Editorial advice

I really like this post at Writer Unboxed: Following an Editor’s Advice—or Not

I like this because it’s a specific example of detailed, good editorial feedback and what the author did in response — and didn’t do. The author goes into detail: in the first version, my main character is urged one way and another; given editorial feedback, I gave my protagonist more agency and made him responsible for his own important decisions; I changed the plot in these ways to make that work.

Or, again:

“The plot right now is a bit episodic; I would love to see a more causal connection between events.”  Ronit also found the story slow, burdened by too much of what she called “interiority in repose.” Pacing was too leisurely; I gave too much emphasis to quotes taken from Ritz’s columns, and the story lacked physical action.

Fortunately, another effect of giving Ritz greater agency was to improve these other elements. It made for a tighter plot, and speeded up the narrative. It also led to fewer flashbacks, and fewer quoted passages from Ritz’s columns. Ritz was now in charge of a faster-moving story.

It’s just interesting to see all this specific detail: here are the weaknesses editors pointed to, here’s what I did, here’s what I decided was integral to the story and therefore didn’t change.

But there’s another explanation for why I resisted the reasonable advice of two capable editors: Their wish for more of the past might make for a better novel, but it would also be a different kind of novel. It would be more conventional. The past would serve to determine the present.

What I wanted was a story in which here-and-now words and deeds sufficiently reveal my characters. It’s how we reveal ourselves to others, by personal style and language, by words and deeds. We aren’t just the product of nature and nurture, but have the power to make free choices. I wanted Brady’s story to be true to this idea. …

Good post, especially for anybody who has worked with an editor, or is doing so right now, or plans to do so shortly.

I’ve agreed to beta read someone’s science fantasy novel as soon as I have time (I did say this wouldn’t be possible until around the end of the year and he said that was fine.) I don’t think I’m all that analytical, really, and I don’t think I’m necessarily that great at editing. But what I try to do is —

— Just read it like a reader, but note reactions. One huge, huge difference between reading like a reader and reading like an editor is that readers excuse all sorts of things. Readers say, “Huh, well, I guess it makes sense,” and keep reading; editors say, “Wait, what?” and then go back and forth through the story to decide if [whatever] actually does not make sense. I often find myself saying, “I’m sure it’s fine,” and then having to back up and say, “But wait, is it fine?” and think again.

— Query reactions: why did I react negatively at this point, and do I think other readers could be expected to, and why or why not — in other words, is this a strong personal preference that’s got nothing to do with general preferences?

— Oh, yes, also remember to note positive reactions, because it’s easy to focus on negatives when I’ve put on my critique hat.

— Specifically, how about the beginning, the ending, and whether I felt engaged all the way through, and if not, where that happened and also why.

— Compose the editorial letter, reviewing and rereading the book as I go.

And that’s basically how I do it. However, I rarely think of some things that Real Editors ™ probably think of all the time, such as

— Would it work better to combine these two characters or remove this character?

— Should this journey be compressed?

— Should something exciting happen here?

Instead, I think,

— Do I like these characters and find them engaging? Do I like the journey and find it engaging? Am I engaged and interested in general? And if the answers are yes, yes, yes, then I probably won’t notice superfluous characters or a slower pace.

Something that has become crystal clear to me because I get feedback from four or five early readers (not counting proofreaders, though feedback can happen there as well) is that every reader focuses on remarkably distinctive things — not just editing vs copy editing, continuity, or proofreading, which are also remarkably distinctive — I mean that every reader just cares about certain things much more than other readers. Thus, Kate draws little sketches of the floorplan and queries the movements of the characters within that room, for example, and no one else does that. And Kim points out I’m describing a scene sort of backward. And so on.

So … I think it’s possible to ask too many people to beta read, but I’m kind of leaning more and more toward thinking it’s also possible to ask too few people. Because you all help me so much, and everyone in a different way, and I guess these days I’d suggest no fewer than three beta readers, even though I also think it’s important to know when not to take advice — as the linked post points out, and that’s one reason I like this post.

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