Critique & Edits: Separating Wheat from Chaff

When your “voice” is hoarse, maybe you should listen to your editor

Many writers ride an invisible pendulum that swings from wildly insecure on to insufferably arrogant. Some writers will take any and all suggestions to heart, often mangling their own work beyond recognition — usually to its detriment. Other writers refuse to accept even the most obvious spelling or grammatical corrections, because they trust their gut and someone on the Internet said that that was the only way to fly.

Few of us are so brilliant that our writing can’t benefit from a good edit. That said, not everyone is a good editor. A good editor, in my opinion, is one who can polish the original work of the writer without rewriting it from the ground up, changing the writer’s “voice” and style into their own. A good editor knows the mechanics of writing and knows when to use the indelible red pen. A good editor also knows when to gently suggest a change or to ask the writer if what they were trying to say might be said more clearly in a different way.

The trick most writers must learn is how to tell the difference — when to accept changes gratefully, when to accept them graciously, when to ignore them, and when to fight them.

Knowing the difference is an art, and a sign of professionalism.

Grateful Acceptance

Grateful acceptance is called for when we receive edits and think, “Did I really write something this good?” or we realize that, without the editor’s changes, we would have sent our precious words out in public with their tittles hanging out and toilet paper stuck to their serifs.

Excellent edits teach us something. Perhaps they remind us of the value of careful proofreading, or they inform us of the difference between active verbs and active voice, or endless exposition and purple prose versus passive voice. Perhaps they help us understand the subjunctive mood — a matter of wishful thinking, rather than a melancholic atmosphere.

Excellent editors highlight weaknesses and bring out our strengths. They have objectivity about our work that we lack, but they are kind caregivers who only have its best interests at heart. They may care more for the work than they do for us, and that is as it should be.

Gracious Acceptance

Gracious acceptance is called for when we have sold rights to a publisher for good consideration — that is, for money or fame. On Medium, we “sell” the work to a publication for wider distribution, and we are lucky to find editors who know what they’re doing — editors who provide any feedback at all, let alone editors who can improve upon it before pushing it “live.”

Once we’ve offered up our work to others, we have little legal say in who edits the work or what changes they make to it. We can only hope for the best, unless we have negotiated contract terms that allow us to reject changes or approve the final product before they publish it.

For the most part, though, once we sell rights, we must smile, grit our teeth, and say, “Thank you.” Publishing is a small world; choose your publishers with care and consider whether you may want to work with them — or their friends — in the future.

Thank You. Next!

This applies to feedback from family, friends, random Internet acquaintances, and trolls — in almost equal measure. While some of these folks may catch errors that would embarrass us in public, their feedback — all too often — consists of undeserved and unhelpful praise or destructive and unwarranted criticism.

This is the hardest sort of feedback to distinguish, but as a rule of thumb, consider the source. Take praise from those who love you with a giant block of salt — let it feel like a hug, wear it like armor on bad days, but never let it go to your head. Take harsh or dismissive criticism from random strangers with your ears stuffed with cotton; smile, nod, drop their baggage in a ditch, and move on.

There is no law that says you have to take every change suggested, even if you specifically asked someone to give suggestions. Take what rings true and discard the rest.

This IS the Ditch I Choose to Die In!

Sometimes, the work itself is too personal for us to regard it objectively or allow it to be “schooled” by other teachers. Imagining it as one’s “child,” as writers sometimes do, requires consideration of the fact that, if we want it to live and thrive in the world, we have to let go of the reins.

But sometimes, far more rarely than we might care to admit, we are right to dig in our heels. Writing is communication — from one mind to many. If edits would damage the structural integrity of the work or detract from its purpose, we are not wrong to cling stubbornly to what matters.

I have been a member of a group of moms who met on the Internet in 1995. All of us were pregnant and due in March 1996. We formed the first “due date list,” something that is now fairly common. The story behind my third children’s book, A New Leaf for Lyle, was inspired by one of the other moms’ Facebook posts. Another served as the illustrator. A third used her newly minted MLS credentials to write a blurb for the back cover. The book was a labor of love and friendship.

I was offered a publishing contract for A New Leaf for Lyle. The publisher was kind enough to offer feedback before I accepted, and although I could not argue the merits of some of it — it was 10 pages longer than the standard 32 pages and I had chosen my own illustrator — those were exactly the points I was unwilling to negotiate. The publisher was not “wrong,” nor was I.

I self-published it. And it has sold as well as the other books that were traditionally published.

When you believe in something, you stand up for it. But you do have to know when to let go, too. I didn’t turn down the contract or the edits because they were “wrong.” I turned them down because I wasn’t willing to let go of it.

Worth Their Weight in Gold

A good partnership between writer and editor is worth its weight in gold. An excellent editor is a godsend. If you really want to grow as a writer, you’ll have to develop a thick skin and figure out how to distinguish between useful feedback, necessary and non-negotiable edits, and a waste of time.

Strong emotions, on seeing anyone take a red pen to work we’ve invested time and sweat in, are unavoidable. But don’t let emotions get in the way of making your writing the best it can be. Don’t allow pride or stubbornness close you off from seeking or accepting help; at the same time, don’t allow your own insecurities, coupled with an unkind word from a stranger, to tear you down or derail your aspirations.

Holly Jahangiri is the author of Trockle; A Puppy, Not a Guppy; and A New Leaf for Lyle. She draws inspiration from her family, from her own childhood adventures (some of which only happened in her overactive imagination), and from readers both young and young at heart. Visit her website at jahangiri.us.