Cedar Valley News
Fictorial Number 419 · September 21, 2026
We Regret the Error
By Teresa Nikas
Every week, at the bottom of a page where almost no one ever looks, I print the things we got wrong.
A misspelled name. A wrong date. A street I called Elm when it was Elm Court. Last week it was the high school principal, whose name is Karen, and whom we printed as Karin, and who deserved better from us. This week, in small gray type, the paper says so. Last week we gave the wrong spelling of the principal’s name. It is Karen. We regret the error.
Nobody frames those little notices. Nobody shares them. They are the least glamorous words in the whole paper, and I have come to believe they are among the most important, and I want to tell you why, by way of the most famous correction ever printed.
In 1920, the New York Times ran an editorial sneering at a rocket scientist named Robert Goddard, who had dared to suggest a rocket might one day reach the moon. Impossible, said the Times. A rocket needs air to push against. Goddard, they wrote, seems to lack the knowledge ladled out daily in high schools. They were wrong, he was right, and they made a fool of a great man.
Then, on July 17, 1969, the morning after Apollo 11 lifted off toward the moon, the Times ran its correction. It confirmed, with a perfectly straight face, the workings of a rocket in a vacuum, and ended with the line everyone loves to quote. The Times regrets the error. Forty-nine years late.
People hold this up as the shining example of journalistic humility. And it is truly wonderful writing. But I am an editor, and I have printed a great many corrections, and I will tell you what I actually see when I read it.
I see a joke. A very good joke. Look at when it ran, the morning after the launch, pinned neatly to the biggest story on earth. Look at how it is written, gravely confirming the findings of Isaac Newton, as though the old man had been waiting all this while on the paper’s verdict. This is not a person on their knees. It is a grand institution winking at itself, spinning its own old blunder, cleverly and charmingly, into one more bright thread of the moon-shot story. The correction did not cost the paper a thing. It made the Times look wise, and rueful, and endlessly quotable. It strengthened the story.
And there, I have learned over the years, is exactly how you tell it apart from the real thing.
Because the honorable correction is never the one which makes a good story. It is the one at the bottom of the page, about the principal’s name, which no one will ever quote, share, or admire, set in small type for one reason only. Because it is owed. No cleverness, no timing, no wink, nothing to be gained. Only a woman who was named wrongly in front of her whole town, and a paper willing to stand up, quietly, and say, we got it wrong, we are sorry, and here is the truth.
The famous correction is famous because, in the end, it served the paper. The small one is invisible because it serves only the person we wronged. One is a performance. The other is an apology.
And we are all, every one of us, always choosing between those two. There is the sorry which is well-timed and well-worded and somehow leaves us looking better than before we said it. And there is the sorry which costs us something, gains us nothing, and is offered anyway, because it is simply, plainly owed.
So here is my quiet question for you this Monday morning.
The last time you were wrong, and said so out loud, which was it?
Was it the one which made you the better story?
Or the other one, small and unshared, which only set the record straight, because the person you wronged deserved the truth, and nothing more was in it for you?
I know which one I respect. I know which is harder. And I know, most weeks, which one actually gets printed.
Cedar Valley News is free, and it comes to your inbox every morning, six days a week. If this morning’s fictorial was worth your time, please forward it to someone who would value it. And if someone forwarded it to you and you’d like your own each morning, you can subscribe here.
Cedar Valley News has a Letters to the Editor page, and I would be glad to hear from you. When did you last offer the small, owed apology, the one with nothing in it for you? Write to us. And if we have gotten something wrong, write and tell us, and we will run the correction.
This fictorial is part of the fictional Cedar Valley News series, written by Evan Swensen, Publisher, and Claude Marshall, AI Developmental Editor. While Teresa and her town are fictional, the history is real. On January 13, 1920, a New York Times editorial mocked the rocket pioneer Robert H. Goddard for suggesting a rocket could reach the moon, dismissing his grasp of basic physics; the paper wrongly assumed a rocket needs air to push against, when in fact it works by Newton’s third law in a vacuum. On July 17, 1969, the day after Apollo 11 launched, the Times published a brief correction affirming a rocket functions in a vacuum and regretting its earlier error, some 49 years later. Goddard, mocked in his lifetime, died in 1945. Sources include The New York Times, the Smithsonian, and standard histories of Robert Goddard. The Cedar Valley principal example is illustrative and fictional.
It is the summer of 1951. London is still pockmarked with bomb sites. Food is still rationed. Men who survived the Burma Railway, the North Atlantic convoys, the firebombing of cities have come home to a country worn to nothing by six years of war and five more of austerity. The war ended in 1945. The damage did not.
