How a decent editor will show you your (book’s) arse

You know when you’re about to go out somewhere and you get dressed up because it’s important you look good and you agonise over clothes and pile them up on the bed and get changed a few times but then you’re done, you’re dressed, you’re ready – ready except for one thing. So, you stand with your back to the mirror and you crane your neck round, peer over your shoulder to try and see if your arse (or ass if you’re reading this in the US) looks okay, because you look okay from the front but God knows what’s going on with your arse. But no matter how you contort your head, strain your eyes, crane your neck, you still can’t gain that clear, reassuring glance that will give you full arse confidence.

Well that’s editorial. A decent editor show’s you your arse, your book’s arse.

Because no matter how you try to read your work as though it were written by someone else (and it is mandatory to make this attempt) you can never 100% do that – a bit of your own sentiment remains to blind you.

I’ve published six novels (confession – I’ve written three more than that) and I’ve worked for years as a freelance structural editor of fiction for publishers, plus I’m a creative writing tutor and mentor who has engaged with hundreds of writers. But you know what? Despite all that experience on both sides of the aisle, I’d never publish a book I’d written without it first going through the hands of an editor.

An editor is an enabler. A good editor discerns what you’re trying to do and helps you do that better – better that is within the context of commercial and genre imperatives. Because obviously if you have, say, sold a crime book for a huge amount of money in a two book deal and when you deliver the second book it is a derivative romcom, or a fable about giraffes, then the editor’s not going to be an enabler. Commercial imperatives will take over and the editor will have to enforce the publishing house’s expectations of their expensive asset.

But at this stage, where you’re learning to fly, and there’s no real publishing house money on the table, the editor is your enabler. And in the places I work, independent presses, where the advances are low and the writers are often debut, the key thing for me is that the writer sounds more like them, hones their intent and their voice, advances their becoming.

With a good editor it shouldn’t matter what their taste is – if they personally like the type of book you’re writing or not. I reckon I personally would read, on my own time, about 5% of the books I edit. That doesn’t mean I’m less enthusiastic about the edit – it’s always fascinating to balance my experience with the author’s intentions, and the genre and market expectations. If I do my job right the author will never know if they’re in the 5% or not – it’s of no significance

I’ve been asked many times by writers if I liked their book and I always demure, move on to talk practically about improving the work. A writer asking their editor if they like their book is like an accused asking their barrister if they think they’re guilty. It’s got no bearing. The judge – or in our case the publisher or the reader – will decide.

It’s the responsibility of the editor to suggest practical, achievable fixes which are commensurate with the intentions of the writer and appropriate to the commercial and genre landscape. An editor who finds problems without offering fixes is just a critic – they’re like a Doctor who can diagnose but has no medicine. This is why writers often make good editors – because they know the fixes as well as the problems. 

It’s the responsibility of the writer to be open and welcome the improvements which the editor suggests. Why wouldn’t you be? Someone is trying to make you look better. The best type of editorial experience from my experience is when the writer grasps the general truth of a point and applies it across the book, even to instances that we have not explicitly discussed. If a writer only makes the changes discussed but does not grasp parallel examples of the issue, what have they really learned? Intelligence in writing – as with life – is in a large part the recognition of recurring patterns.

It’s also the responsibility of the writer to defend their book and to reject editorial changes which harm their intentions. In clarifying to the editor why a suggested change transgresses their intentions, happily the writer often clarifies those intentions to themselves, in a practically applicable way.

Differences of opinion are healthy and useful and are to be encouraged. If a writer disagrees with me, (assuming they’re right), I’m absolutely delighted because I’m dealing with a writer with a clear vision and some gumption – qualities needed by any writer wanting a long career.

It’s the highest calling of an editor to seek to make themselves (almost) redundant. What I most want as an editor (or when working as a mentor) is that when the writer sits down to their next book they’ve absorbed, through our engagement, something more of the underlying principles of narrative structure that will allow them to start nearer to the centre of the target in their forthcoming story. That still doesn’t mean they’ll be able to fully see their arse though.

Craig Taylor is one of the mentors on our Ultimate Novel Writing Course. As C M Taylor, Craig’s six novels have been reviewed in most national papers, optioned for TV and published by both independent and big five publishers alike. A versatile and experienced editor, Craig has written 200+ editorial reports, and for publishers, edited 40+ novels. He lectures at the Oxford International Centre for Publishing. 

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