Continuing my What’s it really like to… posts, I’m coming
onto editing. (I’m mostly coming onto it today to avoid having to go and tackle
a new edit right now…)
So far, I’ve had five editors (for novel length work, I’ve
had a couple of others for short work). They were, in no particular order, a
developmental editor, who is now my publisher’s editor, a different
developmental editor for Inish Carraig (the fab J S Maryatt) , an agent, a new
publisher’s editor and a copy editor. So, I’m no longer a stranger to being
edited and this is what I’ve found, warts and all.
- THEY DON’T FIX YOUR GRAMMAR (mostly)
I hear this from new writers, from time to time: that they
don’t need to worry about knowing the tools of the grammar trade (and believe
me, I say this as someone who most assuredly doesn’t know all the tools out
there. Not even close…) There seems to be a common misconception that an editor
comes along and fixes everything for you.
Nope. Sorry. De nada. You have no hope.
What an editor does is tell you what to fix and leave you to
get on with it. They’ll tell you a character or scene isn’t working, or suggest
something that might be stronger. They might ask you to add something in, or
take it out. But they don’t write it for you. Which means you need the skills
to do that yourself.
But what about copy-editing, you cry! They fix things.
Well, yes, they do. Sam Primeau, my copy editor, is fabulous
at fixing things. She fixes things and then she sends it back to me to review
and agree. Which means I have to understand what I’m agreeing. Does that
semi-colon becoming a colon still deliver the speed and context for that
sentence? Did I have a different meaning in mind than the (correct) grammar
gives?
In short, expect to (mostly) do your own work and try to give
yourself the tools to do so.
- THE CLEANER YOU WRITE, THE EASIER THE PROCESS
I got a little nudge that my last manuscript wasn’t quite as
error-free as it should be. Now, I can make excuses about my ancient computer,
and its dodgy spellchecker that jumps into Dutch as often as UK English, or
that I did some late revisions that hadn’t had a fine-tooth comb yet.
All true. All excuses.
Here’s the thing. The more mistakes your copy editor has to
find and correct, the more they might miss. It’s hard going over a mss line by
line, word by word. If an editor keeps getting pulled out of continuity by
fixing things, it’s even harder.
I have never published without a last check, usually on my
ipad because I pick up mistakes there more easily. And because the spellcheck
actually works. And always, always I’ve picked up stuff at that stage. (And
after publication, too, sadly. I’ve never come across a perfect mss anywhere
and mine are no exception.)
- EDITORS DON’T GILD THE LILY
They come with teeth. They’re there to pick up the bits that
don’t work. My latest edit came with a cover note telling me it was a “fine
novel”. The accompanying list that needed fixing (high level, not line by line
comments) ran to two pages. I considered that getting off lightly.
I’ve had edits that make me wonder why the
publisher/agent/editor ever accepted my book. The one I’m about to start
(honest, Sara! Today) has a daunting to-do list with it. I’ve had edits with
more red in them than the average slasher-horror. They make the worst
beta-reader seem like a kitten with a fluffy ball of wool.
This isn’t a reflection on you as a writer. Or, rather, I
choose not to take it as such. They’re there to do a job and…
- YOU’RE A PRO NOW
Either you’re going to spend your own money bringing out a
book you’d like to sell, or a publisher is spending their money on you. That
carries expectations and one of those is that you’ll go at this professionally.
That means putting your head down and getting on with it, not gnashing your
teeth at the red-penning. It means using your writer’s brain and finding the
ways to fix what’s asked for.
The hardest bit of end-edits is that they’re coming down to
the nitty gritties. You’ve fixed all the easy stuff. Your beta readers will
have nailed down the early howlers. What’s left is what you already considered
your best work and you have to make it better. And better again.
One of the scenes I’ve just had to have another run at is a
supposedly rousing speech. One of my betas picked it up as a problem on a final
run and I thought I’d fixed it, but no. Now, my editor is telling me in no
uncertain, toe-curlingly frank words to sort it out.
How?
- DON’T BE AFRAID TO REACH OUT FOR HELP
In my case, it was back to my writing group with the new
scene and firm instructions to them to maul it ‘because it’s going to have my
name on it in eight weeks’.
My writing group do great virtual cake when it’s required. They
do ra-ra-raing and keep going emails.
They also do teeth. Four bruising responses later and I’ve
sent back what I hope is a suitable speech (I bet it comes back…)
Sometimes in a book, a scene is a process. It grows and
curls and is hard to catch – that’s the time, even when you’re near the end of
the road, when you sometimes need an extra pair of eyes.
- RAPPORT ROCKS
If you can’t stand your editor, or them you, they’re the
wrong one for you. There has to be trust and respect, going both ways. You,
trusting them to make the right call for your book (I’ve been on the wrong end
of that one, and it’s horrible), them trusting you to listen and act on what
they’ve said.
If you don’t respect your editor’s knowledge of
books/ability to write/ knowledge of the genre and market, you will never
listen to what they suggest. If they don’t respect your ability to run with
their suggestions, they won’t push you as much as you should be pushed – and that’s
the sort of pushing that makes a book better than you thought it ever would be.
Which leads to the most important thing of all. Of all the
tips in all the writing books in the world this is, I think, the hardest to
learn, and the most important
- DON’T BE A SHEEP
It’s hard this one. Your editor is a pro. They are being
paid by someone to give expert opinion. You probably look up to them (see
above.)
But it’s your book. You’re the person with the vision in
your head. By all means, listen. Teresa Edgerton (my editor for Abendau)
suggested a fundamental change to an opening chapter in Sunset over Abendau. This
was a chapter I thought I’d nailed. It was one I liked.
Her suggestion was great. I ran with it, and things are
better (if longer, the book is up, overall, by about 6000 words)).
What would I have done if I didn’t agree? If I fundamentally
felt it was the wrong turn for my book? Change it? Dig in and refuse?
I’d have gone back to Teresa and talked to her about it
(knowing I rarely win.) I’d have explained WHAT was important about that scene
(because sometimes we get hooked on whole scenes when really it’s only one
thing we need to keep) and asked where the middle ground could be. And if it
was really, really fundamentally against what I wanted I’d a. have the wrong
editor for the book (and that’s been a biggy with Abendau – that my editor
appreciates what I’m trying to achieve, because it’s a bit of a snake to hold
onto) and b. I’d have to stand my ground, knowing I could be wrong.
It comes back to what I said earlier – the book will have my
name on it in eight weeks. I have to be proud of it. Editorial makes that
stronger – but only if I have the skills to carry them out. And those skills
are the ones a writer learns in critique groups, in writing groups, in
criticism. If you don’t want that criticism to be public, on Amazon and
Goodreads, in reviews that you can never erase, then it’s best to learn them if
you can. Because, ultimately, it’s up to you to follow the advice given, and do
that darn edit.
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