Robin Barefield lives in the wilderness on Kodiak Island, where she and her husband own a remote lodge. She wrote her first novel, Murder Over Kodiak, powered by a generator, miles from the nearest road. No MFA. No publishing connections. No high-speed internet.
A reader once walked into a bookstore and said, “I’m looking for a mystery set in Alaska.” The bookseller reached for a shelf and handed her a book.
The ceremony is the same every year. The names are the same. The readers change — grown children now where small children once stood, grandchildren where children once stood. The memorial pools fill the footprints of the towers. The water falls continuously.
Open a browser you do not normally use. Type your name. Hit search.
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The morning after. The folding tables are back in the garage. The leftover food is in the refrigerator. The unsold books are stacked on the dining room table. The banner is rolled up in the corner.
Lee came to the United States from Seoul at age three, with his mother and sister, to join his father, a psychiatrist who had immigrated earlier. He grew up in Westchester County, outside New York City. As a child, he often translated for his Korean-speaking mother. He stood between two languages for her, carrying her words into English and the world’s words back to her.
Monday morning. A bookstore manager sits down with forty-seven unread messages. She has an hour before the store opens. She is deciding which emails deserve her attention and which ones can wait.
The novelist Ella Camposanto has arrived in Sicily with her twelve-year-old daughter, Manuela. They are staying near the ruins where the narrator’s grandmother once worked on an archaeological dig. The summer is full of volcanic rumbles and sudden storms. The narrator’s mother is beginning to forget.
When I was publishing Alaska Outdoors magazine, the head of the journalism department at the University of Alaska sent me a submission. It was so poorly written, I took it for a joke. I answered it as a joke, only to learn the author was serious. He simply had such an inflated self-image; his writing read like a spoof. It was no spoof.
At 8:15 on the morning of August 6, 1945, Kiyoshi Tanimoto was on the outskirts of Hiroshima, unloading a handcart at a house in the suburb of Koi. He was two miles from the city center. He had slept poorly — the overnight air-raid warnings had kept him up — and he had risen early and set out with the cart.
Two books publish on the same Tuesday.
Among the nineteen longlisted novelists this year are writers who have been writing for a long time before this first novel existed.
You check your Amazon page for the first time after your launch team has done its work. The reviews are there. Three in the first week. Your heart lifts. Then you notice the label beneath one of them.
This is Publication Consultants’ motivation for constantly striving to assist authors sell and market their books. Author Campaign Method (ACM) of sales and marketing is Publication Consultants’ plan to accomplish this so that our authors’ books have a reasonable opportunity for success. We know the difference between motion and direction. ACM is direction! ACM is the process for authorpreneurs who are serious about bringing their books to market. ACM is a boon for them.
Release Party
Web Presence
Book Signings
Facebook Profile and Facebook Page
Active Social Media Participation
Ebook Cards
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Costco Book Signings
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Cortex is for serious authors and will probably not be of interest to hobbyists. We recorded our Cortex training and information meeting. If you’re a serious author, and did not attend the meeting, and would like to review the training information, kindly let us know. Authors are required to have a Facebook author page to use Cortex.
Correction:
This is Publication Consultants’ motivation for constantly striving to assist authors sell and market their books. ACM is Publication Consultants’ plan to accomplish this so that our authors’ books have a reasonable opportunity for success. We know the difference between motion and direction. ACM is direction! ACM is the process for authors who are serious about bringing their books to market. ACM is a boon for serious authors, but a burden for hobbyist. We don’t recommend ACM for hobbyists.

We’re the only publisher we know of that provides authors with book signing opportunities. Book signing are appropriate for hobbyist and essential for serious authors. To schedule a book signing kindly go to our website, <
We hear authors complain about all the personal stuff on Facebook. Most of these complaints are because the author doesn’t understand the difference difference between a Facebook profile and a Facebook page. Simply put, a profile is for personal things for friends and family; a page is for business. If your book is just a hobby, then it’s fine to have only a Facebook profile and make your posts for friends and family; however, if you’re serious about your writing, and it’s a business with you, or you want it to be business, then you need a Facebook page as an author. It’s simple to tell if it’s a page or a profile. A profile shows how many friends and a page shows how many likes. Here’s a link <> to a straight forward description on how to set up your author Facebook page.



Mosquito Books has a new location in the Anchorage international airport and is available for signings with 21 days notice. Jim Misko had a signing there yesterday. His signing report included these words, “Had the best day ever at the airport . . ..”



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