It almost burned at Ilya’s eyes.
The blond man grabbed him forcibly by the arm, dragged him past a brightly-uniformed guard, flashing some sort of sign to the man as he went by. Ilya wanted to watch, but he couldn’t; the light hurt his eyes.
This morning, I was reminded about the fact that the NYT bestseller list (and most bestseller lists, actually) are nothing more than giant hoaxes. I’ve known about this for a while—from when I was a wee editor back in editing school in days of yore—but basically, the term bestseller means nothing in booklandia.