#developmental editing
I am rewarded over and over again with the authors who work with me. Their writing amazes me. We do amazing things. I know other words besides amazing.
But sometimes, you can give a writer all the tools in the world—and they will never finish their novel.
Yes, I got paid.
Yes, we had great chemistry.
100% yes, I would work with this author again.
Her story had potential. Her plot was dark and delicious. Her characters made me FEEL THINGS. The developmental work was fantastic. I enjoyed it. She loved the suggestions. And you could see how all those story elements would weave and come together beautifully like Doctor Strange holding time in his hand.
And yet.
She had become too mentally exhausted to revisit the story and make it work. To go that extra draft and see it through.
And you know what? I get it. I struggle with my own personal writing. It’s a huge struggle and a huge accomplishment to finish a book. Especially when depression, distractions, and LIFE get in the way. And sometimes, you just have to take a break or move on to something else.
But…I was so bummed.
Not just as an editor, but as a reader. I wanted others to read this amazing (amazing, amazing) book and share the same love for it. The world needed this book.
Some things don’t come to fruition.
Writing a book isn’t just talent or a good idea or clean grammar. Or when the mood strikes.
Sometimes it’s getting up and doing it when it’s the very last thing you want to do.
Remember that time you met someone who loved Firefly as much as you do? There was excited squealing and reminiscing over your most favorite parts, laughing at the same jokes, and before you knew it, you were rushing halfway down the aisle of bestie-hood.
I have this reaction with one of my authors. Except Firefly is her book. And we’re squealing over the best parts. Acknowledging the areas that need special attention. We’re playing off each other’s ideas and solutions in a creative mind-meld where unicorns canter in a meadow and fried chicken is everywhere. Because.
Even when the plot is so rickety that a sneeze can topple it, or the characters almost make sense together but don’t, or that dreaded middle is saggier than an aging beer gut. Creative mind-meld, activate!
Any story problem can be fixed when you work with someone who makes you love what you do. Let me tell you, this author makes me love what I do, too.
Because let’s face it. Writing is an incredibly lonely endeavor. We all want to connect with someone. So find that someone who getsyou.
This blog post is a little bit different than my others. I was discussing this subject with a writer friend, and I realized this isn’t really talked about enough (at least on my radar). When choosing a developmental editor (DE), there are a bazillion articles and posts about what to look for: experience, skill, rates. And while all of that is important, a writer-editor relationship is so much more than that.
It’s more intimate than most people might think. It requires not only a level of skill and professionalism, but support, honesty, and trust (and not being a psycho, how about that?).
I work predominantly with fiction and romance authors, a VERY intimate, VERY creative subject matter in developmental editing, where anything can go wrong. So that’s what this post focuses on.
Here’s the problem: Many times authors stick with editors who bully them, maybe because they aren’t confident about their work, and think editors know everything. On the other end, editors may stick with poorly behaved authors just because they need the job.
*Note: I don’t mean situations where authors secretly hoped for praise and can’t handle any feedback. I’m talking about writers and editors who make an effort but may not be good for each other.
How do you know if you’ve found The One? Here’s what to look for in a good developmental editor:
Skill
A good DE has a trained eye for storytelling (different than good writing), story structure, writing techniques, content editing, and the ability to generate new ideas or solutions. It’s mentally intensive and the editor is deeply invested in your characters. (More so than any critique group ever, trust me.)
After you know that a DE has mad skills, she must also be able to communicate her findings. If she loves a part of your story, she needs to provide a reason why, so YOU know why it’s working and what you’re doing right.
Meh: "This is good.“
Better: "I love Miranda’s thoughts about her body issues, how she struggles with her appearance and feels awkward around other women. Readers can relate to this insecurity and feel sympathy for the main character."
If the DE points out an issue that can be improved, she can’t just say "This character needs more development.” Why? How? What is this *dramatic air quotes* development you speak of?
Better: “Readers may like to know where Miranda’s body issues come from, if they were created by a harsh, unforgiving parent; or maybe she had an emotional incident at school. This will help deepen her character and backstory, which relates to her present outlook.”
