Two Coins in the Hundred
By Dave King | June 20, 2017 |
Harold Abrahams at the 1924 Olympics
In the classic film Chariots of Fire, Olympic sprinter Harold Abrahams hires a coach, Sam Mussabini, to help him win the 100-yard dash. Mussabini first lays out a string of coins, representing the steps Harold takes in a typical race. Then he pushes the coins together slightly and says, “Can you find me another two coins, Mr. Abrahams?”
This is what editors do. Because we can bring years of experience and fresh eyes to your manuscript, we can spot weaknesses that you didn’t know you had. An editor can see where your characters act out of character. We can spot when you aren’t including enough detail (or including too much) when you set your scenes. We can tell you that the subplot that you thought highlighted your main character actually slows your pace more than it’s worth. We can find you two coins in the hundred.
Unfortunately, some editors try to do more.
I recently had a client come to me after working with three other editors who had all left distinctive marks on her manuscript. One suggested that she take what was, in fact, a prologue and make it into chapter one, because books nowadays shouldn’t have prologues. Another told her she needed to humanize her main character more, so she added a scene at the beginning that delayed the start of the real story. The third said the story started too late, and she should jump ahead, losing much of the humanizing material she’d just added.
The point here is not that the editors offered bad or contradictory advice – we all get it wrong from time to time. It’s that all of their advice pushed the client to make changes she didn’t feel comfortable with. They weren’t just adding steps to her race. They were trying to run the race for her.
It’s at least partly up to clients to prevent this. I never expect a client to agree with everything I recommend – as I say, we all get it wrong sometimes. And even if we get it right, even if our changes would genuinely improve the book, it never works to pressure a client to make changes they don’t really believe in. The result is almost inevitably worse than the original. If a client doesn’t feel comfortable making a change I’ve suggested, I need them to tell me so. That way, I can accept their vision of what the story should be and make it work as well as possible.
Sometimes your editor does damage with the best motives possible – to make your book sell better. In fact, a lot of editors consider it their duty to help you tailor your book to the market. Which can be a good thing. But an editor who keeps an eye on the market – on what’s selling at the moment or what might land movie rights – rather than on your manuscript is much more likely to make suggestions that will push you beyond where you can go.
Years ago, I had a client whose dystopian YA was bought by a major publishing house. The editor she worked with at the publisher made some suggestions meant to better tailor the book to the market. The client rewrote the book, only to have the editor tell her it wasn’t working. They went back and forth several times, with the client practically begging the editor near the end to tell her how to put her suggestions into place. In the end, the book deal fell apart because the client just could not find a way to make the suggestions her own.
One moral of this story is that writing the book you need to write may result in something that’s hard to market. Understand, I think that helping a manuscript become what it should be on its own terms will also help it reach its readership more effectively. But I’ve worked with a number of clients with unique visions that ran counter to the market, or that would appeal to a limited readership. I’ve encountered others who were heavily invested in a character or a stylistic approach that, in my opinion, weakened their stories. But I couldn’t force the major changes that would be needed to make their manuscripts stronger without either undermining the integrity of the book or the client’s vision. So I warned the clients that marketing the book would be an uphill battle and explained why, then we went to work, making the books as strong as possible.
I don’t mean to sound discouraging. The editor/writer relationship is usually wonderful. It’s strangely intimate and supportive for the writer and often enlightening for the editor – I’ve learned an immense amount from clients over the years. If you can manage it, I’d recommend that you find a good editor, one you can work with and trust. But when you do work with an editor, be aware that you have to keep an eye on your story’s integrity, too. Even the best of us step on toes sometimes.
It’s not as easy as it sounds. After all, you hire an editor to tell you to change your book. And while you can sometimes tell whether or not a change goes too far– the best suggestions leave you excited to start rewriting — the line isn’t always clear. You’ve got to balance being open to change with an awareness of the core values of your story.
A good editor can help you with this, too. A lot of writers need editing because they aren’t really aware of the core of their story. They like what they’ve written, of course, but may not have the experience or self-awareness to really understand it. One of the best compliments I’ve ever gotten was the client who said, “I didn’t really know what my book was about until I read your report.”
So listen to your editor. Try making the changes they suggest, to see how they feel. But don’t be afraid to disagree, to challenge your editor, even to flatly refuse to make changes. Be open to change but not passive. Be willing to strip away the dross, but keep your eye on the core.
Tell us about your experiences with an editor — or a beta reader or a writer’s group. Have you ever had to push back against suggestions? Have they helped you become more aware of your story?
