What I Learned By Being Edited (with visual aids)

Now that the editors have finished proofing Sex and Death in the American Novel, I am able to reflect. One thing I know for sure, authors need editors. I know in my deepest heart that I need them, so I listen when they question me or suggest changes, even if the child inside wants to thrash and scream. Often I take their advice. Sometimes I don’t, and those times are proving to be both instructive and gratifying.

Saying no when I am sure that changing a line will alter the way I want my reader to absorb the words I put down affirms that I do actually have a vision, intention, a reason for what I am doing. This has given me confidence during a process that seems designed to tear every last shred of belief in myself as a writer from my soul. It appears I survived; I am stronger than I was going in, and I have learned a lot.

One description that I held fast on--that every single editor strongly suggested I remove--was this:

  “the pretty waiter with the long braided hair”

Each time I had to explain why the waiter could indeed be pretty, I had to think for myself why it was important and why it was necessary to make the statement at all.   

The best way to describe what I am talking about is to throw up some pictures. I have been thinking lately about the idea of beauty, and words like “pretty” and what it means to be seen.* Who and what can we call beautiful? And what does it mean to be an object of beauty, especially if you are a man? We hardly ever use this word on men though some rightly deserve it for the same reasons women do.

Who remembers this lovely creature?
         
                                                            
                                                                                                            

It’s The Princess Bride! No wait, that’s this lovely creature…
                                        
                                                            

I came of age during a time when men and women in popular culture looked alot alike. 

                                                            

Maybe we actually don’t look that much different. If all the waxing joints blew up one day we would really know.

                                                            

Handsome or beautiful? What is the difference?  
    
                                                        


Beauty and substance…  


                                                 
                                                                

                                      Does it matter who is on top?







* This serves as a precursor to a more in-depth and personal post on beauty that I have been fiddling with for some time that features Mr. Rush Limbaugh! Stay tuned.