With every piece of feedback, a good DE needs to diagnose the issue and, if possible, brainstorm a suggestion for the author. Otherwise, what are we all doing here?
Professionalism
If you wouldn’t say it to your mother, don’t say it to your client. I’ve actually heard authors confess that their editors yelled at them or sounded impatient with them. All I have to say to that is NOPE.
Okay, I have more to say.
A good DE will never let personal pet peeves interfere with her work—whether she’s pointing out a story issue or communicating with an author.
Eeeep: “I don’t like your main character because I was a victim of kids throwing their barbies at me when I was a child.” or “I told you to watch your cliches!” NOPE.
A good DE will express her suggestions from a constructive viewpoint (that’s the skill part) or on behalf of future readers (knowing the target audience and anticipating its reaction).
Better: “As a reader I was a little confused about Miranda’s childhood. On p. 2 she says she’s an orphan, but on p. 102, she mentions her mother’s role in her life.” or “That sex scene was a level ten hot with a whopping side of dirty, and very well written. However, this is a sweet romance, and readers might not be prepared for this scene. Let’s discuss this more.”
A good DE will also communicate with an author in a clear and supportive manner.
Nice: “I love Miranda’s fierce reaction to Kevin in Chapter 3 (adds great chemistry), but throughout the rest of the story, she feels passive and subdued. Maybe add a turning moment before Chapter 5 for why her personality changed, or you can add more of that fierceness into her character. For instance, on p. 47, when Kevin comes to her rescue by the cliff, instead of mumbling her thanks and fainting in his arms, maybe she’s clutching his shirt and arguing with him about not showing up sooner. Certain reactions like that may help keep her character more consistent.”
A bad DE might say:
Blech: “Once again, Miranda is simpering and sighing and completely out of character. She needs more development.”
NOPE.
Empathy
This isn’t always the first thought when it comes to the writer-editor relationship, but it’s an important one. The fact is, writers and editors will disagree about something, whether it’s about a plot point or the ending, or whatever. A DE can suggest a lot of solutions, but only the author can pick the one that feels right for them and their book. That’s basically a non-issue for healthy, professional partnerships.
But a writer and editor must share the same goal. That means the DE will understand what the writer is trying to do or bring up questions for the writer to consider.
A bad DE will try to change the writer’s entire book without prior discussion or thought.
The only way for two highly creative people to understand each other is through empathy.
One more thing: Having empathy is basically another skill set for editing fiction and romance. A DE needs to be able to understand the intricacies of human nature.
Trust
All of these qualities amount to Trust, capital T. A good DE proves their storytelling knowledge and editorial prowess, communicates in a productive way with the author, and works to understand the author/project in order to share the same goals.
And they lived happily ever after.
Bonus Tip (because that sounds cool).
If you love yourself enough, you’ll recognize when someone treats you the wrong way.
Before we all spiral into writerly self-loathing….
With any relationship, pay close attention to your gut and show yourself some compassion. Like you’re giving advice to a friend, “Girl, he said what to you? Oh, no. I think you should dump his ass. You deserve better.” If you would tell your friend that, then tell yourself that.
I think you know what I mean.
For editors: If you’re feeling anxiety and stress from an author, feeling like the author isn’t receptive to your good sense or continuously misunderstands your intentions; or you’re sensing a lawsuit down the road, it’s probably time to end that relationship.
For writers: If you’re feeling distressed, scared, or humiliated; you feel a constant need to satisfy an editor (or she’ll spit fire at you); you’re not getting productive help with your work; you don’t feel like you’re becoming a better writer in the long run; or you feel like the editor is always suggesting story ideas way off base from your goals…it’s time to find a better developmental editor.
Disclaimer:
Finding the right DE may give you heart eyes, a sense of accomplishment, tools to revise your story for the better, and the realization that you never want to publish another book without her. (The love is mutual.)
Need help with your story? Check out my editing services.
I came across a blog post the other day that discussed how to write emotion—a subject not new to us—but explained in a new way. I don’t like to regurgitate information if someone blogged it better. So I had to share.
Jason Black on Plot to Punctuationsays:
“To convey an emotion, you can’t just show the beginning point. You can’t just show the endpoint either. Neither one is enough on its own.
