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Is It OK to Ask for Before/After Examples from a Freelance Editor?

Photo by Caleb Oquendo

Ask the Editor is a column for your questions about the editing process and editors themselves. It’s a place to bring your conundrums and dilemmas and mixed feelings, no matter how big or small. Want to be considered? Learn more and submit your question.

This month’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Written Word Media. The author marketing hub – Written Word Media makes effective book marketing easy for authors. Known for our five-star customer service, we have helped over 20,000 authors build their careers. Go to WrittenWordMedia.com to learn more and schedule your book promotion in 5 minutes.

Question

Sometimes a freelance editor’s marketing materials (e.g. website, Twitter bio, blog post) will say something like “I’ve edited nonfiction, fiction…and so on”—without naming the books or authors they’ve edited. Or, sometimes I’ve seen editors (and coaches and consultants) show testimonials, blurbs, and books they’ve worked on and/or edited, but none of these represent “work.” Showing a book cover but not clarifying the editor’s role doesn’t help: Did they do substantive or basic editing? Did they help with structure, voice … something else?

For a book, how can an editor show an author what the work involves and how they convey their thoughts/recommendations/suggestions? Does an editor’s work involve notes, lists, track changes, or page rewrites? It would help to know how an editor sees the editor’s role and conveys it—and whether the editor can show examples of their work.

What happens if an author asks a freelance editor (before contract) to show before-and-after examples of the editor’s work on a prior project? Or, would editors be willing to provide testimonials or blurbs that share specifics? It would help to see a list of books an editor has edited, along with the editor’s role (e.g., substantive, basic). Can authors ask for these kinds of detailed references?

—Early AM Writer

Dear Early AM:

I have to confess, my first reaction to this question was a big Noooooooooooooo! Editing is such an intimate experience, a private conversation between author and editor, and the idea of letting someone else see that conversation feels pretty uncomfortable.

But then I started to wonder about why it feels uncomfortable. There are, I think, some pretty valid reasons—the most significant being an implicit (or maybe even in some cases explicit) expectation of confidentiality on the part of the writer/client. Edits can feel embarrassing (maybe because they can feel like “corrections,” even though that’s not really what they are); imagine, for example, if Jonathan Franzen’s editor let slip how Franzen is always mixing up “who” and “whom.” (I am sure he is not, and anyway, that’s a very, very tiny part of what editors do, but maybe you get my point.)

But then I started thinking, well, so what? Maybe edits shouldn’t be embarrassing; they’re just part of the process. That’s why there are editors! Intimacy can be productive, but can it also foster a kind of secrecy that isn’t ultimately helpful? Would it be a better world if the work of editing were more transparent? Maybe!

Of course, this is a balancing act, in the same way that more transparency, generally, about mental health issues—destigmatizing therapy, for example—is probably a good thing for people, generally, but asking therapists to share transcripts of all their sessions wouldn’t be so great for individuals.

In fact, some editors do showcase samples of their work on their websites—often with some of the identifying information obscured. (Edited edits, as it were.) And, one hopes, only with authors’ permission.

But, just as reading a transcript of someone else’s therapy session would only tell you so much about how that therapist might help you with your particular issues, seeing an editor’s work on someone else’s manuscript won’t necessarily tell you what their edits on yours might look like. Sure, you’ll get a sense of their overall tone and approach, but that’s not quite the same as seeing notes on your own manuscript.

None of this quite answers your question, though. Yes, of course, if you’re considering hiring a freelance editor, you can ask for this kind of reference or work sample—but it’s probably not all that unusual if an editor doesn’t have it available. You could just limit your field to editors who do; that would be one way to narrow the field. But you should also feel free to ask questions before you hire someone. “If you edit my book, what can I expect from the edits? Do you work in track changes? Will you send a cover letter? What kind of feedback would you typically include? Do you normally address [whatever you’re hoping they will address]? Can we schedule a phone call after I’ve had a chance to look at your suggestions?”

Above all, you should try to be clear about your own expectations. If you think you’re hiring someone to do structural edits and they think they’re meant to focus on voice…probably that’s a recipe for frustration, all around. Far better to try to articulate your concerns and goals as specifically as possible, while keeping in mind that editing isn’t predictable, assembly-line work, and a big part of what you’re hoping for when you hire an editor is a fresh perspective on your manuscript that might help you see it anew after seeing it through your own lens for probably a very long time.

Ultimately, even more helpful than seeing a sample of the editor’s work on another writer’s manuscript would be seeing a sample of the editor’s work on your manuscript. Happily, many editors will do a sample edit before taking on a book project—sometimes for free, or sometimes for a relatively small fee. (It’s obviously a little trickier to arrange for a sample edit on a shorter piece, but it’s not necessarily impossible.) You get the chance to see how the editor works, and more specifically how they would approach your project. After all, you don’t want an editor who just doesn’t get you or who doesn’t seem to be helping make your book better (whatever “better” means, in the context of your identified scope of work and particular publishing goals); if you don’t like the extent or tone or focus of the sample edit, you can continue your search for the perfect editor. And, on the other side of the relationship, the editor can get a sense of your manuscript and what kind of work might be involved before committing to editing the whole book; after all, no one wants to spend a ton of time working on a book that feels like a total slog, especially if they budgeted poorly for it. Transparency is good for everyone!

Wishing you best of luck with your search, and your book.

—Hattie Fletcher

This month’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by Written Word Media. The author marketing hub – Written Word Media makes effective book marketing easy for authors. Known for our five-star customer service, we have helped over 20,000 authors build their careers. Go to WrittenWordMedia.com to learn more and schedule your book promotion in 5 minutes.

Backstory Is Essential to Story—Except When It’s Not

Today’s post is by editor Tiffany Yates Martin (@FoxPrintEd). Join her on Wednesday, Jan. 25, for the online class The Biggest Mistakes Novelists Make—And How to Fix Them.

Characters don’t exist in a vacuum: Who they are, what they want, and why they do what they do is rooted in who they have been and what they have done—in other words, backstory.

Backstory brings characters to life, gives them depth and dimension, and draws readers in. Without it characters may feel opaque or flat, their actions random or unmotivated.

But too much backstory can dilute and derail your actual story.

Backstory is a potent tool in your writing, and like all power tools it must be operated carefully—too much and your story may bog down and stall out; too little and readers may feel uninvested or confused. Finding that balance can be tricky.

When backstory works

I often joke that skillful writing techniques are a little bit like Supreme Justice Potter Stewart’s infamous 1964 opinion of pornography: You may not be able to define it, but you know it when you see it.

But well-used backstory is often invisible, woven so seamlessly into the tapestry of the story that you don’t notice the individual threads. It can be as simple as a character saying, “You’re late again,” subtly weaving in the thread that this is a habitual behavior. Add in an exasperated sigh or disappointed head shake and we get another thread about these characters’ relationship—more invisible backstory.

That kind of backstory—context—is the most common and arguably foundational type, the kind of info that orients readers to the characters, their relationships, what’s happening in the story, and what it means. You can—and skillful writers often do—thread it throughout your manuscript, in nearly every line, and if it’s done smoothly it will serve to invisibly deepen and enhance the story.

It can also be effective to lace in longer beats of backstory: an echoed bit of dialogue from the past, the flash of a remembered image, a few bread crumbs of exposition that lead readers little by little down the path to the past.

But bigger instances of backstory can be effective too, as long as they serve the main story rather than yanking readers out of it: chunks of a memory or flashback or element of a character’s history that flow from the current story and fill in more pieces of the puzzle of why they act, think, behave as they do.

When backstory fails

Walking the tightrope of balancing backstory is often unfortunately often weighted to one side—backstory traps are legion and easy to stumble into:

Frontloaded backstory: This is among the most common missteps I see with backstory—authors worry that readers won’t understand or invest in their characters and story without “bringing them up to speed” before plunging them into it. This often results in swaths of backward-looking exposition that stall out your story before it even gets started.Flashback backstory dump: Just what it sounds like—an overloaded flashback that exists mostly to fill in the blanks on a character’s past, and pulls readers away from the main story, stopping momentum cold.Backstory taking over the story: Common in stories with a “mysterious past” or big reveal, those that may actually need to be dual-time line stories, or a story that hasn’t clearly defined its central spine, this trap spends so much time yanking readers into backstory that they may be left with whiplash, or lost in the rabbit hole of time.Cryptic or coy backstory tease: A common symptom of stories where some secret from the past leads up to a climactic reveal, this trap happens when authors make repeated oblique references to past events, but without enough context to ground readers or make them care.Unnecessary backstory: Self-explanatory. Like everything in story, if it isn’t essential, it risks hampering your story’s effectiveness. “Establishing” or “showing” some aspect of a character or plot is rarely reason enough to drop a wad of backstory on readers. Everything—including backstory—should move the main story forward.Clunky intros and outros: Clunky lead-ins like, “She remembered as if it were yesterday” or “the memory played in his mind like a movie” are the equivalent of the whistle heard miles before the train speeds into view—and it brings the gate down just as thoroughly, pulling readers off the track. (In this metaphor, we want them in the path of the train!)Not enough/poorly developed backstory: No one except Greek gods springs into existence fully formed. Characters without some measure of backstory—in every genre—can feel like cardboard cutouts, their actions, behaviors, and motivations so opaque that readers have nothing to sink their proverbial teeth into. Backstory that’s inadequately developed feels like checking generic boxes and can create characters that feel like stereotypes or clichés.

