Nobody enjoys receiving criticism, but doling it out is just business as usual for some of us in the editorial world. How do we finish the job without selling out or alienating clients with absurdly strict standards?
“Write like you’re in love. Edit like you’re in charge.” — James Scott Bell
Writers everywhere agonize over the reality of releasing their work to some grammar fanatic and inviting them to fire at will. But step into an editor’s shoes and you’ll see that our jobs aren’t as cut-and-dried as you might think.
Speaking from both sides of the equation, I can attest that neither has the proverbial greener grass. I’m all too aware of the time, energy and bandwidth it takes to cobble a story of any length together using the English language—shaky ground, to say the least—one’s creativity combined with the good sense required to string a decent sentence together, and whatever resources are readily available to lend it authenticity. Tack on the pressure of a deadline and it really can feel as if the universe itself is working against you.
Conversely, editors and book reviewers are tasked with the solemn responsibility of being fair but firm, openminded yet resolute, and somehow conveying all of that without coming across as an arrogant asshole OR caving into the pressure to not break someone’s spirit and allowing their clients to develop superiority complexes so obnoxious that nobody but their own mothers can stand them. So how do they find this mythical happy medium in the face of so many fickle factors? There’s no definitive formula, but here are a few tips I’ve picked up over the years to help make the balancing act more manageable, even with the most sensitive and/or reactive wordsmiths.
Set boundaries from the get-go.
While writers need to set boundaries to help them finish a project, editors should know their limits, too. Freelancers especially need to discuss these parameters and nonnegotiable terms with the appropriate parties before getting started or even signing on for a project; otherwise, they leave the door wide open to some serious breaches of personal and professional space. A few examples of some necessary boundaries to establish with the writer trying to engage your services include the project turnaround time and the scope of your edit. Once you define the turnaround time, it’s your responsibility to stick to it and/or let the writer know as quickly as possible whether or not circumstances change and you need a little more time with their work. The scope of your edit is a big one. I happen to be a perfectionist while editing, so it’s hard for me to pull back and not overextend myself if I see the potential to do more. That being said, editors have to eat, pay bills, and occasionally catch some Zs, too, so don’t pile on with work for which you’re not being paid. This can be somewhat avoided or at least anticipated if you carefully review a writer’s pitch before agreeing to take on the project, and you can always include in your feedback a comment on other services you provide that they may want to take advantage of later.
Critique the writing, not the writer.
Given how personally most writers take their work, it’s often difficult for them to separate themselves and their lives from the page. However, as an editor, you don’t necessarily have that challenge. Sure, it might be hard when you know the writer—in my experience, editing for a family member is both particularly enjoyable and acutely nerve-racking—but the thing to remember is that they’re counting on you for an informed review and an unbiased opinion. With that in mind, you can’t pull punches just because you’re worried that a little blunt criticism may deter someone from writing in the future, or lay down one too many harsh words because you’re not-so-silently judging them for something you read in their manuscript that you didn’t care for. That isn’t to say you can’t comment on parts you enjoyed or revisions that would make an eventual book more marketable; that all falls within the scope of your job as an editor and is perfectly reasonable, useful feedback. It’s when you start equating the writer to the words and what they inspire in you—good or bad—and letting it sneak its way into your constructive criticism that you have a problem.
Offer specific yet succinct commentary.
This is a more technical tip that has to do with orderliness and functionality. You might be tempted to drone on and on, hammering any given point in until it sounds more like a meandering lecture than actual feedback, or maybe you’re new to the game and don’t yet realize that long, drawn-out justifications for every single change you make to someone’s manuscript simply aren’t required. Either way, whether it’s an in-document comment or a piece of a summary of your review that you’re sending along with the edited document(s), I’ve found it’s best to get to the point and to provide specificity wherever possible. Track Changes has a tendency to get overwhelmed with too many (or too-long) comments crowding the margins, which, in addition to being a pain in the ass to wade through, can look pretty scary to the writer to whom you’re handing everything back over. Narrowing your feedback down as much as possible and sticking to the key takeaways can minimize that in-document clutter without you having to leave out something important. And remember that you can always expound on things in a post-edit discussion or in that summary I mentioned if you already agreed to provide one. A good edit should be a lot for a writer to take in, so your clients will appreciate the lengths you go to in order to make it easier to swallow.
Respect goes both ways.
Just like writers should always conduct a round of self-editing on their drafts before sending them to an editor, editors should keep in mind that while there is always room for improvement, they should also appreciate the foundation they’re given to review. Writers put a lot of faith in your opinion and technical evaluation, even when they aren’t exactly gracious about receiving it. So, don’t hedge so much that you don’t actually offer anything of value for fear of offending someone, but don’t clobber them with overly critical language, either. See also the point above regarding boundaries and scope. If a writer can respect you and your time enough to refrain from constant check-ins before the deadline, then you as an editor or reviewer need to take responsibility for it and own up to your word. Neglecting to do so can come across as dismissive or lazy; that’s a great way to lose a client, plus any others they might have recommended you to had you held up your end of the deal.
Stick to your guns.
While I believe it’s a sign of strength and good character to be able to admit when you’re wrong, editors can’t afford to be wishy-washy when it comes to opinions or technical rules. Granted, if you’re a fiction editor, then there will be times in which rules can be bent or even broken, but some are so deeply ingrained in the English language that if a writer wants to publish and sell any books in the future, or stand a chance in a writing contest, they might have to sacrifice some of that creative license we so enjoy. If it’s respectfully worded and raises a valid point, then there’s nothing wrong with identifying errors or areas where a few changes will drastically improve the narrative or objective of somebody’s work. Just learn early on which hill(s) you’re willing to die on, and anticipate at least a little pushback any time you go above and beyond with marking up a project. Don’t back down on what’s important, but keep your cool and learn to recognize when it’s time to close the subject and move on; your sanity depends on it.
The editorial world is painted in many shades of gray, but when you have the right tools, it can be really fun to navigate (no, really!). If you’re word nerd such as myself, and/or you happen to enjoy my sense of humor and method of dispensing advice—solicited or otherwise—subscribe here and get reviews and rants delivered right to your inbox.
K. Watkins 