What I Wish I’d Known is a regular series where we ask some of our favourite people in the book industry to reflect on their careers. In this instalment, editors share some of the unexpected and useful things they’ve learned along the way about editing.
Top row, left to right: Jasmin McGaughey, David Winter, Lyn Dickens, Melissa Lane and Penny Hueston. Bottom row, left to right: David Golding, Adolfo Aranjuez, Armelle Davies and Gillian Hagenus.
Adolfo Aranjuez, freelance
It can be tough to temper the impulse to ‘fix’ absolutely everything—to rearrange a sentence’s components to optimise syntax; to move one or more paragraphs to smoothen the flow; to check and obsess where, exactly, commas should be placed; to substitute a word for its synonym to kill off that dreaded avoidable repetition. But, to appropriate Aristotle, we really shouldn’t expect of a text more refinement than it calls for. Across my fifteen years in the industry, having worked across books, periodicals and digital, I’ve come to understand that the best editors prioritise the expectations of everyone except their own inner pedant; elsewhere, I’ve described this as the ‘four-way tug-of-war’ between author, reader, publisher and broader culture. Or to put it differently (and to invoke the tattoo on my right wrist, which nods to old-school editing jargon and which interrogates me every time I’m compelled to correct something): stet., Latin for ‘let it stand’.
Often, more than another red-pen markup or Track Changes bubble, what’s required is a word nerd reining themselves in and making a judgment call that accounts for context, intention, interpretation, linguistic change, logistics, facts, tact. Because, otherwise, what separates a human editor from an AI spellchecker?
Armelle Davies, freelance
I wish I’d understood how much of editing is about interpersonal skills. You might have a great idea for how to improve a piece of writing, but if you phrase it in a way that puts the author offside, there’s a risk they won’t do it just to spite you.
Some authors are fragile creatures, and it can be hard (and thankless) work hand-holding or cajoling them through the editing process. But when you have a collaborative, creative and productive relationship with an author, it’s a beautiful thing. It’s incredibly rewarding when my queries or comments on an author’s manuscript catalyse their revisions to take it to another level.
Most people would have no inkling of the time, effort and skills that editors put into their work (or how little they’re usually paid for it!), but these kinds of relationships with authors, as well as working with book people in general, make it all worth it.
Lyn Dickens, Saltbush Review
I learnt editing through a combination of experience, teaching creative writing and formal mentoring. As someone who is both a writer and an editor, I understand a lot of the sensitivities that writers feel about having their work read, edited and commented on. Having said that, I’ve also seen just how much good editing can help a work soar. Writing is a solitary business, and editors are part of the team that gets the written work out into the world and the wider readership.
I see editing as a conversation, and I’m very happy to discuss differing points of view with writers. If a writer doesn’t agree with an edit, and there is a good reason behind a writer’s choice, I’m always willing to consider their points. Some of my best editing experiences have been these discussions with writers and other editors as part of my work on Saltbush Review. In terms of advice for aspiring editors, I think reading widely and deeply, and being an engaged member of a literary community, are good ways to start—editors and curators are the people who bring writers together and keep literary culture going.
David Golding, freelance
I moved into editing from a STEM career, so I felt that I had a lot to prove. Publishing is a precarious industry and, in those circumstances, it’s difficult to admit you don’t know something. Not knowing can hold you back or close doors. I guess I wish I’d known how to show some of this vulnerability so I could better learn from those with more experience. We all have doubt, and we’re all still learning. There are often many different ways to approach a single question.
As a senior editor, I happily offer up my own past foibles to junior editors. It’s important to share. Talking things over can be a powerful editorial tool. And sometimes it turns out you did know what to do, but you understand that better after a quick chat.
Gillian Hagenus, freelance
When I first started structurally editing manuscripts, I struggled with the author’s return of the manuscript after the first editing run. Sometimes the response could be quite hostile. Perhaps worse was the passive acceptance of every single change without any further comment or questions.
