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I saw a post on LinkedIn last week that’s been needling my brain ever since.
One editor wrote to another wondering what to do if an author was having trouble incorporating suggestions and feedback, despite the editor having helped them assess and process it. The second editor made several suggestions:
- That editors not overwhelm authors with too much feedback; focus on three to five main developmental areas to work on.
- That beginning writers who receive feedback and see how much work it will be to revise their story “table any decisions” about the story and rather than tackle the edits, instead begin a new story, using what they’ve learned in the edit to “avoid making the same mistakes in the new project.” That will also make it easier for them to forget about that first project and move on, the second editor suggested.
- If the author doesn’t want to abandon their original story, then the second editor suggested giving him just one significant element to work on in one revision pass that might make a big difference.
Every editor has their own style and approach—just as every author does—and it’s important to find one who is the right fit for you and your story.
Read more: "What to Know When Hiring a Pro"
But while I understand where some of this advice is coming from, and a few other editors chimed in agreeing with the second editor’s advice, I have some reservations.
How Much Feedback Does an Author Need?
In general, I think that first bullet point is based in a constructive approach: It’s true that a metric fuck-ton (to use the technical term) of feedback all at once can feel like a fire hose to the face, and may very well overwhelm an author and risk shutting her down.
But there are a few facets to this advice to consider. When an author hires a professional editor, they are consulting an expert in the field with extensive experience and knowledge (hopefully), and they are often paying thousands of dollars for their expert assessment of their story and actionable suggestions for how to strengthen it.
If editors censor their input based on their belief about how much the author can handle, to me it feels like the equivalent of walking into a dealership to buy a Ferrari and having the dealer decide you probably can’t handle its full power and slapping a speed governor on that thing.
Maybe they’re right about your abilities, but that isn’t for them to decide; you came to buy a Ferrari because you wanted the capabilities of a Ferrari, and you have the right to drive off the lot with everything it’s capable of.
That said, not every driver wants to drive it like they stole it, and they may choose to just toddle it gently to and from the grocery store and out for Sunday drives.
The point is, it’s up to them.
A couple of years ago I started sending authors a pre-edit questionnaire before working on their story, where I ask what level of editing they’re interested in, how they work best, and what their ideal edit would look like. They get to choose the editorial approach they want, from “light-handed” to “give me all you’ve got.” They also specify what level of feedback—from high-level to forensic.
Unsurprisingly (at least to me), almost all the authors who’ve filled out the form have chosen forensic, give-me-all-you’ve-got edits. Maybe that’s because that’s the type of edit I’m known for (author Camille DiMaio once referred to one of my edits as a “literary root canal”)—but I suspect it’s mostly because if they’re consulting a professional editor about their story, they want as much information and feedback as they can get.
Yes, that much feedback can be overwhelming—and for that reason I always break it down in my edit-letter intro to—as the second editor said—a handful of main areas that might most strengthen the story. But I dig deep into those areas in the rest of the letter—my editorial letters are usually upward of 5K words, in addition to often hundreds of embedded notes in a full dev edit—and then I also offer briefer summaries of any other areas I feel would also benefit from development or deepening or clarification.
I see the edits as a resource authors will consult throughout their revision, a deep dive into their story that can serve as an ongoing reference, the same way you might consult a map at various stages of a road trip to navigate the next turns and make sure you’re on the right track. I want that map to be as thorough as possible. I trust the author to decide how much or how little she wants to use it.
When Should You Give Up on a Story?
The second main point the editor made is the one that keeps sticking in my craw. I’ve heard variations of this from a number of industry pros over the years—that a story isn’t salvageable or worth salvaging—and it frosts my proverbial ´nads every time.
I’ve said this a lot—probably in previous posts in this blog: In more than thirty years working on literally thousands of manuscripts, I have never—not once—seen a story that had nothing of merit in that couldn’t be developed and improved upon. That’s the job of an editor—to find those strengths and help the author figure out how they could build on them.
I think of stories like pets or children or any other thing that is important to you. If you get one that needs work or has problems—even a lot of them—you don’t just give up and start over on a new one. You work to help make it better.
And it can be work—a lot of it. Revision is often the hardest work of writing, where a lot of wannabe authors fall away, because it requires diligence, and extensive learning, and great effort—often over and over and over.
Again…that’s the job. And the art, too. Great creative works don’t just vomit right up in finished form or needing only a few tweaks. It took Michelangelo three years to create the David—from a block of Carrera marble that two other commissioned sculptors had tried to shape and pronounced impossible. And have you seen that thing? It literally moved me to tears when I saw it in person; it’s an astonishing work of art. If he hadn’t continued to work with such effort and diligence and patience, the world might never know its beauty.
I can promise you that you’ve read books that have gone through massive revisions and taken a long time to write. I have worked on some like that, which went on to become successful published novels and even bestsellers.
Now, it’s true that some stories, like some pets, may not necessarily have wide appeal. My dog Gavin is a niche dog, not for everyone, and everyone is not for him. But he has zest for life that is unmatched, and he’s full of love for those he loves, and I love him desperately—so I’ve spent countless hours and many, many dollars on training to help him be the best version of himself he can be.
Putting a story away is no one’s decision but the author’s. The editors supporting the idea of counseling an author to let their story go and move on didn’t seem to have asked the author their intentions for the story. Not everyone is looking to be a New York Times bestseller with every story. Some are personal or important for some other reason that makes them worth working on to the author. And even if all they are is learning experiences, I don’t know a lot of pursuits where you learn by quitting.
