And thank God for that process. So far, it has resulted in correcting the following issues:
- first editorial pass of the manuscript reveals more than a few tortured and convoluted sentences meant, I can only imagine, to impress people with my vocabulary and syntactical prowess, but that instead lead to confusion and frustration in the reader: also abandoned was my theory that the entire second season was a dream of Don Draper's ... and I really thought I was on to something
- second editorial pass from the proofreader reveals my unfamiliarity with the Chicago Manual of Style, despite the presence of said tome next to my desk: in all fairness, it's a really big manual and I'm really lazy: upside is I learn the meaning and power of the word "stet" and wedge it into everyday conversation (for audience reaction, see "confusion and frustration" above)
- third pass from the typesetter exposes a pathetic reliance on "typecasting" in the cast bios, as if that is the only spine on which to build the body of someone's life and work: I also discover that I have a bizarre reliance on the phrase "pop culture landscape", as if I am the Mercator of unauthorized television guides
Oddly, the one thing that didn't change for me was the title of the book. Fortunately, it wasn't until well after writing the book that I realized how close the title was to an autobiography by advertising legend David Ogilvy. I'd like to say I was savvy enough to hope for accidental search engine hits, but that'd be a bald-faced lie.
I did craft a list of possible title alternatives. I think you'll agree I was right not to change it.
Madison Avenue Swells
The Show in the Gray Flannel Suit
Madison Avenue Freak-Out (for when the series hits the late sixties)
Ring-a-Ding-Ding: The Cool Cats & Kittens of "Mad Men"
How to Succeed in Advertising Without Really Mussing Your Hair
Kings of Madison Avenue, Princes of Sterling Cooper