As a retired English Prof (Ph.D.) and now a professional writer for a national magazine, I have years of experience editing all kinds of writing—application and recommendation letters, job appeals, essays, arguments, blog comments, and academic papers and theses in the areas of the humanities, arts, social sciences and the environment. I also edit advertising copy and text on web pages, as well as poems, stage plays, and screen plays.
I offer advanced editing services to revise such matters as sentence structure, paragraphing, organization, diction, tone, style, and logic. I also can condense, summarize, and modify your writing along lines you require. My fee is $15 USD per your 400-word page, for a reasonable turnaround of 2-5 days once we settle on a plan for the revision. Proofreading is included. Long manuscripts over 40 pages and bibliographic references will require additional compensation for checking and editing.
Submit a description and one page of your manuscript, and a statement of what you think needs attention, and I will return it with brief comments about what it may need.
ORIGINAL POEM COMPOSITION
I will write a poem for you for some occasion. This is called ”occasional poetry.” It will not be rhymed, nor clichéd, nor sound like greeting card verse. Tell me what or whom you want to regale or celebrate. I will need a number of specifics about this occasion or person or place. It will be as gritty or as pleasing sounding as you wish, but without trite or formulaic ideas or phrases.
My fee is $10USD per line, so an unrhymed sonnet for instance would cost $140.00, with a twenty-dollar un-refundable up-front fee. If you don’t like it, you can refuse it, and that’s all you pay. (I may publish it as my own poem at that point.) You get one chance to revise the completed poem with me via email after you have paid the full fee.
Here is a sample poem of mine, a sonnet, upon the occasion of seeing a desperate woman and her two boys driving in traffic, from my forthcoming collection, Uncommon People.
The tan pickup cut in front of me;
I had to brake and cursed:
damned thing—rust-spotted, green fenders,
no tailgate, filled with plastic crates,
clothes, utensils, stuff of a household
covered by a blanket on a day threatening rain.
And then I saw her, at least her outline,
thin, a mother with her home on her back,
and two boys, six, ten, well barbered,
on the seat with her, up right, looking straight ahead,
fear in the alertness of all three of them,
as she veered through traffic
to her next rendezvous with the careless world.