My first full-time job was as an editorial assistant over a decade ago. Instantly, I was entranced with taking something structurally sound but clunky and helping it run smoothly; I guess I’ve always enjoyed the art of refining.
The mood at my new workplace seemed off, though, and 3 weeks in, I found out why.
My manager, the only other person in our team of two, didn’t turn up one morning. “Oh didn’t she tell you?” smirked a publisher, a hostile man in his 50s, “she’s gone to Florida for 5 weeks.”
I drew in my breath, and he surveyed me with beady little eyes.
“Looks like you’ll have to take over her list,” he said, then he laughed.
What followed was a vertiginous learning curve.
Every night I went home, fired up my laptop and slurped packet noodles while trying to learn everything I could about book publishing. Weekly, I’d report bleary-eyed and shaking to the publishers’ meeting, clutching my notes. And weekly I’d endure abuse from the rest of the top team, all older men, as I outlined my progress with each author.
They thought I’d fail—frankly, so did I—but by the time my manager returned, not even mentioning her absence, they were all in good shape.
Later, I realised it wasn’t accidental my manager hadn’t told me she was going away: the trial by fire had always been intentional. It turned out to be the tip of the iceberg sat the cruellest workplace I’ve ever wither endured.
And yet, my love for editing survived.
I soon took a second post at a kinder company, rising to the position of editor and then managing editor within the space of a few years. Eventually, I realised I was better suited to the freelance life and became a writer too.
Yet even as I began to receive commissions for everything from content strategy to big-brand copywriting, I still clung to my editing roots because helping authors shine is a special kind of magic.
There’s an upliftingly symbiotic relationship that develops as I work with a writer on their book. And although there’s a persistent myth that editors are going to take your work and reconfigure it into their work, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Being immersed in different voices and learning how to work with rather than against a book is the best part of being an editor.
We tinker and fine-tune, we raise questions, and we get great satisfaction in knowing we’ve helped you get the most from your ideas.
That being said, I’ve had the occasional experience where I’ve worried the author hasn’t got as much from my expertise as they could’ve. Invariably, it’s because they’ve arrived at my inbox with a few key misconceptions about what an editor does and doesn’t do, or they haven’t quite understood their role in the editing process.
Know what kind of editor suits your work
A developmental editor looks at the big picture: they’ll read your manuscript and produce notes to help you understand what’s working and what could be improved in your overall narrative or concept. If they’re an industry or genre specialist, they may provide specific guidance as to current trends. What they won’t do is get into the detail of how your words flow.
A copy editor, on the other hand, won’t appraise your book concept: they’re there to make sure it’s clear and easy to read. They’re looking to perfect grammar, syntax and spelling, and to eradicate repetition and inconsistencies. As such, a copy editor may suggest significant rewording or restructuring. They are not to be confused with a proofreader, however, who is there to catch indisputable errors such as typos and is the last line of defence for your book.
I’m a copy-editor with extensive experience in non-fiction (so think website copy, blog copy, history books etc.). I also edit crime fiction (though this is the only fiction genre I’m experienced enough as an editor, and widely read enough as a human, to work in). This hasn’t stopped people from wanting me to work on books outside of my experience, despite my protests; in this case, I work doubly hard to deliver, yet I still think they’d get better value elsewhere. It also hasn’t stopped customers expecting developmental overviews or wanting to know where to submit their book.
Once or twice this has ended in frustration on both sides, but it doesn't need to. Understand what your specific editor does and doesn't do before signing up or you may be disappointed with the outcome.
Get your manuscript into the best possible shape first
If you give a copy-editor a manuscript that’s in desperate need of developmental work, you’re asking them to polish a book that isn’t structurally sound, and you’re wasting your money. Similarly, if you give a developmental editor your first draft rather than your second or third, you’re paying them to deal with low-level issues you could probably spot yourself rather than taking full advantage of their expertise.
I know this sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised how often I get approached to proofread or edit something the author hasn’t even read through themselves.
Working on any kind of manuscript is often laborious, and it’s tempting to just hand it over to an expert as soon as you’ve typed your last line. Don’t give in to the urge. Get your work into the best possible shape first if you want to get real value from the editing process.
Always ask for a sample edit
Most editors will be happy to provide you with a free sample edit for a full manuscript query. It helps you to check you’re happy with the way they work and ensures the editor understands how heavy or light an edit your work needs (and therefore how much to charge per word).
Your editor deciding your work needs more attention is not generally a reflection of how talented you are. Similarly, whether or not you like an editor’s work isn’t always a mirror of their ability. Although many editors trained at the same institutions, we’re not robots, and none of us will approach problem-solving the exact same way.
No editor will be offended if after seeing their sample edit you turn them down. We want to work with someone who is a good fit just as much as you do.
Know you don’t have to accept every single change
Most editors work with track changes or only make tiny changes directly to the text and include larger suggested restructures as notes. There’s a reason for this: it’s your book and the final decision is always yours.
No editor worth their salt is going to force you to accept a change, they just want you to consider whether it might improve the flow of your story.
That being said, I once worked with a client who’d dive in and change my corrected sentences without considering why they’d been changed. In doing so, they would inadvertently introduce new errors. It made the process much longer (and more expensive) as I kept having to re-edit the work. As such, my client wasn’t getting the best value for money.
It’s always worth discussing changes with your editor before going in to doctor them yourself. Your editor will be happy to explain why they made a particular change and for what reasons they think it improves the text. They’ll also be able to come up with some other options you might prefer.
If you don’t work with your editor, you can end up going in circles.