The reason is clear: emotion is an arc, not a moment. It begins, builds, and eventually culminates. Emotion always comes in the context of what has gone before, and as a sequence.
He uses movie still frames to show what he means.
I love this way of crafting emotion, because it’s something I apply in my developmental editing work. And it’s a HUGE part of crafting romance novels, where emotional journeys, dark pasts, present obstacles, and love make up the story arc.
Arcs within arcs. This isn’t a bad acid trip.
As I help authors straighten out the big picture of their story, I also get into the weeds, pulling out an example and showing authors how they can clarify and tighten emotional sequences.
Why did the heroine lash out at the hero? This might seem out of character, but we can backtrack and make it work.
- Maybe she carried feelings of upset from the previous scene when she parted with her mother. (Reasoning)
- Maybe these feelings were churning in her during the drive. (Build up)
- Then as she climbs the steps to the hero’s door, her foot knocks over the flower pot on the stoop. It breaks. And inside, so does the heroine. (Trigger)
- When the hero answers his door—taking just a little too long—she lashes out at him. (Explosion)
If we just read the part where she explodes, without showing the thread, the moment would feel jarring or confusing. We need to layer in details that connect to each other and help readers understand. And paint a fuller picture of what’s happening to the character on the outside and on the inside.
It’s small stuff, but it’s crucial to orchestrating an emotional arc just right. Incrementally.
Do you feel overwhelmed? Revise your romance novel with me (and keep your sanity).
You may have heard the common writing craft advice: Act first, explain later.
This doesn’t work out when you’re pouring your fifth glass of wine and drunk-texting a confession to BFF about eating the last bag of Cheetos your husband had been pining for (I would never!).
But it’s great if you’re giving a story beginning or a scene instant momentum, engaging readers to follow something exciting, and showing how a character reacts or makes decisions under pressure.
This cuts through that propensity to start a scene with telling and backstory and that slow setup that’s hard to shake off. And if you’re struggling to start a scene, sometimes jumping right into the action helps to get the writing gears oiled, too.
But the common pitfall with this common advice is: confusing the heck out of readers.
Suppose we have a bank robbery that bursts off of page one, ninjas in black masks yelling and shooting the ceiling, customers and employees screaming. Then one baddie ninja drags a pale, trembling employee to unlock the big safe, his gun barrel jutting painfully into the woman’s back. She sobs and obeys his orders. Once he has the cash, police arrive outside the bank, their car lights flashing wildly, increasing the stress of the moment. While police and Baddie Ninja Leader end up in a hostage negotiation, a wizard floats down into the bank and the ninjas fight him. Then, a news helicopter hovering near the rooftop explodes, a tumbling cloud of scrap metal, fire, and ash snowball into the heart of the city.
After pages and pages of this scene unfolding, we have no idea what’s going on or who to care about.
We’re getting thrown into another world and trying to make sense of our surroundings. But it’s not as pleasant as a thumped landing in a TARDIS from a Doctor Who episode. It’s more like utter confusion and impatience in that example I just sneezed out, where we’re trying to anchor ourselves to something but can’t.
Sooner (rather than later), readers need to…
- understand what’s happening in context
- connect with a character
This is where we trip. And if you’re like me, crash without grace.
We can choose not to reveal certain story details yet (that’s the “explain later” part), but we need to make sense of what we do share and introduce a character that readers want to follow, whether it’s caring about them or hating them.
One example I love is from 1987, the very first lines of Nora Robert’s Hot Ice:
“He was running for his life. And it wasn’t the first time. As he raced by Tiffany’s elegant window display he hoped it wouldn’t be his last. The night was cool with April rain slick on the streets and sidewalk. There was a breeze that even in Manhattan tasted pleasantly of spring. He was sweating. They were too damn close. Fifth Avenue was quiet, even sedate at this time of night. Streetlights intermittently broke the darkness; traffic was light. It wasn’t the place to lose yourself in a crowd. As he ran by Fifty-third, he considered ducking down into the subway below the Tishman Building—but if they saw him go in, he might not come back out.”