With all these backstory traps waiting for authors to fall heedlessly into their gaping maws, how can you determine whether and where you need backstory, and how best to weave it into your story?

Balancing backstory

I always suggest a few basic guidelines to make sure that the backstory you’re introducing feels organic and seamless to the story:

The Watergate question: This is my paraphrased version of the famed standard of guilt in the Nixon hearings: What do readers need to know and when do they need to know it? Successfully incorporating backstory means using it only as needed for readers to fully understand or feel invested in character or story actions—and only as much or as little as is required in that moment. Create depth and texture little by little, like individual brushstrokes in an Impressionist painting rather than big glops of monochromatic color.Relevance: Make sure the backstory is directly related to the present story, and that it illuminates something essential in its action or the character arc. Context, memory, and flashback—the three main forms of backstory—feel most organic when readers can see what sparks the association in the present moment, how that backstory ties into what’s happening in the main story, and how it influences the character in the current story, whether by driving them to take a certain action, make a specific decision, evince a certain behavior, or gain some new understanding of a situation.

Read more: How to Transition into a Flashback

Specificity: Vague, generic backstory yields vague, generalized stories and characters. The more concrete, granular, and specific your backstory is, the more believable and dimensional it feels. “A difficult childhood” tells readers little; “an abusive parent” only marginally more. But the remembered image of your protagonist’s angry father storming into the boy’s bedroom and the rhythmic thwacks of his belt as he yanked it from the loops paints a much more vivid and visceral picture.Weave backstory in fluidly and smoothly: A pithy heading for a big concept that can be hard to master, but one good test is this: If the backstory, no matter how large or small, draws attention to itself more than it illuminates something in the present moment, you’re likely hanging a lantern on it. Focus on the main story’s forward momentum, and use backstory as the seasoning that makes the stew.

Read more: Weaving Flashbacks Seamlessly into Story

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join us on Wednesday, Jan. 25 for the online class The Biggest Mistakes Novelists Make—And How to Fix Them.

The Author-Creator Marketing Playbook

Photo by Tim Samuel on Pexels

Today’s post is excerpted from the forthcoming book Creator Economy for Authors by Michael Evans (@mevansinked), co-founder of Ream.

During my first full year of publishing, I made almost $200. I had three books in my catalogue and dabbled in Amazon Ads. In 2019, I made $412 publishing three more books. In 2020, I had my breakout year, generating $7,500 in revenue for my business. I was ecstatic. I had several months where I made $1,000 a row and I published six new books that year.

But something darker happened.

Almost all of that $7,500 in revenue went to Facebook and Amazon Ads. In fact, I spent $2,000 out of pocket just testing ads to get things working for my series. And once I got them working, I often had to spend 20+ hours a week managing them.

It was stressful—anxiety-inducing, in fact. At the time I thought it was the only way I could make it as an author. And I was willing to do whatever it took to turn my dreams into reality.

That was until I burned out. Suddenly it felt like I was writing more just to hit my next release than because I had a story to tell. I started to miss my deadlines, until I ultimately stopped midway through the next draft of my book.

But something else happened during this time, another algorithmic force leading me to my burnout. It was YouTube. I had started uploading vlogs to my YouTube channel in September 2020. By November 2020, I had nearly half a million views on the channel alone during that month and made almost $2,000 in Google AdSense. I also made several hundred dollars selling my books with no ads and no calls-to-action during my videos.

What followed was the greatest rollercoaster I have ever experienced. I started creating content to try and garner as many views as possible. I garnered 2 million views on my first two weeks on TikTok and started traveling the country to meet celebrities, taking the third door to access opportunities that ranged from meeting Elon Musk’s executive assistant to kayaking to the back of Joe Rogan’s house and on accident meeting one of the largest concert promoters in the world. I also started live streaming for a start-up platform run by Sean Parker, creating 1,000 hours of content on the platform.

This sounds like everything was going splendidly. But in reality, I didn’t have a broader creator strategy. I was simply a content producer, chasing the algorithmic highs and feeling despondent and, at times, worthless during the algorithmic lows.

For many authors, prioritizing ads as your primary marketing lever is unhealthy and at times unprofitable. And often limiting. That’s where the three pillars of our author creator marketing strategy come in.

Pillar #1: Create where your readers hang out, but not everywhere your readers hang out.

For the longest time, I felt a pressure to be creating in “hot spaces” where everyone was getting all these sales in. But I realized that if I don’t typically consume content there, then there is a low-chance that I’ll enjoy creating there.

Some authors, particularly romance authors, may be reading this and saying to themselves, “I hate TikTok, but my readers love it!” That is a fair statement. But creating content where your readers hang out does not mean creating content everywhere. Romance readers have formed massive communities on virtually every social platform and consume content in almost every format. Specific subgenres, of course, are more predominant in specific spaces. But I would imagine that a podcast directed to a specific audience of romance readers could do really well, such as Heaving Bosoms, which has over 700 people paying them monthly for exclusive access to some episodes in their subscription program.

The key here is that although many target audiences exist in multiple locations on the internet, it is rare that an author has the bandwidth at the early stages in their career to create in multiple formats. Thus, it’s essential to pick a content format and continue leveling up and growing your audience until, if ever, you’d like to expand into other formats.

More concretely, don’t feel pressure to keep up with a blog, a podcast, Instagram posts, and daily TikTok content at the same time. Author creators know that cumulative advantage comes from leveraging your audience and skill growth in a particular content format, not by spreading yourself so thin you risk adding stress, not new readers, to your life.

That said, picking a particular content format isn’t so easy. That’s why we have our second pillar.

Pillar #2: Create what you love, but have it be integral to your world.

If you take nothing else away from these pillars, remember to always make it fun. The idea of being an author-creator when marketing your books is to make the discovery process fun, not something that feels like a chore.

Creating content should be creative, something that enhances the worlds you are building instead of being a distraction. And if done correctly, it can be a fertile testing ground to see what new story ideas, characters, and problems your readers are most interested in.

However, many authors can sometimes have fun creating content that is, well, maybe not related to things their target audience is interested in. Or even more nefarious, things that their target audience is interested in, but doesn’t help authors build their unique brand.

The Tilt is a publication all about the creator economy started by Joe Pulizzi, one of the foremost experts on content marketing. The reason it’s called the Tilt is because each creator has to have a unique tilt or edge, if you will, over the competition in order to succeed.

What does this mean?

Well, let’s say you love creating true crime podcasts and you are a thriller author. Your true crime podcasts are maybe specifically focused on serial killers in the Southern United States. You have niched down your audience pretty well here and are likely appealing to law enforcement as well as true crime junkies in the South.

Yet, even with that niche there are dozens of podcasts that regularly focus on topics for this audience, such as Southern Fried True Crime. In order to succeed, you need to be able to do something different, whether that is combining two existing styles you love, niching down even further, or having some unique value-add that no one else in your market is providing.

Ideally, this content tilt is baked into the value proposition of your larger brand. The same things your readers will love about the things you write are hopefully the same kinds of things that can separate you from the pack and get people interested in your content. Tilting authentically is the key to being able to build a sustainable business as an author-creator: building a world that is true to you, has the potential to evolve and grow with time, and has many entry points for new fans, all centered around your stories.

In short, create about what you’re passionate about. And those things should probably be interconnected, or at the very least, similar to your story.

Pillar #3: Create how you want. Seriously, you write the rules.

I’m here to give you permission to post whenever you damn want. In the world of the creator economy, it’s all about building your dream. Not listening to the cookie-cutter advice of gurus that at times don’t have your best interests at heart. With that said, with each content format in the paragraphs below, I’ll detail best practices and why it’s probably useful to post short-form content more often than, say, podcasts for the purpose of discovery.

However, even the best practices are just guidelines. They don’t stipulate how often you need to post to tickle a specific algorithm just right. Instead, I’m focused on the psychology of cold audiences who discover your content and how to convert them into warmer leads (aka fans) that begin to look forward to your content. It’s this slow building flywheel that can lead to exponential growth due to cumulative effects.

Here’s why: Every social platform rewards retention more than anything else. To define retention, it’s the percentage of time that a creator’s audience watches a specific piece of content compared to its total duration. Platforms like YouTube presume that if someone watches 80% of a three-minute video, odds are that the content was more engaging and satisfying than watching 30% of a ten-minute video.

In practice, one piece of content will only drive direct sales to your brand for a short, concentrated burst. As author-creators, we are not one-hit wonders chasing the highs that other people might be teaching us how to pursue, and platforms now tend to optimize for retention across pieces of content. This is especially true for YouTube.

If you upload five videos and a high percentage of a cold audience who clicks into video 1, also go on to watch videos 2, 3, 4, and 5, YouTube knows it has a winning creator. An audience is building a relationship with this person. This ultimately means more time on their platform.

Writers choosing to pursue newsletters or blogs or podcasts may be wondering how any of this retention stuff even applies to them. The truth is that the psychology embedded into the design of these platforms is something we can all learn from. And this is almost identical to how Amazon works. Although they are even more opaque about the inner workings of their algorithmic discovery system, authors know that a series with high read-through rate is just about the best thing that can happen for someone’s career. These other types of content are only extensions of that core psychology. When you develop a relationship with your audience that feels real and makes them want to come back for more, you win.

