What, anyway, does an editor do when she gets your seriously researched, soundly written, and carefully proofed manuscript? What are his motives, goals, and allegiances? Do they think they know more about your topic than you do after all that research?
I’ve been editing, and sometimes writing, for more than three decades, and can tell you where some of us are coming from.
Early in my career, I heard Ivan Doig talk about the process of getting his book This House of Sky published. It was accepted by something like the 28th publisher his agent (a volunteering neighbor) sent it to.
Then, Doig said, came the editing, which was “like being pecked to death by a duck.”
I immediately went out and bought a coffee mug with a duck on it, to keep on my desk and square away my perspective.
Editors are The Reader’s Advocate
Years later, a non-literary person asked me seriously “What does an editor do, anyway?” Lightning struck and I articulated not only a definition but also my philosophy. “An editor is an advocate for the reader and for the writer.” Her job is to make sure they understand each other.
That means that we have to ask dumb questions sometimes, which doesn’t mean we’re making fun of writers’ works. Or, we can try to fix things we don’t understand, and if we mess up, that’s a good message that the reader wouldn’t “get it” either.
Once I was editing a solidly researched piece on Montana saddle makers of the 19th century. I rewrote an awkward sentence and, when the author saw it, he said I had reversed what he intended to say. He also was kind enough to note that my misunderstanding showed him that the sentence truly needed to be redone.
You, the author, don’t have the luxury of sitting in the room with each of your readers while they read your article or book and ask you questions. We editors try to be all your readers at once.
Editors are on the Writer’s Side Too
But our hearts are also with you creators. Many of us also write, and all of us read fanatically. In fact, the best of us are generalists who know a little about many things–even if just enough to ask those dumb questions that send you back to your research notes for clarifying details. That’s so you’ll sound as good as you should.
F. Scott Fitzgerald is just one of a zillion masters of fiction who couldn’t spell worth a darn. Is that any reason to prevent the world from pondering and enjoying The Great Gatsby? Heck no, that’s why God invented Maxwell Perkins, the legendary Scribner’s editor who fixed such weaknesses!
Besides repairing spelling and punctuation, we solve grammar problems for you. We may suggest reorganizing your nonfiction completely, or ask you to kill off a minor but distracting character in your novel. Sometimes the publishing deal hangs on your agreement with the suggestions, and how well you carry them out. Sometimes we just hope you’ll see the book from the outside as we do.
We’re your first reader, and your “biggest reader,” in the sense of “I’m your biggest fan.” We know how good your content is, and want to make sure it comes through with rough edges filed away. We’re Myrna Loy straightening William Powell’s bow tie in The Thin Man.
For me, editing always includes negotiating with the author. I believe that some suggestions I make aren’t essential (just as I believe that others are). If some of those phrasings or thoughts are totally dear to your heart–okay, they can stay. But I still will mark them up, and ask whether you’re sure you want the text to read this way.
If you give me a good reason for needing to say a thing a certain way, I will agree. Needing to say? That happens in nonfiction when every finely finessed word counts, when the research shows that you have to fudge a statement so because it simply can’t be stated baldly. If I’ve “cleaned it up” to clarity that’s unwarranted, you can tell me, and we’ll take it back to fudge.
It’s We – the Writer & the Editor – Not Just the Editor
When I’m editing a manuscript, I feel very much “with” the author. This isn’t a contest or a grading situation. It’s the two of us working together to make sure this piece is the best.
It is definitely never about making your work sound as if I wrote it. Editors who approach their work with that attitude should be kicked out of the trade.
They’re out there, but definitely in the minority.
One thing I may have to do, though, is apply “house style.” That means that my employer, your publisher, requires numbers under 100 to be spelled out, not written in numerals. Or demands an end comma in a series. This isn’t between you and me, it’s just something you have to put up with to get your article or book published here.
Once I had to cut a fourth of the length from a nonfiction book manuscript, because the author was so enthusiastic about his topic that he just couldn’t stop. I warned him that the manuscript would be shortened, and he feared the worst. But when I’d changed all the prepositional phrases to simple possessives, and made other cuts that didn’t change content, he was delighted. He said my touch was “surgical.”
I was relieved, and still treasure the accolade.
Barbara Fifer is a freelance editor. She’s good; I know because I use her. She can be reached at: firstname.lastname@example.org
Image from http://www.sxc.hu