Typos are the life-blood of reality. Before anything gets to the editor it is like raw thought. Like the meat before it has been pounded into a beef patty. It tells you that you are not reading the print-outs from a computer. And of course I am going to try and be extra careful not to write down thoughts about typos that are full of typos. Because strangely, when one is talking about this stuff it is so much more likely to occur. It is like the human psyche magnetises error and draws it to itself like iron filings.
I am happy to make mistakes. I would be in a sorry state if this weren’t the case. And I can always come back to whatever I write and apply the virtual correction fluid. Sometimes I think, well hey, I wrote it like that — just let it stay like that. Other times I think that the error sticks out like a sore thumb and detracts from what surrounds it. Is is all random. Its all choice. Typo: what it means to be human.