Some people really love editing. I am not one of them. Certainly, there is a sense of satisfaction derived from taking something that has at its core, a good idea, and refining the execution so that the words simply flow. But the path of editing is famously one filled with potholes of self-doubt and avenues of thought which lead nowhere.
In one of my previous articles, I briefly discussed the fact that for my second and third books, I brought an editor on board, which makes my life significantly more easy. But that doesn’t convey the fact that before my copyeditor gets the manuscript, I’ve edited it several times, and once I get it back from him, there is at least one more edit that I go through in order to review his changes. But what does that process actually look like, and what does it actually mean to ‘edit’ a manuscript?
As with all of my articles about the writing process, before we go any further I would like to ensure everybody reading this is aware that this is my process. As with all things writing-related, everybody’s process and preferences are different, and what works for me may not work for you. The only consistent thing when it comes to writing is the need to put in time and consideration in order to create a really good piece of writing.
So with that in mind…
I tend to write my manuscripts reasonably quickly (the longest I’ve ever taken is six months), and I have a rule that I won’t go back and edit except to put in something that I may think up at a later part of the book, which I think would either flesh out the story or needs to be introduced earlier. I’m pretty pedantic about not engaging in any major editing before the first draft is completed because I like to maintain the momentum of the story, rather than stop and start fussing over the minutia of execution.
Once the manuscript is completed, I go through and give it what I like to call a ‘rough edit’. I read the piece in its entirety to make sure that it hangs together reasonably well, fixing any typos or sentences which stick out as awkward or nonsensical. I’ll also add descriptions that I’ve left out, giving more character and taste to the flavour of the world in which I’ve set my story. This stage is reasonably painless. The reason for this is because it’s like I’ve been drawing something very detailed and very complex and I’m stepping back to look at the whole image. It’s like seeing the full picture for the first time, so in that way, it’s actually kind of exciting. Then comes the real work.
As per the suggestion of Stephen King in On Writing, I like to leave my manuscripts for a little while before I take up this next stage, because I prefer to come at it with fresh eyes and from a distance. That way I can really evaluate it without having the closeness that comes from being intensely involved with carving a protagonist’s journey.
As a rule, editing things in physical form means we pick up things which we otherwise wouldn’t when looking on a screen. I know there’s a science behind it, but I don’t know what it is. So I print out my manuscript, have it bound, and then get to work. This is probably the edit when I’m the hardest on myself, because I’m now looking with an intensely critical gaze at what I’ve written. The questions I generally ask myself are: does this make sense in terms of both wording and storyline, could I in fact finesse the wording to make it better, and are there details or explanations or even descriptions that I could add.
I tend to write a very lean first draft as it’s very story-driven thanks to the fact that I’m a chronic planner and have the entire narrative mapped out before I begin. That means I often don’t give much description of say, buildings or rooms, unless something within it is significant to the action of the plot. Interestingly, I’d argue that means the descriptions I write are actually more precise and (hopefully) more evocative, because I can sit back and truly picture them in this phase with the comfort of knowing exactly how the story and characters are behaving within the context of that physical backdrop.
But that’s the positive stuff. When I read through things I’ve written, sometimes I come across a phrase that’s just plain bad. That’s fine, I can fix that. More upsetting is when a sentence is mediocre—not bad, just not right. It’s awful because I know I could leave it, and it would serve the narrative just fine. But something Michael Mohammed Ahmad said at this year’s Emerging Writer’s Festival in Melbourne sticks with me in this process: If you’re not giving everything, not making every sentence the best possible sentence you can write, then you aren’t giving this your everything. I don’t want my work to be good, I want the sentences to be well written.
Then sometimes there are sections that you encounter which more or less get the point across but really just need to be re-written, leaving you questioning if you actually are that good as a writer, or if you are just a hack with a keyboard and internet connection.
Once I’ve finished the hardcopy edit, those changes need to be input to the digital version. I count this as a separate edit because I’m constantly verifying the changes I made and often embellishing and adding, or even redacting, the alterations to the manuscript that I’ve made. This is a reasonably time-consuming edit because it requires me to look constantly from the bound manuscript to my screen, so it generally needs to be done at a desk for the sake of my back. For this reason, it can be the most time-consuming because it requires me to be at my desk with decent light.
The next edit is a once-over (which, if I feel the MS is in good condition I’ll skip, as I did with Ruthless but did not with my forthcoming book Dark Intent where my writer’s group have been invaluable) to ensure that there isn’t anything that I’m missing in describing, or poor expression that I’ve neglected to resolve.
Then it’s off to the copy editor, who comes back having pointed out all the poor expression that I’ve missed, the illogical elements to the storyline, or where I can embellish parts of the narrative. Reading through my editor’s comments is interesting (when I’m not busy crying on the floor about how I could be stupid as to miss a really badly worded sentence), because sometimes things that he dislikes are questions of style rather than things which are strictly wrong. This makes the next edit an introspective one, making sure that I’m happy with some idiosyncrasies to my style or whether what I like to think of as stylistic quirks are in fact just obstructions to the storyline being told.
Once that’s done, I generally get my parents to read over the manuscript to ensure anything I’ve added at my editor’s recommendation isn’t misspelled, and then the document gets formatted for publishing.
Editing is rewarding because you’re always making something better. But it’s also really brutal because it means you have to be aggressive with questioning if every single word you’ve written is actually the best possible word for the story that you’re trying to tell.
Yet it’s also a necessary part of the writing process. So next time you’re trying to avoid really getting into that edit…I have no words of encouragement other than simply grit your teeth and do it.
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