The main character is deep in action while Roberts describes the setting and why the character needs to run—he’s afraid for his life. We just don’t know yet what the baddie wants from him. But we’re starting to get curious and to care what happens to this protagonist as his options for escape narrow.
Suddenly, act first, explain later becomes an umbrella for including other writing rules:
Anchoring the fictional world: details that establish the setting and orient readers. This includes the rules of the world.
“Fifth Avenue was quiet, even sedate at this time of night. Streetlights intermittently broke the darkness; traffic was light. It wasn’t the place to lose yourself in a crowd.”
Character sympathy and goals: the character is trying to get something or, in this case, get away from something that threatens his world.
“He was running for his life.”
Bites of info: creating context—embedding background info or explaining the relevance—between the action. In this case, hinting that this protagonist isn’t the perfect citizen.
"And it wasn’t the first time.”
After that thrilling action, we can slow down to give readers more insight: why he’s being chased, why she doesn’t trust men, why he doesn’t talk to his father anymore, etc.
It’s all about orchestrating a particular experience for readers—from action that’s exciting and makes sense so readers get hooked, to explaining the truth later so readers stick around until The End.
Only you, the author, can do this. And if you need a little help, I’m here for you.
In my last post, I mentioned why it can be beneficial to self-edit before we finish writing our first draft. If we leave big issues in the beginning, they’re harder to fix later without breaking the story. Problems in a manuscript can snowball faster than your neighbor’s flooding bathtub leaking through your ceiling.
Going back to fix a problem actually helped me move forward with a stronger story. But as we know, there are rewards as well as pitfalls to going back when we’re trying to power through a manuscript.
Recognizing Our Own Writing Flaws
I’m in a unique position of helping authors diagnose their story issues, so that mental muscle of mine is in fairly good shape. But not everyone has that charging in the background 24/7. It’s difficult to banish blind spots and see our own errors. Especially when we’re frolicking in creativity and dishing out the wittiest lovers’ banter. (Ooh, banter!)
So how do you gain self-awareness?
Oncoming Writer’s Block: If you’re familiar with the symptoms of writer’s block, you might sense your writing momentum becoming a bit erratic or slowing down. This absolutely happens to me. I’ll be looking for which way to go in a story, experimenting a bit, while writing becomes less fun. That’s a sign to look back at what you have so far with a critical eye. Something might not be working right that’s stalling you.
Playing the Reader: Part of getting a sense of perspective is putting yourself in a reader’s shoes. Would a reader be intrigued? Bored? Confused? If so, which moment triggered those reactions for you? Sometimes you need a few days to clear your mind and become the reader, and that’s totally okay—even necessary.
Testing Your Idea: It helps to test your story idea on a writing buddy, a friend, or your editor. Will they see some weak conflict or a hole in your character’s reasoning? Or one issue causing a lot of little problems? If so, that could eventually lead you to the Saggy Middle of Doom while you’re writing. Rework your idea to prevent issues later.
Being Brave: It takes some real backbone to look at the issues in your own story. Realizing our writing flaws doesn’t come from a place of skittish doubt or failure. It actually comes from a brave place, a place of courage. That you’re willing to ask yourself “Can this be stronger? Can this be more creative? More unexpected?” and then taking care to fix those issues.
Getting Stuck in Early Revisions
Is this like one of those dreams where we’re running through high water or thick mud and we can never get faster and closer to our destination? Because I hate those dreams.
We might feel the same sense of frustration in early revision. We don’t always want to look back at our work when we’re in the middle of our first draft. Because the temptation to over-edit and get stuck in the weeds is a very real risk.
But it doesn’t have to be.
Big perspective: If you find yourself tweaking character expressions and the smallest details, you should probably move on. What if you spend all that time on the little things only to realize later that the scene needs to be cut?
Grinding teeth: When I have an itch to redecorate my apartment, I’ll wander my living room without purpose, mindlessly rearranging things. But I haven’t actually brought anything new to freshen the room. I’ve just been switching around the decor items on my shelf. Nothing is changing.
If you’re rearranging the same sentences over and over to no effect, that’s a sign to move on and continue writing.
Are there any tricks and insights you use for yourself?
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