There’s all kinds of nonsense on my writer’s dashboard. Little lights and tiny pings that alert me to terrible literary no-no’s I’m approaching at reckless speed.
Such as the bloody red PASSIVE warning that used to blink interminably at me but now just flickers occasionally.
Such as the lemony yellow smiley face that pops up and jingles pleasantly whenever I leave a dangling participle about.
Or the siren-like wale of an impending run-on.
When writing an 18th century historical novel a particularly hateful, chartreuse-tinted exclamation point flashes whenever a contraction is used in dialogue. I loathe this chartreuse-ness. In fact, in the last few weeks of edits, I may have possibly, perhaps have punched its little light out entirely.