There’s no way to hack this system. If there was, everyone would do it. The key to creating successful content as an author-creator lies in the same ingredients that make your stories so great. It’s about creating a world people want to be a part of. A process you want to regularly engage with. And creating things that inspire you and feed into your larger vision and mission for your career.

Note from Jane: Join me and Michael for a free discussion about The Creator Economy on Jan. 8.

The Biggest Mistake Even Expert Writers Make

Today’s post is by author and editor Ken Brosky (@Grendelguy).

I was watching a TV series based on a popular novel the other week, curious about how the showrunners were going to adapt it to the big screen. Turning a book into a movie or series can be a daunting task in the best of circumstances, even if you leave out the messy business of Hollywood. But in the case of this particular TV series, my curiosity was more focused on whether the show would lose steam two-thirds of the way through. That’s because I’d read the book it was based on, and I remember distinctly losing interest just past the midway point.

Much to my surprise, the TV series remained faithful to the book on a level that I’m sure would make most authors ecstatic. The problem is that the TV series fizzled two-thirds of the way through. And I knew exactly why: the protagonist got too comfortable.

Robert McKee talks in his amazing book Story (which I highly recommend) about the Principle of Antagonism. He says: “A Protagonist and his story can only be as intellectually fascinating and emotionally compelling as the forces of antagonism make them.” That’s a pretty wild statement! Especially since many of us writers have been taught for years that character development trumps everything else. Heck, there are entire websites dedicated to helping writers develop realistic characters! We make notes of what they eat, what they’re scared of, who their parents were, even when they go to sleep every night.

But McKee is right. And it’s important to think about antagonism not simply as an arch-villain (like Thanos from the Marvel movies). Rather, think about antagonism as any force that pushes back against your hero. Anything that gets in your hero’s way—whether it’s external or internal—is an antagonist. Audiences don’t want their hero to spend six chapters relaxing. Audiences want their hero tested, prodded, hurt, damaged, frightened, confused, and—above all—struggling. It’s a little sadistic, I know! But the fundamental truth of storytelling is that the forces of antagonism define your hero.

That’s why this particular TV series couldn’t hold my interest throughout, same as the book. There was literally an entire episode where the hero sat around and talked to other characters. No conflict. No antagonism in sight. An entire hour.

Let me give you an example of a masterclass in antagonism. Take Josh Malerman’s novel Bird Box. Not only do the forces of antagonism define our hero, Malorie, they become more intense as the story develops. The story begins with an event: creatures suddenly appear all over the world. Anyone who looks at them goes insane. Malorie must navigate this frightening new world with her eyes closed. She eventually encounters other people who have hidden away in a house and covered all the windows. But there’s friction in the group, and Malorie must deal with that while also considering her pregnancy. Then a new guy named Gary shows up and turns out to be bad news. Gary sows further discontent before he’s kicked out … but one of the house members secretly hides him in the basement. Gary and this other house member secretly continue antagonizing everyone, including Malorie.

The climax arrives when Gary lets the monsters into the house. Chaos ensues, and Malorie is the only survivor! But that’s not where the story ends. Because part of the story takes place later, when Malorie and her two children are trying to escape on a boat by the river. In these moments interspersed throughout the book, you might think the author will give us a breather. But no—the river is treacherous, and the monsters are everywhere. Malorie must deal with them while also constantly stressing about keeping her children safe and blindfolded on this journey.

Whew! Now those are some real forces of antagonism!

So here’s the most important point: direct your energy to the negative side of your story. Your audience won’t remember the chapter where your hero sits down and has a nice, relaxing dinner. Your audience will remember the forces of antagonism, and how your hero reacted.

3 Critical Questions to Ask Yourself Before You Draft (or Revise!) a Novel

Photo by Volodymyr Hryshchenko on Unsplash

Today’s post is by regular contributor Susan DeFreitas (@manzanitafire), an award-winning author, editor, and book coach.

As an independent editor and book coach, I’ve worked with writers at every stage of the writing process, from those first brainstorming exercises all the way through to the polished final draft.

I’d like to think that I’m able to be of service at virtually any stage of this process. But, friends, I have a confession to make: I wish a lot of people came to me (or someone like me) sooner.

Because so often, a writer has spent years of their life working on a novel that runs to 300+ pages before they seek out qualified feedback—which means that I’m the one who has to break the bad news that their 300+ page epic really just does not hang together at all.

Yes, I’m talking about story structure. Not story structure as in Three Act, or Four Act, or Save the Cat or any of those (though I think those are all fine formats to work with, should you find them a fit for your project).

Rather, I’m talking about structure on a deeper level.

The way I see it, it doesn’t matter what higher-level story structure you’re working with, whether it’s as traditional as the Hero’s Journey or as experimental as the story spiral explored by Jane Alison in Meander, Spiral, Explode: Design and Pattern in Narrative—there are three levels that your story must hold together on if it’s going to read like a story.

1. Character

Critical question: Does your protagonist have a real character arc?

A character arc is some way that the protagonist grows and changes over the course of the novel—some important way that the events of the story push them to see the world differently, and change.

Novels that lack a real character arc can be well written, and moving at the level of the scene, and perhaps even have some truly poignant moments. But they don’t tend to have a strong emotional effect on the reader—and in the end, such stories tend to feel like they’re lacking that certain something that makes a novel satisfying to read.

That certain something is a sense of meaning—the sense that the story was about something more than just the events of the plot.

Some writers seem to regard the protagonist’s character arc as something akin to bookends—something you can tack on at the beginning of the novel, showing the protagonist’s internal issue, and then again at the end, showing us how they’ve overcome it.

But a real character arc—meaning, an arc that has real emotional power—runs the whole length of the story, giving it a sense of internal depth and dimension. There’s no major external event of the plot that doesn’t connect with this internal transformation, and this is part of what makes the story as a whole feel “of a piece.”

2. Plot

Critical question: Do the events of your plot have a strong causal relationship?

Recently, Allison K Williams shared an excellent post on this blog about using a synopsis to fix your book. In that post, she pointed out that any sequence of events in your synopsis that can only be related via the words “and then” rather than the words “therefore” or “but” denote danger zones in your novel: places where the story is bound to drag, and feel slow from your reader’s point of view.

Figuring out where your story begins is largely a matter of zeroing in on this question: What is the event that precipitates every other? Which event acts as the tipping point that sets into motion a tightly linked chain of cause and effect?

If you’ve started too early in the story—too far away from that critical tipping point—your reader will experience your opening as slow.

Likewise, if there are too many things that happen in the story after that inciting incident that aren’t actually part of that chain of cause and effect, you’re going to have sections that feel slow, lacking in narrative momentum.

3. Goals and motivations

Critical questions: Does your protagonist have a higher-order goal in your novel? Does what they’re doing make sense, in terms of trying to achieve that goal? And is the way the world responds to those efforts convincing?

There are many ways that issues with story logic can hide in plain sight in your novel, and getting to the bottom of them is generally just a matter of taking a good, hard look at each of the major turns of the story.

These issues tend to be easier to see in an example, so let’s say that your protagonist is from a small Midwestern town, and her higher-order goal (the one she’ll be trying to achieve over the course of the novel) is to become a big-city journalist.

So what does she do in order to pursue that goal? Let’s say she up and moves to San Francisco.

How did she conceive of that idea? Why San Francisco and not Chicago? And if she doesn’t already know anyone in San Francisco, or have a job lined up—well, have you established exactly why your protagonist would decide to do something that risky, that totally out of the blue?

If the answer is no, then you have an issue with backstory and characterization that will have to be addressed if this turn of your story is going to make sense to your reader.

Say the protagonist meets her love interest on her first day in the big city and he tells her he can get her a job writing for the online news magazine where he works if she’ll pretend to be his girlfriend while his parents are in town.

What does this guy think he’ll accomplish by convincing his parents he has a girlfriend when he actually doesn’t? Why doesn’t he have a real girlfriend? And why did he pick this particular young woman to be his pretend girlfriend, rather than someone he already knows?

Again: If you don’t know the answers to these questions—or if those answers aren’t clear to the reader—then the story itself won’t feel convincing.

Same thing with the way the world responds to the events of your story. Imagine that something our would-be big-city journalist and her beau wind up doing gets recorded in public, and posted to social media, and that video goes viral. Why did it go viral? What was it about this video that captured so many people’s imaginations?

If you don’t have a convincing reason for this to happen, then the story development will not feel convincing to your reader—which has the potential to tank the whole story, if there’s not an easy fix for that issue in revision.

Save yourself time and stress! Make sure your novel is sound at each of these fundamental levels before you spend years of your life on it—so you can work with folks like me on fine-tuning that masterpiece, rather than rebuilding it from the ground up.

Is an Editor Worth the Money?

Ask the Editor is a column for your questions about the editing process and editors themselves. It’s a place to bring your conundrums and dilemmas and mixed feelings, no matter how big or small. Want to be considered? Learn more and submit your question.

