brAIn, dumped(?). 2 of 3.

Doctor: So, Mr. Proofreader, I have your results, and I think it’s best you sit down.

Proofreader: You can give it to me straight, doc.

Doctor: Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done.

Proofreader: So. How long do I have?

Doctor: Ten.

Proofreader: Ten years? Ten months?

Doctor (looking at wristwatch): Nine…

They love me, they love me not, ...

Wikipedia tells us that the childhood game He Loves Me; He Loves Me Not (or She Loves Me; She Loves Me Not) is of French origin.

In the game, players repeat the two phrases alternately while removing the petals of a flower, typically a daisy, in order to ascertain whether the object of their affection shares that affection.

It’s a game I’ve been, unconsciously, playing for a little while now.

One particular round in the game I call, “Who will pay for better than good enough?”

January 2024: “We have a paper I’d like you to check; can you give us an idea of time and cost?”

I look at length and the general quality of the writing, and reply with my “offer”.

“I’m sorry,” comes the reply, “but this is more than we have available. We’re afraid we’ll have to go with someone else.”

“What did you have in mind?” I write back. “If we’re not too far apart, perhaps we can reach some agreement that works for all of us.” I like them, having worked with them several times already.

We are, though, very “far apart”.

Their budget is just 20 percent of my estimate. It’s impossible to reach an agreement, and I wish them the very best of luck with their paper.

My hypothesis? I’m already out of a job.

But I do have some time available. And I’ve just subscribed to some proofreading software that I’d like to test. So, after some discussion we do reach an agreement of sorts: I’ll use paper to test the software and send them feedback. They’ll send me the corrected paper and I’ll compare it to the corrections I’ve made using the software.

My hypothesis? The software will cut out 80 percent of my work.

I am, it seems, already out of a job.

The software is, as it turns out, interesting. A partnership between the developers and a very popular style guide, it links directly to the guide (and to other style guides) and proposes necessary changes. But I still need to review these proposals, some of which should be rejected, and it quickly becomes apparent that it isn’t going to save me 80 percent of my time (and my clients 80 percent of my fee). Actually, it would probably shave just one-tenth off my original offer.

How, then, can they get this paper proofread and corrected for just one-fifth of what I would charge? Yes, I live in Switzerland. Yes, the world is full (well, not quite full, but…) of competent proofreaders. But one-fifth?

There are so many errors I actually give up on the idea of ever pointing them out.

They send me the corrected paper, and the answer is staring me in the face. There are so many errors I actually give up on the idea of ever pointing them out. Grammar. Conjugation. Syntax. Usage. Style. Consistency. Parallelism. Barely a sentence goes by without multiple corrections being required.

I send my report, including a review of the pros and cons of the software, and my honest professional assessment of the “corrected” version of the paper.

My hypothesis had been that an app could take care of 80 percent of my work, and that I was already out of a job. The first part had been disproven. But the second part?

If the “corrected” version was accepted for publication, it was “good enough.”

And if what I had read is “good enough,” who will pay for… better than “good enough”?

Maybe we’re all out of a job after all. And it has very little to do with software, technology, or AI.

* Remember all those G**gle Translate signs at hotel receptions?

[Illustration: The Ox-eye Daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare) (from Wikipedia) by and (c)2008 Derek Ramsey. Co-attribution: the Chanticleer Garden.  Own work

Further licensing details here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Leucanthemumvulgare%27Filigran%27Flower2200px.jpg].