Articles

Perhaps it is a quirk—or maybe a perk—of the job, but you’ll find that editors ask a lot of questions. We must, if we are to understand what writers are trying to say and to help them in the best possible way. Many of these questions concern the text and the author’s intentions, but there are others that whisper more insistently in the adytum of our minds.

One of these, inevitably, is how much is too much when it comes to the extent of our editing?

It’s a question I guess most editors will ask at some point in a project. It’s certainly one that I ponder often. This may have something to do with the type of manuscripts I edit, but it may also relate to my approach as an editor. It could be that I engage more directly with a document than some of my colleagues. If I see how a piece of writing could be improved, my inclination is to do it; always keeping in mind, of course, the importance of maintaining the author’s voice.

But truthfully?

Those improvements I make are based on my personal perspective. Even with seemingly straightforward matters like sentence structure and punctuation (which are never really that simple), another editor may view the whole thing differently and edit accordingly. It’s the nature of the work. Editing is interpretative, creative and subjective, all of which makes it difficult to answer that nagging question of quantity.

I have been fortunate that none of my clients have so far expressed any anguish about the approach I have taken with their writing. It is possible they are all polite enough to keep any dark mutterings to themselves, but it is just as likely that I have not interpreted any comments I have received from them as complaints, simply because I believe it is part of the editing process to engage in a constructive dialogue in order to achieve the desired result.

In practice, that means I will ask if it is okay to proceed before proposing any major revisions. I explain my intentions as well as my actions to my clients, and I expect them to inform me of any concerns they may have. If a client does express doubt or suggest some other solution, I adapt my approach.

The answer is trust.

I trust in my insight and expertise as an editor. I trust in my ability to communicate clearly and sensitively with my clients. And I trust my clients to tell me if and when they need me to soften—or strengthen—my intervention.

Although it occupies my mind, the funny thing about all this solicitude over the depth and extent of my editing is that it is actually immaterial, because in the end, the choice is always yours. Or rather, it is a decision we reach together.

That’s one thing you can trust. Between us, we will find your writing’s sweetest and most fluent rhythms. We will divine its brightest shape and clearest tone. We’ll get it to the form and place it needs to be.

And you can be absolutely assured that I will ask you many, many pesky questions along the way.

Have you ever been uncomfortably over-edited? Do you get frustrated by your editor’s endless questions? And be honest now: have you ever encountered the word “adytum” before?

There is a saying that good editing is invisible. Since my Zen-inspired musing on voice and how to find it, I’ve been wondering if editing is—or should be—inaudible too.

Just in case you missed it, my earlier article advised that the way to find your voice as a writer is to use it. However, looking at this from a writer’s viewpoint is only one part of the story. Editors have a perspective on voice too, although it is one that does not get discussed nearly as much.

In a simplistic definition, editing can be described as the art of tidying up a text to ensure its message is clear, concise and compelling. This includes consideration of the structure, content, style and syntax of the document, all of which involves working with the author’s voice. But before we get too concerned about this, let me assure you that it does not mean an editor’s job is to change that voice. In most cases, the opposite is true.

As an editor, I will not alter your voice unless you explicitly ask me to do so. I may make observations and offer suggestions about it, but these are always done in consultation with you. It could be that the tone you are using is too formal or informal for your intended audience, or perhaps there is a shift in the voice that has resulted from the many (many, many) different drafts you have penned. In such cases, I would alert you to the issue and offer suggestions for how to remedy it. We would work together to ensure that your voice is both appropriate and consistent for your purpose and audience.

How exactly this happens is part of the mysterious magic that is editing. The best way I can describe it is that an editor ‘tunes in’ to the voice in a manuscript, becoming conscious of its cadence and responsive to its rhythm.

Being attuned like this to the voice in a manuscript is an essential skill for editors. Without an awareness of how the voice sounds, it is difficult to make insightful recommendations or adjustments. Remember how I mentioned that good editing is invisible? This is because it amends a text without leaving any sign of the process involved. It takes expertise to achieve this and can only be done when an editor has an excellent sense of the author’s voice.

The changes an editor suggests to a text should blend in imperceptibly, appearing as if they were always supposed to be there. When reflecting on editing in terms of audibility, however, I’m not sure the same aim applies.

One way to think of it is that an editor lends a voice to the chorus that allows an author’s words to soar. By adding a few key notes and harmonising with you, your editor contributes to the overall artistry of your voice in terms of its fluency, sensitivity and melody.

Basically, editors make you sound better.

Yet while it may be vital to the final, shining version of your writing, an editor’s voice should never dominate. In this sense, editing is audible, but only just. Although its resonance may be there, the true voice—the one that sings distinctly and is heard most purely—is always and uniquely yours.

Have you had a harmonious relationship with an editor? How did that editor help to enhance your voice? What observations or advice do you have about working with voice for writers and editors alike?

Friendly and professional. That’s what I am to be in my business. In my interactions with clients and the care I give to my work, I am guided by those two qualities. However, despite my best intentions, it is not always possible for me to embody them.

Being professional is important to me, in terms both of my proficiency and how I manage my business. While I am confident in my expertise in the areas of editing and writing, I am consistently seeking to learn and improve. That, to me, is a more professional – and realistic – attitude to hold than one that assumes I already know everything and can do it perfectly.

Another way I aim to be professional is through being honest and respectful in my communication. I am truthful about the nature, scope and timing of the assistance I can offer prospective clients. I am not the right editor for all writers, and I value the relationship between editor and writer too highly to just accept every job that comes my way. When I do enter into arrangements with writers, I keep them informed of my progress with their manuscripts and discuss any concerns either of us may have. If something takes longer than anticipated or is delayed for any reason, I let my clients know.

As anyone who has perused the pages of this website has hopefully found, my tone is approachable and perhaps even affable. I don’t want to seem like a scary, scolding sourpuss who will disapprove of the way you use commas, because that’s not who I am nor what I do. I appreciate creative people and the work they make. I especially admire those who find meaning and joy in their process, as their dedication to their creations is often conveyed to those who encounter them.

I choose to be friendly when I engage with writers because I know how intimidating it can be to share something as personal as a story or a poem. I am honoured that people trust me with their words and consider it a privilege to develop a rapport with my clients.

But being professional means that I can’t simply be a friend.

If I see something in your manuscript that bugs me, I will tell you. If I think you have used a few too many anecdotes or, yes, too many commas, I’ll advise you to excise some. If the bit of your book that you love so dearly somehow doesn’t work, then I will gently propose that you shorten, shift or ditch it.

My job as your editor is not to approve everything you do. It is to help you refine your writing so that it reaches its readers in the most effective, expressive and meaningful way possible.

You won’t always agree with my suggestions. You might not always like my advice. And you know what else? I won’t always be right. Nevertheless, the relationship we have when we work together involves me giving you my insight, my ability and my opinions. This can be done courteously, and I hope that is how you perceive it. But it’s not always ‘nice’ and nor is it benign. I want to encourage you to think and make decisions about your writing, regardless of whether you find that comfortable or not.

Maybe the distinction I am drawing here falls between the adverb and the noun. In other words, it is the difference between being friendly and being a friend. I will be friendly to the extent that I can, but if you ask me, I will not recoil from telling you where and how you can improve.

Perhaps that is what good friends do. In any case, it is what you can expect from me as a friendly and professional editor.

What characteristics do you value in life and in business? What qualities do you look for in an editor? What matters most to you in the relationship between writer and editor?