This month’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by The Shit No One Tells You About Writing Podcast. Step up your writing game and meet fellow writers with The Deep Dive Workshop, a 10-week series from the podcast hosts of The Shit No One Tells You About Writing. Each week you’ll hear from expert writers and editors, followed by workshops led by Bianca, Carly or CeCe.

Question

I’m a few pages away from finishing a first draft of a multi-generational novel that runs about 500 pages, which I plan to pitch to agents and traditional publishers. After two years of revisions and polishing, I feel the draft is in good shape (don’t we all?) but am wondering if I should pay for a professional editor to look at it or just get feedback from beta readers. Is an editor worth the money? Note that I have published a nonfiction book before with an indie publisher but this is my first novel. Appreciate your thoughts.

—Seeking advice in Pennsylvania

Dear Seeking:

I often joke that the least-popular answer in this business—and yet the one that applies most often—is “it depends.” That’s the answer to both of your questions, but let me elaborate a bit on each one.

Should I Hire an Editor?

Whether a professional editor might be useful at this point depends on where you are in your drafting process, on your goals for a particular manuscript, and on what type of edit you’re considering.

Where you are: Every author seems to define “first draft” differently—from the raw initial “vomit draft” to the first revised version that you’ve taken as far as you’re able to on your own. Judging from your description, it sounds like your first draft is the latter.

That can be a great time to seek an editor, if you plan to—but you asked about seeking beta readers at this point, and for my money (literally), that and/or critique partners is where I’d start.

Before you pay a professional the often thousands of dollars a developmental edit can cost, why not see how well what you’ve done on your own is working on the page through the eyes of some trusted readers? The feedback they offer may help you see any weaknesses in the story and fine-tune even further—and then you can determine whether to hire an editor.

Your goals and type of edit: I’m assuming (despite the rampant dangers of doing so) that you are referring to a developmental edit with your question. You mention that you are planning to submit this story to agents—some of whom may offer editorial feedback—and to seek a traditional publisher, where you will get developmental editing in-house. In that case hiring your own editor may not be necessary.

But that presupposes that your manuscript is solid and marketable enough to pass through these gatekeepers. That’s a hard thing to determine—but this self-editing checklist may help you assess whether you’re ready for prime time, as can feedback you receive from critique partners and beta readers.

And of course if you’ve been submitting and are getting only rejections or crickets, that may be another indication that you might strengthen the story with the help of a pro. As is your gut—I find most authors have an intuitive sense of when something isn’t quite working as well as they want it to, or that certain areas of the story don’t hold together as strongly as they could, even if they may not be certain what it is or how to address it. That’s where an editor can help.

You won’t likely need to hire a copyeditor for a traditional publishing path unless you have major grammar/spelling/usage issues that may negatively impact agents’ and editors’ experience of your manuscript.

For authors considering self-publishing, I highly recommend a professional developmental editor as well as a copyeditor and a proofreader so that their story and mechanics are at a competitive level with traditionally published books, which will have gone through these processes. Sometimes this applies to small presses too, some of which may not offer comprehensive or deep editing.

One thought specific to your situation I’d like to add is that while you don’t mention word count, 500 industry-standard formatted pages translates to about 125,000 words. While that’s an acceptable length for some fiction, higher page count means higher production costs, and publishers may not always be willing to invest the extra money in an unproven debut author (which you’ll likely be considered, as this is your first work of fiction).

That might make it harder to find a publisher, and a good development editor may be able to help you see how to tighten the story to a more marketable length.

Is a Professional Edit Worth It?

Your second question—is an editor worth the money?—has the same squishy answer: It depends.

A good, in-depth, constructive professional developmental edit is worth every penny of the often significant investment. It will pinpoint areas of weakness you may have been blind to, gaps you may not have seen because you are filling in the blanks in your head, and unclear or underdeveloped areas that may hamper a reader’s investment and engagement in your story.

A good editor will not just offer objective, constructive feedback, but will make it actionable, specifying why something may not be working as well as it could, and also pointing you toward concrete ways to address those areas—all, ideally, while respecting your vision and your voice and helping you get them on the page as effectively as possible. And it will improve your skills in these areas for your subsequent manuscripts.

But an unskillful edit is not only a waste of money, but can do more damage to your story and you as a writer than nearly anything else, potentially pushing your story in a direction you didn’t intend, diluting or hijacking your voice or vision, and even undercutting your confidence in your writing and yourself.

All edits—and all editors—are not created equal, and it’s of highest importance to carefully vet anyone you’re considering working with for their qualifications, experience, skill, and how well they “get” you and your intentions (preferably with a sample edit, which I usually recommend not hiring a developmental editor without).

Jane and editor Chantel Hamilton have a great guide here for making sure you hire someone who will elevate your work (and red flags to watch out for), I have tips here as well, including where to look for reputable editors. It takes time and effort to carefully vet an editor, but it pays off exponentially.

If you are self-publishing, a good professional copyeditor and proofreader will also rank among the best money you can spend. Readers can be brutally unforgiving of mistakes and typos, and unlikely to get past sloppy mechanics no matter how good your story is. As with development editors, make sure to hire pros with solid experience in your medium (i.e., book publishing, rather than academics or journalism, for example).

I’m not of the school of thought that every author needs to hire a professional editor with every manuscript—I know plenty of authors who have sold books without doing so. But if you’ve stretched yourself to the utmost and done all you can, and still have reason to suspect your story is not quite “there” yet, a good, reputable edit may be just the resource you need to push you across the finish line.

—Tiffany Yates Martin

This month’s Ask the Editor is sponsored by The Shit No One Tells You About Writing Podcast. Step up your writing game and meet fellow writers with The Deep Dive Workshop, a 10-week series from the podcast hosts of The Shit No One Tells You About Writing. Each week you’ll hear from expert writers and editors, followed by workshops led by Bianca, Carly or CeCe.

Before You Hire a Developmental Editor: What You Need to Know

Today’s guest post is a Q&A by Sangeeta Mehta (@sangeeta_editor), a former acquiring editor of children’s books at Little, Brown and Simon & Schuster, who runs her own editorial services company.

In 2020, when I was heading the project to update the rates chart for the Editorial Freelancers Association (EFA), I asked our group of volunteers to update and define several editorial skills. If we were going to survey the membership about their rates, then our group, the membership, and potential clients all needed to have the same understanding of the editorial work in question.

Defining “copyediting” and “proofreading” was a straightforward task that sparked little debate. But when it came to “developmental editing,” it was nearly impossible to come to a consensus. Some saw developmental editing as a partnership between a writer and editor to “develop” a manuscript; others suggested that such an exchange of ideas would be considered “coaching” or “consulting.” Some insisted that “line editing” is a part of developmental editing; others were adamant that line editing is an entirely separate service. Most people in our volunteer group were not fans of the term “substantive editing” since all editing is, arguably, substantive.

Two years later, I’ve continued to notice a wide range of approaches when it comes to freelance developmental editing. Those who specialize in trade books—or books targeted to a mainstream audience—also seem to have a different perspective from those who specialize in books for an academic or niche audience. To take a deep dive into the nuances of my focus, developmental editing of trade books, I spoke with longtime colleague Julie Scheina and new colleague Susan Chang, both of whom have similar training to me in that we have all worked for corporate trade book publishers. We differ, however, in terms of our specific work experience, years spent in the field, and genre interests. What follows is an edited version of our Zoom conversation.

To start, can you explain your definition of developmental editing? Is it the same or different from substantive, structural, comprehensive, and/or content editing? Where do editorial letters—better known in our field as “edit letters”—fit in? Are assessments, critiques, evaluations, and/or line edits part of your developmental editing services?

Julie Scheina: Funnily enough, it was only when I became a freelance editor that I heard the term “developmental editing.” When you work in-house for a publisher, different positions are assigned to each stage: there are editors who focus on acquisitions and developmental edits; copyeditors who focus on copyediting; and proofreaders who focus on proofreading. In the freelance world, it’s possible for one person to offer all of those services at different stages of the editorial process, and that’s where some of these confusing and overlapping terms come into play.

To me, developmental editing is any editorial feedback that helps the author strengthen and develop their manuscript between the initial draft and when the manuscript is ready for copyediting, proofreading, and publication. Different editors may call this substantive, structural, comprehensive, or content editing—to my knowledge they all mean basically the same thing.

The type of developmental editing that I provide for authors depends on the stage of the manuscript and the author’s needs. If the manuscript is in the earlier stages, I often provide a critique. This is a big-picture assessment of the manuscript’s core strengths and weaknesses. Usually critiques are shorter—around two or three pages—whereas a full editorial letter is typically longer and offers more specific feedback beyond those core areas.

I also offer line edits, depending on whether the manuscript is ready for that level of detail and if that’s how the author prefers to receive feedback. Some authors like to receive developmental line edits in earlier drafts, while others like to wait until their manuscript is further along.

Susan Chang: I had the same experience! I had never really used the term “developmental editing” before I got into freelancing. For me, it’s the same as global, structural, or content ending. And within that framework, I offer two different services: “manuscript assessments” and “developmental edits,” and the manuscript must be a completed draft. Any work prior to that stage I charge under my coaching rate. I have definitions on my website and on my rate sheet. If a writer has trouble deciding because they don’t understand the difference, I will share examples of a manuscript assessment and a developmental edit letter from clients who have given me permission to share these materials.

