Forgive me, for I have rewritten you.
I worked in publishing in New York for several years, starting as an assistant and ending up as an editor and managing editor at the most successful packager in New York at that time. I edited many, many children’s books, mostly mass-market paperback series, like Sweet Valley High and its spin-offs, and a bunch of other things that were popular at the time. Being an editor is fun. It can be hard and frustrating sometimes, but it’s also fun, and a completely different skillset than writing. It teaches you a great deal about writing styles, voices, and structures. I learned the differences between the structure of a book that’s part of an ongoing, open-ended series, one that’s a stand-alone (one book that will have no sequels), and then short, limited series, such as trilogies. They’re all different, and it’s interesting to see the differences, and useful to know how to apply the appropriate structure to one’s own work.
A good editor will quickly discern the strengths of the book as a whole, and then the writing in general. An editor can suggest restructuring the book, changing the ending, or strengthening a subplot. They can suggest the addition or elimination of minor characters, a change in setting or time-period, and offer ways to heighten humor, suspense, or other emotions. Or they can just go through and “line-edit,” which is basically cleaning up the writing, tightening the occasional paragraph or scene, and checking for character consistency and plot strength. (A copy-editor corrects the grammar if appropriate, fact-checks, and fixes typos and punctuation.)
A good editor is of primary importance to every writer. A good editor is another set of eyes, after you’ve rewritten something so many times you can’t see it anymore. A good editor will help you strengthen the work that’s there, steer you in the right direction if you’ve wandered, and even brain-storm with you if you’re stuck in an unworkable plot. They encourage, cheer up, and offer honest feedback if something isn’t working. Every writer everywhere needs a good editor. There are no exceptions to this. Even great, great, obsessive, perfectionist, brilliant writers need someone as smart as they are to read their work and give feedback.
When I was an editor, I did everything from light line-edits to almost rewriting the entire book. It was the nature of our business, where we were producing many books each month, and working sometimes with inexperienced writers. The ideal is to respect the writer’s work and individual voice, and yet end up with a book that is actually readable and worthy of its cover price. But it’s always a sensitive thing; the nature of writing is intimate, and writers either intentionally or unintentionally put their true emotions and thoughts on the page. Having someone rework that, or even change its form drastically, can be really upsetting.
I’ve been very lucky with my editors, in general. There have been times when I was at the end of my rope, sent off a huge mess, and had an editor say, “You know, what you need to do is . . .” and suddenly the light dawns, all is clear, I slap my forehead, and busily rewrite, ending up with something ever so much better. I’ve called editors moaning and whimpering, and gotten great pep talks. Then I straighten up, light dawns, and I get back to work. Editors have suggested brilliant plot twists that hadn’t occurred to me, eliminated scenes or moved them somewhere else, and had me rewrite half a book, all the while convincing me that I’m incredible, talented, fabulous, and their favorite writer.
But I’ve also had editors who were frustrated writers, and really just wanted to rewrite a book to make it what they want it to say or be. I’ve known editors who change something whether it needs it or not, so that they can feel they put their “stamp” on it, that they’ve done their job. That can be really unbearable to deal with. I tried very hard not to be that kind of editor.
I’ve found that once someone is an editor or copyeditor, they can’t really escape it, for the rest of their lives. I can’t help finding typos and grammatical errors in everything I read. It’s annoying, but I can’t not notice them. I continue to be shocked by the writing of professional, educated people, though I’m not as bad as my daughters’ dad, who has been known to red-ink a teacher’s note and send it back to them. I’m sure they love that.
But it’s kind of a curse–even quick notes to my children, letters to my friends and relatives–they all get edited and rewritten. So you can imagine what a collaboration is like for me, with someone like Jim. He and I write very, very differently. We have very different sensibilities. We both have strong voices and strong opinions. I’m all about emotion, description, character. He’s all about strong plot, building tension, moving a story forward. I’m a logic nazi. He believes most people don’t really worry about a lot of stuff like that. Judging from his success, I’d have to say that he’s right–he really knows his audience. I’m much more egotistical about my writing than he is. Once I needed to do a quick prologue, and I just couldn’t get it right–it didn’t accomplish what he wanted it to accomplish. I tried maybe five or six versions. Finally he wrote it himself, just as he wanted it, and said, “Here. Put this in.” It was first person, in the character’s voice . . . but to me it didn’t sound like the character that I had fleshed out and given voice to. So I . . . fixed it.
He called me. He said, “I saw you rewrote the prologue.” I said, “But I kept it just as you wanted it. Only changed the voice a bit.” Silence. I’m biting my fingernails. Finally, he said, mildly, “I just want to point out that I’ve accepted hundreds of pages of your writing. Hundreds of pages. And you can’t accept four paragraphs of mine.” He sounded both exasperated and amused. I was cringing. I said, “But it didn’t sound right.” Amazingly, amazingly, he let it stay.
It’s a careful dance.