Typos? That Tracks.

King James, he's just like us [me] !

I once read that early editions of the King James Bible were riddled with typos—the most famous being the omission of the word “not” from Exodus 20:14, which reads in its corrected state: “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” That memory was oddly comforting this evening as I sat down to re-read my own book.

Years ago, a photographer friend suggested I write a book. I laughed and said, “Write a book!? I can barely write a grammatically correct Instagram caption.” And that was true. Partly because I’m usually typing with my thumbs on a screen smaller than my palm, more often than not while sitting at a red light. The other part? I just don’t care. I don’t care about being polished on Instagram. I try to squeeze in posts during those random spare minutes—waiting in the car, waiting on a child, a contractor, a delivery truck. There’s no social media team, no strategy. And because of that, it’s fun. There’s no pressure. I actually, truly enjoy it.

So when I received an offer to write a book, I called my best friend Lindsay in Boston and said, “I really don’t know. I’m not a writer. I got a friggin’ 21 on the ACT.” She responded, “Stephanie! There are editors and copy editors and so many other people who are good at the parts you’re not. You just tell your stories. You’ll be fine.” And with that, I signed the contract.

Well—spoiler alert—my book has about as many typos as the original King James Bible. I don’t think I told anyone that the Lord commands them to commit adultery, but I’m still making my way back through... no promises. I have honestly read the book five hundred times. I printed it out, just like my 10th-grade Latin teacher always said to do—no one can do a proper proofread on a computer screen. But eventually, I had to stop. I just couldn’t read it one more time.

And what I realized this week—after someone kindly gave me a heads-up—is that the time before the one-more-time should have included the captions. The captions! So many random typos in the captions. My favorite (and by favorite, I mean the one that made my husband laugh out loud and made me immediately tear up with humiliation): “these clients actually owns their own books.” OWNS their own books. God bless America.

Caption writing was one of the very last things I did—right up there with the source list in the back—and by the time I got to them, I was just done. Mentally, physically, creatively done. You have an editor, I kept reminding myself. But on my very last full read-through—the version in the email titled “must approve today”—I got to the final sentence of the book, and there, at the end, was a comma. The second half of the sentence had somehow been completely deleted. I sent a reply-all email that said, “Uh, guys, you deleted half of the last sentence of the book. My book ends in a comma. How did that happen? ” This was the version everyone felt good about sending to print that day. The sentence was added back in, but no one ever explained how it got deleted in the first place. So yeah, I knew there would be typos.

The stories in the book are so vulnerable that I didn’t ask anyone I actually knew to read it before it went to print. I was afraid someone might say something that would make me second-guess what I had shared. So I kept it between me and the publishing team, I didn’t even show my husband.

The book is now on its third printing—something like 9,000 copies out there—which is truly amazing. But unlike an Instagram post, there’s no way for me to pop in when I spot a mistake, make a quick edit, and silently pray I’m the only one who saw it. “These clients actually owns their own books” is living on coffee tables across America, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

For 18 months, I worried I would feel embarrassed about oversharing—like the fact that I come from a crew of cockfighters and moonshiners—but in reality, I’m way more embarrassed about the misplacement of the word “and” on page 102 and it surprises me. As a person who is constantly corrected for her spelling or grammer on instagram, I think in my gut I knew the book would surely be no different. But again, editors I told myself.

But honestly? The entire thing tracks. I do not do perfect things. I do not live a perfect life. I do not design perfect interiors. And I most definitely did not author a perfect book. Our copy at home is now sprinkled with red circles, and while I secretly hope it goes into another printing so I can get a revised version for my kids and their kids, I would also be totally fine if it doesn’t. Maybe my grandkids will cherish the version full of mark ups three months post pub date and wonder “why did grandma not do this on a proof copy!?” To which I hope my children reply “your grandma had a lot going on back then, cut the lady some slack”

I would love for my people to remember me as someone who tried hard and failed often. Someone who could barely write an Instagram caption but still wrote an entire book. Someone who had no business doing anything, but chased hard after everything.

Interiors of a Storyteller and The King James bible, samsies. Who would have guessed!?