If we make an analogy to medicine, the assessment is the diagnosis. When I do an assessment of a manuscript, I diagnose the big global issues. The developmental edit is the prescription, so it deals with those issues in more depth, and I am offering suggestions for ways to fix the issues. This analogy to medicine might be pretentious—we’re not saving lives—but it comes from a task I was given when I started my career at HarperCollins Children’s Books: I was asked to transcribe a talk that legendary editor Ursula Nordstrom had given. She actually did say this—that, as an editor faced with a manuscript, you must take what amounts to the Hippocratic oath: First, Do No Harm. In the speech, Nordstrom pointed out that creative spirits can be harmed by careless, thoughtless comments. And as editors, we want to preserve that creative spirit.

Line editing is something that I will only do under special circumstances. If the writing is fairly strong and polished, and I think I can help bring it to another level, then I’m more apt to take it on. But if I’m needing to actually fix grammar and clarify meaning, then it’s too time-consuming and I won’t take it on.

Sangeeta Mehta: One reason I asked this question is that editorial organizations also vary in their definitions of “developmental editing.” While the EFA defines and offers classes on developmental editing, Editors Canada doesn’t name this skill as one of its four core editorial skills (though it does point out that the first of these skills, “structural editing” is also known as “developmental editing”). Since we tend to use medical terminology in our field, the reference to the Hippocratic Oath is fitting! For example, “book doctoring” is another common but ambiguous editorial specialization; some would call it heavy developmental editing while others would liken it to ghostwriting. All this is to say that writers should find out what exactly their developmental editor has in mind before hiring them.

For a writer seeking to improve their craft with the goal of landing a traditional trade book deal, how important is it to find a developmental editor who has worked in the field? Could an editor who has written or taught trade books, edited trade books on a freelance basis, or who closely follows industry news be just as effective as someone who has been in the trenches, so to speak?

SC: You don’t necessarily need to have worked in traditional publishing to be able to help an author improve their story. When I was starting my business, I asked a good friend, an author and a writing coach who leads retreats, and who has never worked in traditional publishing, to show me an example of one her editorial letters, and it was honestly one of the most impressive editorial letters I’ve ever read. She was amazing in terms of the craft.

That said, what an editor with in-house experience can offer you, that is not going to come from anyone who has not been in the industry, is the marketing sensibility about what is commercial. We have an instinct for if a book is going to be commercial enough for traditional publishing because it’s been beaten into us as (acquiring) editors. You need a hook and a target market, and this needs to be articulated to everyone you’re pitching the book to, from agents all the way down the line to the end consumer, the reader. So, if your goal is to be traditionally published, then you might prefer someone with this kind of insider knowledge.

JS: I think that the type of experience someone has is more important than where they got that experience. There are many teachers and authors who have a wealth of experience providing constructive editorial feedback. At the same time, being an experienced author or teacher doesn’t automatically equate to being an experienced editor. Each role requires different skill sets. Effective editorial feedback is specific as well as actionable. An editor should not just be able to identify a weak character arc, for example, but also give the author suggestions for how to strengthen that character.

Personally, I do feel that working in-house at a large traditional publisher gave me a valuable depth and breadth of experience. Editors who have worked in-house can often provide insight into publishing’s many confusing and complicated processes. But I would never say that an editor who hasn’t worked in-house can’t help writers improve their craft, because I’ve seen many examples to the contrary.

SM: While some of the best editors I know are educators and authors or are self-taught, I agree that those who have worked in publishing house—large or small, corporate or independent—are more likely to think critically about how books fit into the marketplace. (Freelance editors who have previously worked as literary agents are even better trained in this kind of thinking, but if they are actively agenting at the same time they are running an editing business, they should abide by the Association of American Literary Agents’ canon of ethics to avoid a potential conflict of interest.) If I don’t consider the premise and competition when I’m editing, then I find myself working at the sentence or paragraph level rather than holistically. However, I imagine that authors at the beginning stages of their careers or who are open to self-publishing might be happier with someone who prioritizes craft over market concerns.

On this same note, how important is it for the editor to have experience in the writer’s genre and category? For example, do you think that a former acquiring editor of adult novels can effectively edit teen novels? What about someone who has years of experience at a mystery or romance imprint? Should a writer trust this editor with their work of nonfiction—children’s or adult?

JS: Many genres and age groups do overlap, though there are some important distinctions between certain categories. I’ll use myself as an example. My focus is solely on fiction, and one piece of advice I give to authors is to finish their full manuscript and revise it before they begin querying. However, the process for nonfiction is very different. Nonfiction is often sold on a proposal, some sample chapters, and a table of contents or an outline. Because I don’t edit nonfiction, my advice and experience wouldn’t be as helpful or applicable.

Likewise, readers of certain genres may have specific expectations or tropes, such as a “happily ever after” in romance. Editors generally need to have a foundational knowledge of typical tropes in the genres they edit, even when an author is working to subvert readers’ expectations.

When it comes to age group distinctions, there’s definitely more overlap between young adult thrillers and adult thrillers than between young adult thrillers and adult nonfiction. Sometimes an author may not be sure whether their book is a better fit for middle grade versus young adult readers, for example, or for young adult versus adult. In these cases, an experienced editor can help authors to position their book for the right market.

If an editor doesn’t usually edit a certain category or genre, I’d advise authors to consider the specific type of feedback they are seeking and whether the editor’s experience is a good match. For example, I’ve had authors who’ve said, “I know you don’t usually edit adult fiction, but I’d like your thoughts on this character arc because your character development notes on my young adult book were helpful.”

SC: I have a lot of thoughts here. I always say that in terms of genre, the children’s book people are generalists and adult editors are specialists. What children’s book editors do have specialized knowledge about is their target audiences. There are certain nuances of editing for specific age ranges that we have internalized that editors who have only worked on adult books might not be aware of. Fewer adult professionals read or are familiar with children’s or YA books. Whereas children’s book editors are adults, and we read adult books all the time!

Generally, I think that anyone with a good sense of storytelling and craft can edit anything, but for children’s and young adult books, there has to be a genuine sensibility for the specific audience.

SM: Sometimes one’s specialization depends on where in the field they land. For example, I’ve worked at companies that specialize in literary fiction, business books, and children’s books because these are the jobs that have come my way, so I have applied some of these experiences to my editing business. None of my past employers have focused on commercial fiction for adults, but I actively take on such projects because I tend to read in this area more than in others. Writers might ask the editor they are considering hiring about their reading interests and tastes, if the editor doesn’t have demonstrated experience in the writer’s genre, age category, or literary form.

Most independent developmental editors base their fees on their past work experience. This means that a former SVP at Random House who had a hand in publishing international bestsellers, for instance, is likely to charge a higher—in some cases, exorbitant—fee as compared to an editor who acquired for a lesser-known house and didn’t climb the corporate ladder. But is the writer necessarily getting a better editor? Better industry contacts, assuming the editor chooses to share them?

SC: I don’t think that the level an editor reached in the industry correlates to how much they can charge–I definitely didn’t take that into consideration when setting my rates. But if any editor or former SVP can convince clients to give them exorbitant fees because they got higher up on the ladder, more power to them.

Clients aren’t necessarily getting a better editor, because, as I mentioned earlier, I know amazing editors who have never worked at a publisher. Nor do I think that sharing industry contacts is or can ever be part of the service. If I believe in a project, and if I genuinely believe I can help the client get to the next stage, whether that is finding an agent or suggesting that their agent share it with certain editors, I will share contacts. But I don’t know that when I’m signing them, so that never comes into the computation of the fee.

JS: In publishing, you’re often given more managerial responsibilities as you rise higher on the ladder, so you’re not necessarily editing more than you were before; you may be editing fewer, higher-profile books and managing other editors, for example. That’s one of the reasons that I love freelancing—it allows me to focus fully on editing rather than juggling the other responsibilities of an in-house editor.

Editors with higher titles and who worked on higher-profile books are likely more visible, which means they may be more in demand and able to charge higher fees. However, while a title can show how valued an editor was at their publishing house, I don’t think that title alone is always an accurate barometer of editorial skill. I’d place greater value on an editor’s years of experience working on specific books in an author’s category and genre. Personally, I feel like I’m always learning as an editor. Every author I work with and every book I work on teaches me something new, and I’m able to pass that on to the next author I work with.

In terms of industry contacts, I enjoy helping authors with their query letters and answering questions about the submissions process. But I advise authors that it’s in their best interests to research agents themselves, even though it’s a time-consuming process. Researching agents allows authors to get a better sense of whether they connect with an agent’s communication style, if the agent’s advice resonates with them, and generally whether the agent might be a good fit for them and their work.

SM: We’ve all had a hand in editing bestselling books, communicating with famous authors, and making deals with powerful literary agents. When working for a corporate publisher, this comes with the territory. But I agree that this experience doesn’t correlate with an editor’s ability to edit. Acquiring books and shepherding them through the publishing process is a different skill from developmental editing. If an author hires an editor based solely on the editor’s portfolio and the allure of contacts it could lead to, it’s possible, but not likely, that their expectations will be met.

At what point in their career do you recommend that a writer hire a developmental editor? At the idea or outline stage? Once they’ve completed a draft? Or once they have taken their draft as far as they can, after incorporating feedback from beta readers and/or critique partners?