What I love about editing is the fluid, creative exchange between writer and editor. I wish more debut authors knew that their only options aren’t simply to accept the change or refuse it—there are always a wealth of ways an issue can be fixed without betraying or sacrificing your unique creative voice. Your editor, if she’s anything like me, will be itching to puzzle it out with you. It’s so rewarding to work with authors who take creative risks with their work because they are always so much more open to the possibilities inherent in the editing process. I came to learn that if I, as the editor, wanted to be challenged, to have fun, I had to pick the right authors and the right manuscripts to suit my editing style, for us both to emerge from the process feeling fulfilled.
Penny Hueston, Text Publishing
Communication is key—I’m always happy to discuss the reasoning behind my editorial suggestions. Of course, in the end, the work belongs to the writer, and they always get the final say.
On the author’s end, I’d like it if more writers read their work out loud before submitting it.
One of the best editing experiences I’ve had was with Cory Taylor, author of the wonderful Me and Mr Booker and My Beautiful Enemy. She rang me from Brisbane to say that she wouldn’t be delivering her new novel as planned. Damn, I thought. Then she announced that she had late-stage cancer. We talked for hours—about her life, her imminent death and about death in general. Just before I said goodbye, my editor’s mind sparked. ‘Why don’t you write some of this down, Cory?’ I said. She just laughed. But next morning she emailed, ‘Of course I should write it down. I’m a fucking writer!’ Over the next three months, she emailed me sections of what would become her extraordinary book Dying, a wise and funny tribute to life. I edited as carefully and swiftly as I could, and we managed to publish this breathtaking book in time for Cory to hold a copy in her hands.
Melissa Lane, Penguin Random House
When I first started editing I often felt I had to have all the solutions to issues in a manuscript, and as a result some of my notes were probably overly prescriptive. Since then, I’ve come to think of editing as a conversation, one in which I’ll still offer very specific line-level and structural suggestions but try to leave more room for the author to revise or expand on (or disagree with!) my ideas.
I think the most effective editing stems from an open dialogue between author and editor, from both of us working as receptively as possible—but still with the confidence to back our instincts—in service of the book. This requires a shared vision for the work, and part of what I love about editing is the huge privilege of getting to develop an intimate knowledge of different authors’ and characters’ voices, perspectives and worlds. To me, editing is trying to inhabit a text to help make it the best version of what it is, not what I might like it to be, so when I’m editing, I’m constantly asking myself if I’m suggesting a change because of my subjective preferences or because it will strengthen the writer’s voice and vision.
Jasmin McGaughey, freelance
I wish I’d known that editing is a creative process. It requires someone to think creatively and not just technically (in terms of spelling, grammar and punctuation). Not only does an editor have to think creatively for themselves, but they’ve also got to be able to inspire it within the author.
As an author, I think it’s not necessarily about letting go of the reigns but allowing yourself to stop, breathe and find motivation in someone else’s suggestions. Editing can be incredibly collaborative, and I think that’s when it’s working best.
David Winter, freelance
When I was starting out, an editor—possibly Jenny Lee—said that the job is twenty per cent creative wizard, or something like that, and eighty per cent mechanic. So, mostly a trade, but obviously one for people with far greater facility with their words than with their hands. (How many editors does it take to change a lightbulb joke?) Later, an editor—almost certainly Mandy Brett—said that the value of the job is in the last five per cent, helping an author to realise their creative aims by offering modest but mighty suggestions. Later still, too late, a couple more wise editors pointed out that, just maybe, one or two of the professionals who decide which books get that last five per cent might actually be about ninety-five per cent full of it. Still, you keep fixing the car, keep changing the lightbulb… The mad, riddle-solving chase of it: I wish I’d known more about that. Or more likely I already sensed it was for a certain kind of obsessive, and that was the point. It’s ninety per cent grunt work, eight per cent joy, three per cent error.
