Yes, it's true. By way of introduction I quoted Steve Urkel, not because I was a fan of his show but because, well, of all fictional characters in the history of the narrative form, he is the one whom I most resemble.
Let me elaborate with a topical example.
Like any good neurotic scribe, I devote as much thought to my Acknowledgments page as I do the rest of the novel. Should I thank my father before my mother, and if I do, does that mean no more surprise sweaters from Mom? If I ignore my friends from high school, does that mean they'll ignore me at our 20th reunion? Decisions, decisions. But, finally, after I believe the 99th rewrite, I decided that my Acknowledgments page for my first novel, Nuclear Winter Wonderland, was finalized and I zipped it off to my editor.
A few months later, the proof for said book arrived. Mmmm, proof of said book, argchghgh...
Once I'd finished fondling my proof, I studiously perused its contents to circle any errata. This was it. I was the last defense between my baby and the public. I was going to be diligent. I was going to be exacting. I was going to need a lot of red pens.
Finished with my task, and proud of my hard work, I sent the proof back to my editor and awaited the day when my novel would be in the hands of Barnes & Nobles customers all around the country.
MOTHER: Oh, Virginia, you have to read this new book - there are no typos!
DAUGHTER: Really? Is he single?
Ah, hubris. Because, as it turned out, there was one glaring mistake, and it was right there on the much-deliberated Acknowledgments page. Perhaps I could have caught it during my perusal of the proof, but I, in my foolishness, had concentrated on the contents of the novel. And now it was out there, in the world, irretrievable.
MOTHER: Oh, Virginia, can you believe the author forgot to mention his stepmother in his special thanks?
DAUGHTER: He must be single.
Yes. Yes, it's true. My stepmother's name was not there. Had she been an Evil Stepmother, the kind who colloquied with mirror mirrors, that omission might have been excusable, but my father's new wife was and is the warmest, most lovable, and most giving person ever born in the state of Minnesota. When my father was in despair over his divorce from my mother, when he was lonely and despondent, this woman, Shiela Aldes (correct spelling), appeared in his life and she changed his life (and thus, by extension, mine). I would have preferred a thousand typos to this one boneheaded mistake.
And as it turns out, there were a thousand typos as well - but more on that another time.