JS: Ideally, I encourage authors to try to take their manuscript as far as they can on their own before they pay for professional feedback, particularly if they are budget conscious or if they’re relatively new to writing books. This may mean making connections with critique partners, writing groups, or other trusted readers who can share initial feedback, or even just putting the manuscript away for a few weeks and then rereading and revising it. These steps can help authors identify issues that may be readily apparent and can allow the professional editor to share feedback that’s more specific and nuanced than it would be with an initial draft. Forming strong connections within the writing community can also be invaluable for authors over the course of their career.

While this approach is more cost-effective than hiring an editor for every pass, of course the trade-off is time. Not everyone has access to trusted readers or the time to form those connections before moving forward with their manuscript. Likewise, some authors find it helpful to get professional feedback on an outline or on multiple story ideas before moving forward. So there isn’t one perfect time or one best way to approach the process—it depends on authors’ needs, budget, and schedule.

SC: It’s definitely based on how much budget you have. If you have a finished draft that is very raw, and you can afford to pay for multiple rounds of developmental editing, that’s great. But if you can only afford one round of developmental editing, then definitely get your draft as far as possible yourself before you hire that editor. It will save you time.

You might work with a bunch of beta readers or with a critique group, but when you’re ready for a professional read, you will probably be shocked at how much more you’re going to get from the professional. There’s a difference in the quality of feedback. A professional editor is not your friend. They’re not trying to spare your feelings. They will approach the criticism with honesty–and hopefully with some tact and compassion, which is how I always try to do it.

That being said, I do offer editorial coaching at an hourly rate to take ideas from concept to synopsis to outline to first draft. For example, I’m working with a client now: I asked him to give me twenty-five ideas, one sentence each. One of them is a slam-dunk to pitch as a series, so we worked on outlines for the first two books. He’s writing drafts and then I’m going to help him put together a series proposal.

SM: I feel that I’m most helpful when working either on a completed draft or on the first several chapters of a novel plus a synopsis or outline. But yes, a writer can find that it’s just as or more effective to work with an editor at an earlier stage of the writing process. In some cases, the editor might function as more of a sounding board or accountability partner than as a developmental editor. But again, this skill is open to interpretation, and such support might be exactly what the writer needs to develop their manuscript.

Many copyeditors, especially those who are new to freelancing, offer a free sample edit to help potential clients make an informed hiring decision. Should writers expect the same of developmental editors? Request references or speak with them on the phone? Do you think it’s best for writers to go with an editor who offers written feedback, or can oral feedback be just as valuable when it comes to developmental editing?

SC: I never do sample edits, because I don’t think you can do a sample edit for a global process like developmental editing or even a manuscript assessment, but I will provide examples of previous work if asked. What I offer instead is to read a potential client’s query package and then set up a free consultation to give them my preliminary thoughts based on the sample.

I always provide written feedback, but some of my coaching clients seem to prefer to discuss my feedback in addition, or like to brainstorm over Zoom, so I’m happy to set up weekly or biweekly brainstorming sessions. I’m pretty flexible because I enjoy working in all different ways, and I tailor the approach to each client, because different writers process feedback in different ways.

JS: Developmental editing is different from copyediting in this way, because it requires an understanding of how the characters and story progress over the course of the full manuscript. To me, providing a sample developmental edit on ten pages of a full-length novel would be like writing a restaurant review after taking one bite of an appetizer—it’s not really feasible or helpful.

While I don’t provide sample developmental edits, I often talk to authors beforehand so that they can ask questions and get a sense of my approach as well as the overall process. That personal connection can be helpful when authors are making the difficult decision of who to entrust with their work, which is not something I take lightly.

In terms of feedback, I always make written notes as part of my editorial process. I’m a visual learner, and writing helps me to organize my thoughts and to be more specific and concise. So I almost always provide written notes, and then the author and I will set up a time to talk after they’ve had a chance to review them. Phone calls work well for follow-up questions because we can have more of a dialogue, or even a spontaneous brainstorming session. I also think that written notes are helpful because an author can return to them during the revision process, rather than trying to remember a conversation that may have happened weeks or months ago.

SM: I don’t know of any experienced developmental editors (those who have been in the industry for at least a few years) who offer sample edits. Most provide written comments in the form of an editorial letter. I’ve heard of editors delivering feedback on the phone without offering any written notes—but writers should keep in mind that this makes it easy for the editor to tell them what they want to hear without doing a deep analysis. I’ve also found that some writers are loath to interact with an editor on the phone but will gladly email or chat on an app. This is another reason writers should ask themselves what kind of feedback they prefer—casual or concrete.

We all know how subjective this industry is. One literary agent’s or acquiring editor’s taste can be vastly different from that of another. It’s no wonder we often hear the phrase, “it only takes one yes!” We also all have our individual tastes. That said, do you sometimes encourage writers to consult with different developmental editors before they delve into revisions?

JS: My view is that the earlier someone is in the writing process, the more people they can consult with for feedback. So if an author has an initial idea or wants to talk about a particular part of their book, for example, then they might run it by their writing group. As authors move forward with their manuscript, I recommend they narrow the amount of feedback they solicit until they are ultimately sharing their polished draft with only one or two trusted readers. Books are subjective, and it’s common for editors to give conflicting notes about the same manuscript. If authors try to incorporate feedback from too many different sources, their original voice and vision can start to become lost.

The subjective nature of editing is also one of the reasons why I always ask authors to share the first 10–15 pages of their manuscript with me, along with a plot summary and any other details about the project and their goals for working with an editor. If I don’t have a clear vision for how I can help the author strengthen their manuscript, then I’ll recommend that they consider reaching out to other editors. I’ve also advised authors who’ve completed a particularly significant or challenging revision to share the manuscript with a trusted fresh reader—someone who hasn’t read the previous drafts—in order to get a sense of whether the changes they’ve made are working effectively.

SC: I’m happy to recommend other editors if I’m not able to take a project on, either because I don’t have time or I don’t resonate with it. But I never recommend that they get multiple edits of the same pass because I think it’s counterproductive. You have to develop your own gut sense of what’s right for your own work in the end. Even when I was in-house, I always made sure to tell my authors: it’s your name on the book, so you always have final say.

And on this side of the desk, I always thank people for trusting me with their books, because it is a huge deal. But if you trust me with your book, then you kind of have to trust my feedback, assuming that it feels right to you; and if you’re listening to feedback from five other editors you’ve hired, and you have this sense of insecurity or paralysis, and you haven’t yet developed that author gut, then you’re not going to get anywhere.

SM: Admittedly, I sometimes encourage writers to seek feedback from other developmental editors. In the same way a patient might seek a second opinion from a doctor, a writer might want a second opinion from a reputable editor, especially if the first editor’s opinion isn’t sitting well with them. I’m flattered when writers ask me my opinion, but they should always trust themselves.

Are there any red flags writers should look out for in their search for an independent editor, perhaps an editor who subcontracts without informing their clients? Or for whom freelancing is a stopgap between salaried positions? After all, anyone can hang up their editor shingle, and none of us can promise our clients an agent or book deal. What are writers paying for, besides an opinion?

SC: I think that the biggest red flag is somebody with suspiciously low rates—so someone, for example, who will do a developmental edit on an 80,000-word manuscript for $500. Another red flag is an editor who doesn’t approach this job in a professional way. They should communicate with you in a reasonable timeframe; deliver their edits on time, and give you a professional level of feedback.

If the editor subcontracts and they tell you, and you’re okay with this, then it’s fine. If the editor is freelancing as a stop gap, then they have to finish their work with you no matter what.

A written agreement is also important because it validates the editor as a professional. It should spell out what that service is, when it’s due, what happens if the editor doesn’t deliver, payment terms, etc. Both parties have to protect themselves.

JS: It’s a red flag if an editor is reluctant to put the project terms in writing. I always share a written agreement that outlines the details the author and I have discussed, including the manuscript length, the type of editorial notes, the fee, and the delivery and payment schedules.

If you’re working with an editorial consulting group rather than with an individual editor, you should know which specific editor you’ll be working with before you move forward.

Lastly, editing is a skill that is honed with time and practice. Before you invest in working with a professional editor, take the time to research the editor’s experience. What’s their online presence like? Do they share other books they’ve edited, testimonials from other authors they’ve worked with, or other details about their experience? I believe it’s important for authors to find an editor who they trust—not only to identify the weaknesses of their book, but who has the necessary expertise to thoughtfully guide them in strengthening those weaknesses.

SM: Another red flag could be unusually high rates, especially from an editor who is just starting out. And yes, a written agreement or statement—but not necessarily a contract—is a must. I’ve heard of “handshake” deals between agents and writers, and this often leads to disappointment for the author. If an author is hiring a freelance editor, the terms should be very clear since a fee is involved.

Do you have any other advice for writers looking to hire a freelance developmental editor of trade books?

JS: Think carefully about what you hope to achieve by working with a freelance editor. In addition to the financial investment, do you currently have the time and creative energy to think deeply about your book and to complete revisions that may be challenging? How do you prefer to receive feedback? Do you connect with what you can see of the editor’s communication style?

Many freelance editors’ schedules become booked a few months in advance. When possible, authors should begin researching and reaching out to potential freelance editors in advance of when they’d like to start working together.

