The journal I’m working for this summer had a training session for incoming staff today. I hate to admit it, but the cite checking and editing we did awakened a part of myself that I’d forgotten about. I could give a lengthy blow-by-blow of how much I enjoyed inserting em-dashes and obliterating unnecessary commas, but I'll spare you the details and just admit that I stood up and cheered upon finding that a non-blocked quotation had fifty-one words. Fifty-one.
I was so stoked. If I’d had war paint, or finger paint, or perhaps some melty crayons, I would have stripped naked, slapped the Sign of Eternal Cite Accuracy on my chest, and run laps around the library.
But all I had was the BlueBook, so I had to settle for sitting in my chair quietly and pretending that none of it had happened. But man…I was joyful. You could totally see it on my face. The joy. There was just so much of it.