[coffee]
Dave King has been editing for nearly 40 years now. He is co-author of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, a former contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, and has contributed more than 100 articles over the last 12 years to Writer Unboxed. He lives on 25 acres in rural Massachusetts with his business partner and wife, Ruth Julian, who also edits his work. His other day job, at least on Sundays, is as the organist at a Lutheran church in Greenfield, Mass.
What really stands out here is how the “my way or the highway” editor is not constructive to the editing process at all. In my experience, the best author-editor relationships I’ve been a part of are collaborative. The partnership unlocks a synergy, a higher road to rewrites much like how Mussabini didn’t do the sprinting for Abrahams, but their work together, with Mussabini’s expert edge, pushed Abrahams to go even beyond what he would have alone. We aren’t infallible as editors — I always make a point when I offer edits (even if it’s copyedits) of explaining my perspective in a manner that leaves things open to suggestion. In-line edits through track changes, even if the slightest bit subjective, get comments to explain my angle, the goal being for the writer to spot the principle at work then use it to decide on their own direction. The ultimate goal is always, as you put it, that the final vision realized is an extension and a maturation of the author’s initial vision going into the process, not a Frankinstein of original plus editor’s intrusions.
That’s it exactly.
Dave–Yours is a post every writer would do well to print out and keep handy, both writers who already work with editors, and those who haven’t yet. Having worked with a number of editors–a consumer, if you will–I can confirm the accuracy of what you say.
I especially appreciate your caution to writers to be leery of editors who intrude too much. The effect is that of someone trying to control rather than help. As a dog owner, I think of this approach as analogous to dogs marking territory. It takes the form in Track Changes of too many comments, too many “observations.” The effect–at least on me–is to dilute the overall value of the editor’s feedback. In other words, less IS more.
Thanks again. As always, you’ve given us plenty of value to think about.
As I say, it’s a tricky balance to hit. You need to listen what your editors say. But you can’t let them push you into something you don’t want to do.
The key is, a good editor will listen back and work with you to find a solution you’re both comfortable with.
I’ve worked with several editors too and have to agree. When an editor begins to take your work personally, it’s time to end the relationship!
Dave, what jumped out at me was what you said about subplots. I had a beta reader tell me that a subplot involving the protagonist’s BFF was a distraction. I liked the subplot, though, so I left it in. Then I began working with an editor who really got what I was trying to do, so when she said, nearly verbatim, what my beta reader had said, I decided to listen. I wrote some things out and felt that ‘lift’ that happens when something falls into place. Even better, some other interesting elements opened up out of the cut.
I also worked an editor who to re-name my novel and it sounded like something out a Disney movie. He made other suggestions that fell flat for me as well. With my current editor, I can do that pushback and have a conversation about what’s working and what isn’t. And yes, she’s helped me identify my theme. Bottom line, she’s inside my head. And I realize that takes trial and error. Kind of like dating. Thank you for a wonderful post.
I’ve often said that editorial advice you can’t take isn’t really editorial advice. And you’re right, careful attention to what the writer is trying to do and sympathy with their vision of the book can win over their trust.
I’ve mentioned this before, but one of the books I’m most proud of having worked was the memoir of a holocaust survivor — Mark it With a Stone by Joseph Horn. I knew almost nothing about his life besides what he mentioned in his book, and throughout our relationship, I was always “Mr. King,” and he was “Mr. Horn.” (Understand, this wasn’t cold but had an old-world graciousness to it.) But his book contained stories he had never told his children. And he was sensitive to any criticism.
But he was also not a writer and needed coaching to bring his story to life. And by being gentle and sympathetic, I persuaded him to let me make some important structural changes that, as he saw, brought his story to life. As I said, I learn a lot from my clients, and I still treasure that relationship.
What a beautiful experience that must have been for you both. Thanks for sharing it, Dave.
Dave:
I especially like the phrase “strangely intimate.” That’s a precise description of the relationship I enjoy with my editor. She gets inside my head. What makes that odd is that I’ve never met her and only spoke with her on the phone once.
We’ve tussled on some plot issues and character traits and I have flat out rejected some of her suggestions. Nonetheless, I always try to listen not just to what she says, but to what she’s telling me as well.
We went round and round about an obstinate character’s motivation. She felt the character lost credibility at a particular point in the story. I thought I was portraying an important juncture in the arc. It finally occurred to me that I hadn’t made the character’s mindset, his worldview, clear enough. She had said the character was unbelievable. She was really telling me was that I failed to make his decisions believable. The resulting revisions made a crucial scene much stronger.