SC: Ask around for personal recommendations like you do when you’re hiring any professional, like an accountant or a lawyer. Do your due diligence, read testimonials and reviews, and definitely talk to the editor first. You’re entrusting that person with your hopes and your dreams and potentially years of your life. Traditional publishing is a small world. It’s based on relationships, reputation, and trust. And if your end goal is to be traditionally published, it’s on you to do your research, whether you’re looking for a freelance developmental editor to get your manuscript into the best possible shape to land an agent, acquisitions editors to add to your wish list, or your dream publishing houses to submit to. Good luck!

Julie Scheina is the owner of Julie Scheina Editorial Services, LLC, and a former senior editor at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. Julie has over fifteen years of experience editing acclaimed and bestselling books for children and young adults. She has edited more than 200 titles across a variety of genres, from picture books and poetry collections to middle grade and young adult novels, and she brings this depth of experience and industry knowledge to every project. Books that Julie has edited have spent more than 125 combined weeks on the New York Times bestseller list and include #1 New York Times bestsellers, a Lambda Literary Award finalist, a William C. Morris Young Adult Debut Award finalist, an Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy nominee, an Edgar Award nominee, Bram Stoker Award nominees, and a New York Times Best Illustrated Children’s Book. Julie also has a free resource for writers, Your Editor Friend, a series of weekly letters filled with writing guidance, revision advice, and encouragement.

Susan Chang is a freelance developmental editor with thirty years of experience acquiring books at Big Five publishers. She began her publishing career at HarperCollins Children’s Books, where she worked for nine years before moving on to shorter stints at Hyperion Books for Children (a former imprint of Disney Publishing Worldwide) and Parachute Publishing, a book packager. She was a senior editor at Tor Books (Macmillan Publishers) for seventeen years before launching Susan Chang Editorial. She lives in Queens, the most diverse borough of New York City. Learn more at susanchangeditorial.com.

Sangeeta Mehta (Mehta Book Editing) has worked in the book publishing field since the late 1990s. She has been an acquiring editor at both Little, Brown Books for Young Readers (the children’s division of the Hachette Book Group) and Simon Pulse (the teen paperback division of Simon & Schuster). At Little, Brown, she worked with debut authors and some of the most prominent names in publishing. At Simon Pulse, she acquired and edited commercial fiction and non-fiction and ran two paperback series. She later returned to Hachette to freelance-edit an international bestseller. Prior to working in New York publishing, Sangeeta was a projects manager/reader for West Coast literary agents Margret McBride and Charlotte Gusay. For six years, she served on the Board of Governors of the Editorial Freelancers Association, where she launched and chaired the organization’s Diversity Initiative. She has also served on the board of The Word: A Storytelling Sanctuary.

What I Learned From 90 Queries

Photo by Laura Crowe on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author Eva Langston (@eva_langston).

Don’t be fooled by the title. I’ve actually sent hundreds of queries for four different novels over the past decade. Without going into detail, I queried a novel and eventually got an agent, parted ways with that agent, queried some more, collected rejections, wrote three more novels, queried more, revised a lot, had some babies, and then got back to querying.

My summary: traditional publishing is a long game, so get yourself some gumption.

Now, when I say 90 queries, I’m talking about the queries I sent for my most recent novel. The novel that, after a year and a half in the query trenches, got me an agent. I’m now happily represented by the brilliant Ali Lake of Janklow & Nesbit.

In the fall of 2020, I started querying with what I thought was my best novel yet: a YA paranormal suspense. At first I was getting nothing but form rejections. So I sought advice from my writing group and revised the query letter and opening pages. But still, crickets. Finally I paid for a one-on-one Manuscript Academy meeting with agent Fiona Kenshole. And she laid a finger on why I wasn’t getting any requests.

I was already doing all the things:

Personalizing my query for each agentGiving the genre and word countEnding the summary with the stakes (“Now she must _____ or else _______.”)Including recent comp titles and a brief bio

But once I made the changes described below, I immediately started getting more manuscript requests—ten in total. Not bad in the challenging pandemic publishing environment. And, joy of all joys, one of those requests turned into an offer of representation.

How I changed my query letter

1. I tightened my query, getting rid of anything that wasn’t necessary and specific. I cut the summary part of my query from four paragraphs and 234 words to two paragraphs and 146 words. Think about how agents are reading queries: at night, after a long day of meetings, maybe on their phones on the subway. They are skimming query letters, only spending a minute or two on each one. If yours is long-winded or confusing, they will move on. So use short, concise paragraphs. Get to the point and tell what happens in your book.

2. My novel deals with a major mental health issue, so I worked with a sensitivity reader and mentioned that at the end of my query. I don’t know if this made a difference, but it certainly didn’t hurt, and I know it made my book better.

3. Most importantly, my novel is a mystery/suspense, but my first query letter was too vague because I was afraid to give away the “big twist.” When Fiona Kenshole asked me to tell her about my novel, I started blabbing about the big twist. “That’s fabulous,” she said. “WHY are you not putting that in the query?” I worried it was a spoiler, but she said it was okay to be spoilery because it was what made my story unique. Once I started giving away the big twist in my opening paragraph, I got a lot more agent interest.

In addition to giving away the big twist, I simply told more specifics of the story. Before I was being too coy, hinting at plot points instead of stating them outright. I was afraid of giving away too much, but vagueness is the kiss of death in a query. Better to go big and bold and, most of all, specific so your story will stand out to agents who read hundreds of queries a week.

Remember that agents are not reading your query like a regular reader. They are reading to see if it’s something they can sell. They’re looking for what will make your book stand out in a crowded market. Don’t be afraid to give away the good stuff. The good stuff is what gets their attention.

How I changed my first 10 pages

1. At first my book opened with the protagonist waking up in the middle of the night outside a graveyard. Spooky, yes. Not a bad way to start. But maybe not the most unique, especially for a paranormal novel. So when a friend from my writing group suggested I have my protagonist wake up somewhere else—somewhere equally creepy but less stereotypically spooky—I jumped on the idea. Now the book begins with the main character waking up in a stranger’s darkened kitchen.

Often you are only submitting your first five or ten pages to an agent. If those pages aren’t enough to snag their interest, you’ve lost your shot. Of course you should revise your entire manuscript, but pay extra close attention to your first pages. Are they conveying the right tone? Are they hinting at exciting things to come? Will they get your reader invested in the story?

2. Just like the query letter, I tightened my first ten pages. I cut unnecessary backstory and worked on the pacing. Fast pacing may not be the goal for every story, but certainly for MG/YA and for mystery/suspense, you want to make sure you’re not losing the reader’s attention by letting things drag. Readers of all genres are simply not as patient these days. If your story “really gets going” in Chapter 2, maybe that’s where it should start.

3. In the first few pages, my protagonist runs down the sidewalk in the middle of the night, back to her house. She’s terrified and confused, having woken up somewhere that is not her bed. She’s also barefoot and in her pajamas. It wasn’t bad, but it could have been better.

When I had my meeting with Fiona, she asked me, “Have you actually gone outside in the middle of the night and run down the sidewalk barefoot?” The answer was no, I had not. Fiona suggested I do so to help me better understand the sights and sounds in a neighborhood in the middle of the night, and what it feels like to run barefoot alone in the dark. After my midnight run, I rewrote the first two pages, making them more immediate, sensory, and visceral.

Parting thoughts

Querying can be hard and disheartening. You have to query the right agent at the right time with the right project. Sometimes it really is a numbers game. Even with an excellent query and opening pages, you’ll still get rejections. A lot of them. Just keep going. Celebrate the small things, like a personalized rejection. Start working on something new. And remember, it only takes one “yes” in a sea of “no.” The people who have success in traditional publishing are the ones who refuse to give up.

My final query letter

Dear Ms. Lake,

After seeing your recent #MSWL, I’m querying with my YA paranormal suspense, NOT MYSELF TODAY (81,000 words), in which a girl becomes possessed by a ghost with multiple personalities.

High school senior Natalie doesn’t believe in witchcraft. But in a desperate attempt to find her missing friend, Lorna, she agrees to do a midnight ritual with Lorna’s ex. It doesn’t seem to work, but in the weeks that follow Natalie starts sleepwalking. One night she blacks out at a party and wakes up hours later in the backseat of a stranger’s car with three hundred dollars in her purse and a new contact in her phone.

As she investigates what happened during those lost hours, she becomes convinced the ritual opened her up to the spirit world, and that she’s being possessed by a ghost. A ghost who is plotting a murder. And that this is all somehow connected to her missing friend. Now Natalie must use witchcraft to exorcise the spirit and save Lorna before she blacks out again…and someone ends up dead.

NOT MYSELF TODAY combines the psychological thriller tone of Kit Frick’s I Killed Zoe Spanos with the witchy vibes of teen movie The Craft. Other comp titles include The Door to January by Gillian French and All Our Hidden Gifts by Caroline O’Donoghue.

I am a former high school math teacher with my BA in Psychology and my MFA in fiction writing. My short stories have been published in literary magazines and nominated for the Pushcart Prize. I was previously represented by an agent (for a different novel), but he is no longer agenting. NOT MYSELF TODAY was reviewed by a sensitivity reader with a Dissociative Identity Disorder diagnosis.

Thanks so much for your time. I have pasted the first 10 pages below.

