Cup and Quill
Cup and Quill offers editing services for experienced and novice writers from all walks of life. We welcome fiction and non-fiction manuscripts. Our one-on-one coaching packages help writers navigate the writing process from beginning to end.
Schedule a free consultation to learn more about how people who love stories can help you tell yours.
editorial services for every writer
Trust your writing to Cup and Quill and get a professor’s touch. Dr. Linda Tucker, the founder of Cup and Quill, has over two decades of experience as a writer and professor. She and her team of highly credentialed editors can help you achieve your goals as a writer and bring your projects to life. We offer a full range of coaching, editing, and proofreading services for writers of all levels. We invite you to schedule a free consultation with Dr. Tucker to learn more.
Bring your vision to life
we can make it happen
Cup and Quill editors understand that writing a book is a bucket list item for many people. As a Cup and Quill client, you will never feel as though you’re just a word count. We take your dreams and goals seriously and are honored to be fellow travelers on your writing journey.
from the blog
“How did you end up here?” It’s what people ask foreigners or people who’ve been through tough times. The grammar offends me. What is the referent for here, exactly? This country? This town? This relationship? This trouble? This chair? On the floor? On the rise? Indefinite antecedents should be a felony. And—end? I’ve yet to meet mine. I don’t mean to be ugly, but could we at least change the verb to one less terminal? Alight, maybe, or land, though the latter sits heavy. Either trumps the alternative. Earnest or incredulous, the question in question lays track on my life’s
Expectations have been my downfall, and my choices have led to predictable disappointment more than I care to admit. Perhaps that’s why it irks me to no end when the ink of a good pen runs dry prematurely. I expect more of them, frankly. Like life, so the pen writes. I wax poetic as I reach into my desk drawer to retrieve another from my stash and find disappointment. A lone red pen is all that remains. Red ink is as offensive to the page as an overcooked metaphor. I compose the hard bits in longhand. Maybe blood-colored ink isn’t
Baxter Brown was a boxer dog. I didn’t know his name when he arrived on my porch one cold March evening about five years ago, but I had seen him before. He wore an ugly orange collar with the owner’s name and number roughly engraved on a gold plate. I called the owner. “Aw, just beat him with a stick. He’ll come home,” the owner said. “Someone needs to be beaten with a stick,” I said. “But it is not the dog.” I hung up and invited the dog inside, where he belonged. He was shivering and terribly thin, so
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