My editor got inside my head with her objection and made me reexamine the core of my story, the arc of my protagonist. When I fixed the execution of that turning point she said the whole character became more real for her. I guess I got in her head too. Strangely intimate.
The editor/writer relationship is very strange in many ways. I know nearly nothing about most of my clients’ personal lives — whether they’re married, children, retired, anything. I’ve only met a handful of clients personally in 30 years of editing. There have been times when I’m not sure of their gender.
But in most cases, they have poured themselves into their books, and I get to know those books quite well, through careful and often repeated reading. And as we work together, I come to understand not only their books but how they came to create them and what the story means to them. Which is very intimate, especially for people who are otherwise strangers.
It’s beautiful when it clicks.
Someone just asked privately what the business with the coins meant. Abrahams was extending his stride a little too far. Mussabini was suggesting that he shorten his stride to the point where he would take two more steps over the course of the race.
Hi, Dave:
Maybe it’s because I’m reading Adm. James Stavridis’ SEA POWER at the moment, but the analogy that came to me is this: Always keep in mind that the captain is in charge of his ship, and his love and knowledge of that ship should be taken for granted. My job (as editor) is that of a hired pilot, to make sure the ship makes it into the harbor safely, given my knowledge of the currents and hidden reefs, etc.
I wish I’d lived up to that in every instance. As I read through your post, I reflected on an occasion or two when I may have stepped in too assertively, taking the wheel instead of offering guidance. But fortunately most of my editing clients seem to have valued my work and and seen it as a positive guide for the next rewrite. (I also always make myself available for post-edit consultation, so if something I’ve suggested doesn’t work for the author, we can try to come up with soothing that honors both her conception of the work and my concerns.)
Being a writer who has needed editing helps. My last novel was the first where I worked with a developmental editor, and his input was transformative. He saw what I didn’t see, and made some suggestions I thought were not just great but (ahem) necessary.
The key, in my experience, is understanding what the writer is trying to do, and help them do it, unless it’s fundamentally misguided–at which point you need to talk through why you feel that way.
And though I agree that an objective distance is necessary, I recently had a client I personally liked very much — and I loved her book. But it had some serious problems, and I worked extra hard to help her because I believed in the book and her so much. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, but I agree it could create problems.
Wonderful post. Thanks.
P.S. I just found today that one of my other clients just got a wonderful review from Kirkus for his upcoming novel, which I helped him with. It’s a great feeling, but more a credit to his hard work than mine. I really took him to task in the draft we worked on, and damn but did he put his nose to the grindstone. When I saw the next iteration I was stunned — still all his work, but he’d taken in what I’d said and made it work for his concept of the story. I’m so proud of him, and happy for him.
I like the pilot/captain analogy. And congratulations on the client’s success. It is a wonderful feeling.
I don’t write fiction myself, but everything I put out there is edited by my business partner (and wife), Ruth. A lot of the sprightliness of these columns is down to her.
Oh, what we owe to our sprightly brides.
Great post, Dave. I’m on both sides–as a writer and editor/teacher–and I love it. I’ve been blessed with wonderful editors who’ve preserved my voice but added clarity. So I strive to do the same with my students. I also am enjoying the comments and the special relationships writers develop with each other after many years. It’s strange how intimate we can be with someone who is “just a writer.”
Great post, Dave.
This editorial process you speak of is one of the reasons I published A Keeper’s Truth with a small house. The editor and I were in sync, with the same vision for the work. We respected each other’s perspective. When she made certain suggestions, details I couldn’t bring myself to change, her stance was, “Convince me. Make me understand and believe it.”
This made editorial changes not only easy, but thrilling to write, and provided me with a wonderful sounding board when I hit rough spots.
Just to note, I think your wonderful advice holds true to beta readers and friends who read your work as well. Listen to all. Digest and roll the suggestions over in your mind. Try to think as a reader. Apply changes when you feel they fit the story, the characters. Do not apply changes that feel wrong.
We are writers, authors. These are our stories to tell.
Thanks for the great post, Dave. As usual, you make me think.
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth, GOT (Gift of Travel)
I’ve been enjoying the stories of good editor/writer relationships as well. And the advice may apply even more to beta readers and friends. More often than not, your beta readers will be fellow writers. Their advice can often be helpful, but they tend to be most familiar with the kinds of techniques they themselves use. They’re slightly less likely to be attuned to your storytelling approach.