Most Sincerely,
Eva Langston
www.evalangston.com

Blurb Matters: A Quiet Manifesto

“Positive Affirmation” by the justified sinner is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Today’s post is by author Beth Kephart.

Say he wants a blurb, he wants it bad. He’ll give you less than a week to read a rushed PDF,  and the thing is, you hardly know him. Decades before, maybe, and as a favor to his editor, you wrote a boosting paragraph after his first book launched, but you’re pretty sure that doesn’t mean you’re friends.

Still, his need is urgent—you feel the pulse of desperation beneath the skin of his email. You say yes when you shouldn’t. You claw at your schedule, make reading time. You’re only a few grudging chapters in when you know the trouble you’re in. The blurb-seeker’s book is self-absorbed, self-pitying, self-aggrandizing, without beauty, and to protect your own name, to defend your own ethos, you must step aside. You must let the author know, and soon. You must write the kindest possible declination, and swallowing hard, you do.

Maybe this is hypothetical. Maybe it is true. But let’s continue on. Let’s say your no is not well received. Let’s say you become—increasingly—the object of the blurb-seeker’s ire. Let’s say the whole affair becomes so preposterous—your refusal to engage escalating his anger, his anger escalating into threats—that when you finally shut his emails down and step away, you’re left wondering what this thing is anyway, this thing we call the blurb?

A blurb is an advert, a puff, a commendation, a gloss, according to various dictionary definitions. Or, in the words of Rachel Donadio, writing years ago for The New York Times, blurbs “represent a tangled mass of friendships, rivalries, favors traded and debts repaid, not always in good faith.” Indeed. But how are we to manage them? What place are they to have in our literary lives? Is a blurb an obligation? An apprehension? A price? A prize?

I have, over the course of my writing life, done a lousy job of taking a definitive stance on blurbs. I have been inconsistent and hypocritical, grateful and suspicious, honored and unsure, careful and compromised. I have blurbed books I’ve loved for people I’ve loved and been humbled by the pleasure. I have said no when I should have said yes (I am so sorry). I’ve written blurbs for books I didn’t fully understand, and I’ve written blurbs that were elbowed out of use on account of the blurbs proffered by writers more sexy and glam than I am (but then why was I asked in the first place?). I have died a thousand deaths asking for blurbs for books of my own, then opened emails from dear friends saying, Please, ask me for a blurb. Then received the kindest blurb. Then stood in my office and looked all around—incapable of locating just the right words to express my gratitude.

I have been fazed by the giving and fazed by the taking, and I have been—equally—shamed.

Blurbs may be, as Donadio suggested, a kind of commerce, a means of exchange. But perhaps those who seek blurbs and those who write them might be helped, in this enterprise, by a shifted perspective. What if we began to view blurbs not as a branding or a boast, a quantifiable need, a checklist check, a ploy, but as a kind of offering to the writer during that particularly vulnerable, pre-launch time when the critics and the general public have not yet had their say. What if, in other words, we thought of the blurb as a means of returning the book to its maker, of yielding, to the author, that essential and unquantifiable sense that her work has been valued and seen, her story held in the mind of another, her words lifted from the page?

If we were to reposition blurbs in this way—as affirmations as opposed to marketing tools, as possibilities instead of prerequisites—wouldn’t that also shift the way we traffic in the thing? Wouldn’t we winnow the list of prospective blurbers to those whose readerly companionship we genuinely seek—because of who they are, which is different from the fame they are perceived to have achieved? Wouldn’t we turn down the noise on our chase? Wouldn’t we stop trying so hard to appease the marketing appointees? Wouldn’t we see each blurb as a gift and not a means? And wouldn’t we see each potential blurber not as an instrument or machine, but as a human being quietly engaged in a conversation that will have enduring meaning.

How Writing Your Synopsis Can Fix Your Book

Photo by cottonbro studio

Today’s post is by Allison K Williams (@GuerillaMemoir). Join her on Dec. 14 for the online class Second Draft: Your Path to a Powerful, Publishable Story.

Writers often dread writing a synopsis. After carefully composing scenes, fleshing out characters and establishing relationships, now we’re supposed to summarize the whole thing in under two pages? Plus, the stakes feel high. If a literary agent doesn’t love the synopsis, will your book ever reach publication?

But writing a synopsis should be done long before you’re ready to query agents. More than just a tool to sell your book, your synopsis is a roadmap to the next, stronger draft. After reaching the end of your manuscript for the first time—whether the process took 30 days of NaNoWriMo or several years of your life—sit down and write a synopsis.

Querying with a synopsis shows agents and publishers that your story hangs together. There’s a strong, intriguing beginning, an engaging middle, and a satisfying ending. The events make sense in the order they’re revealed. Effects have causes. Twists are genuinely surprising. Writing a synopsis for yourself after the first or second draft demonstrates the same elements—and reveals plot holes, unmotivated characters, and where the book gets (sorry!) boring. Then you can reverse-engineer from this simpler version of the book to fix those problems in the manuscript in your next draft.

Here’s a relatively pain-free way to write your synopsis while also identifying plot holes in your book, something I learned from Matt Stone and Trey Parker. You might not love the foul-mouthed humor of South Park and The Book of Mormon, but Stone and Parker are brilliant at story structure. Every scene is vital to the plot; every set-up pays off. In a visit to a film class at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, they tell the students to list the beats (the events) of their stories.

Trey Parker: …and if the words ‘and then’ belong between those beats, you’re [in trouble]. You’ve got something pretty boring. What should happen between every beat that you’ve written down, is either the word ‘therefore’ or ‘but’. So what I’m saying is that you come up with an idea, and it’s like ‘OK, this happens’ right? And then this happens.’ No, no, no. It should be ‘This happens, and therefore this happens. But this happens, therefore this happens.’

Literally we’ll sometimes write it out to make sure we’re doing it.

Matt Stone: This happened, and then this happened, and then this happens. That’s not a story. It’s ‘but’ ‘because’, ‘therefore’ that gives you the causation between each beat, and that’s a story.

Pull out your manuscript draft and list the major events. You don’t have to get into the weeds of individual conversations—stick to the key actions and choices.

Then try connecting each event to the next with a “But” “Therefore” “So” or “Because.” Is anything an “And then…” instead?

If a pair of events join with “and then…” your book is boring at that moment. If you’re writing a novel, figure out what the protagonist or antagonist needs to accomplish at that moment—if they need to react to something that just happened, can that reaction be an action or a choice instead of merely emotional impact? Could they initiate a new action?

Think about the difference between:

Anne Shirley is an orphan who goes to live with a new family. She finds out they might not want her after all, and then she tries to win them over. Also, she imagines a lot of stuff.

and

Anne Shirley can’t wait to meet her new family BUT they requested a boy orphan THEREFORE she must prove she’s loveable SO they’ll keep her. BUT she has a terrible temper THEREFORE when she’s teased about her hair she explodes…BUT she’s also very imaginative and can empathize with hurting and being hurt, THEREFORE her extravagant apologies win people over…

In a memoir, your connections may even jump through time.

My husband was an addict THEREFORE I went to Al-Anon to cope BUT I fell in love with another woman whose husband was also an addict. BECAUSE I wanted to stick out the marriage vows I gave her up. [AND THEN I recommitted to my marriage. AND THEN we fought about his addiction AND THEN we moved AND THEN we fought about money AND THEN we fought about the kids.] BUT ten years later she called me out of the blue BECAUSE she’d seen my husband’s obituary.

And you know what our imaginary memoirist just learned writing her synopsis? That Act Two of the memoir has more drama if the author cuts everything in brackets and opens with a phone call where two people pick their way through an emotional minefield and the reader finds out the husband (finally!) died when the Other Woman mentions it. After identifying that drama and tension in the synopsis, the writer can revise Act Two to open with the phone ringing instead the funeral of a guy the reader doesn’t like. Then the memoirist might examine the end of Act One, thinking, Hmmm, how can I leave the reader in suspense about whether or not he dies? Maybe the memoir has more tension if Act One ends with the hope of recommitting, instead of making the reader slog through another 10 years of failing marriage. If the opening scene of Act Two includes telling the Other Woman, “It didn’t get better,” then in four words the writer has done the work of forty boring pages of the same marital fight again and again.

As your final step in the But-Therefore-Because process, look back at any events in your book that didn’t make the list of important actions and choices. Make them earn their place. Why must this event be in the book? Does it duplicate the dramatic purpose of something on the list? Killing one’s darlings is much easier when you know they genuinely aren’t needed— and you’ll save precious writing hours by not bothering to revise events that aren’t needed in the book.

As writers, by focusing on cause and effect, we discover the basic structure of the book, just as an artist sketches in black and white before breaking out the paints. The simple lines of a sketch show where their proportions are off, or how many people can fit in a landscape before it looks cluttered. Problems are easier to find and fix on this simplified map.

Writing a synopsis from a first or second draft clearly demonstrates where your story shines and where it’s stuck. Find your twists and your turning points with a list. Make sure the biggest “But” “Because” and “Therefore” moments are big in the manuscript, too. And do it before wasting your writing time polishing scenes that are just “And Then.”

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, please join us on Wednesday, Dec. 14 for the online class Second Draft: Your Path to a Powerful, Publishable Story.