Read more: "Advocating for Yourself as an Author"
Revising a story is often where you will learn your craft most profoundly and thoroughly. Suggesting that when the going gets tough an author should give up undermines so much of the process of what writing is. If you don’t do the work, you won’t master your craft. Full stop. You don’t somehow magically absorb the knowledge even from the most extensive and thorough editorial feedback—you master it by putting it into action, and failing, and trying again, and failing again, and trying and failing over and over until you fail less, and then not at all.
The Role of an Editor
Saying that beginning authors should shelve a manuscript that needs extensive revision is like telling a kid who strikes out their first time at the plate that maybe they should hang up their bat and try football instead.
If an editor tells you your story doesn’t have enough merit to work on, they are not the right editor for you. They may not realize it, but what they’re actually saying isn’t about you at all. It’s not that this book isn’t fixable. It’s that they can’t or won’t or don’t know how to help you fix it.
Or it might mean the story isn’t as far along as you thought it was, or isn’t ready for editing yet and still needs more development. It might mean you haven’t found the heart of it or the right structure, or that you need to work on ways to put on the page the vision that may feel so clear in your head.
Writing isn’t easy, and it isn’t simple. Neither is editing, and I will admit that there are jobs I don’t feel are ready yet for the editing stage, and I’ll suggest alternatives to the author for how to get it to that point. There are some projects I don’t want to work on because I’m not the right fit or I don’t feel passionate about the story. There have been times that I’ve gone as far as I can go as the editor of a manuscript because I’ve read it so many times I’m becoming as inured to it as the author may be, blind to what’s on the page versus all the iterations of the story we have worked on before, and at that point I suggest fresh eyes.
But at no point do I suggest that an author’s work isn’t salvageable or has no merit and should be abandoned. The former isn’t true and the latter isn’t my decision to make, any more than is the decision of whether or how to publish or with whom; it’s the author’s.
If you have been told this misguided advice, thank the person offering it. Hopefully their intentions are good, but they’ve misidentified the issue and confused their role: Good editors help diagnose and address issues, in accordance with the author’s intention; they don’t determine or change that intention, or prescribe the author’s course of action, and they sure don’t pronounce a patient DOA.
The only person who knows when it’s time to put a book in the drawer is the author: when they feel stuck or dead-ended and need time and distance to percolate a course forward; when they’ve lost interest in pursuing the story, or don’t feel the effort required is worth it for what they want out of the book.
And the drawer doesn’t have to be a graveyard either: I often share that my most recent published novel (The Way We Weren’t, as Phoebe Fox) was the first one I ever attempted, a story that had to “cook” for 15 years before it—and I—matured into what I wanted it to be. And every single story I’ve ever stashed in that drawer eventually found its way to publication. Suggesting an author abandon a story as a lost cause is just misguided advice.
Read more: "The Books in the Drawer--Or, Why Some Stories Take Longer Than Others"
Authors, how do you decide when it’s time to put a story aside and work on something else? Have you received this kind of input before from an industry pro, and if so how did you handle it? What’s your opinion about hiring an editor—do you want them to share everything they’re seeing, or just the main points?
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27 Comments. Leave new
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
I couldn’t agree more! Lovely blog post that gives a lot of food for thought – I’ll definitely share.
Oh, please do! I hear stories from time to time about authors receiving what I consider to be misguided and sometimes detrimental information and advice, and it drives me crazy. Thanks, Karmen.
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
Agree with most of these points. I think telling a writer to outright to abandon a project would be cruel! As an editor, I think it’s about finding the right balance between moving the ball forward and coaching the writer but without overwhelming them. A 5K word letter plus inline notes in an MS would knock me off my pins, I think. I’ve found that working with writers and helping them wade deeper into the water in phases works best. Thought-provoking blog post. Thanks for sharing.
I think it’s cruel too, Christopher! And so potentially harmful to an author’s confidence in themselves.
I agree with you about balance (as with all things, right?). I used to offer my deep-dive approach to every author, but experience taught me to consult them beforehand about what they want and how they work best. It lets me tailor my approach to their needs and preferences, which is more constructive. But as I said, it’s notable how many ask for the full monty.
I actually can relate to that–if I hire a home inspector, or consult a doctor, or take my car to a mechanic, I don’t want them deciding how much news/advice/input they think I can handle. I’m hiring them because I want as thorough a picture as they can give me, and I’ve chosen the most knowledgeable people I can find to ensure that that input is deep and thorough. (Otherwise what am I paying for?)
But as I say, every writer (and editor) works differently. Your approach to me sounds more like coaching, perhaps? And I know some authors flourish with that ongoing approach. With my work, I’m hired for one pass or maybe one or two additional ones beyond that, and we’re working with the whole manuscript at once, so I want to make sure they’re getting everything they want and need from that. But with authors who prefer a more gradual or graded approach, it’s great that there are coaches and editors who can offer that. Thanks for your comment!
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
Great post! I agree; I believe people can handle it, that’s looking at a writer with confidence.
Absolutely–editors aren’t the ultimate arbiter of a story’s worth, nor of what an author should do with their manuscript or how they approach their career. It vexes me when any industry pro presents themselves or their opinion as an absolute authority. This is a subjective business, and no one has a magic formula for success or knows what’s best for a particular author. Thanks for the comment, Tara.
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
As a legitimate author and not at all a random bot peddling blue pills on the Internet, I can answer this one.
Quitting: yes, maybe-ish? I did give up on a couple of manuscripts in the past, but not that many. There are also two of my books that I think were frankly weak, and I wish I had had (or, in the second case, given myself) the time to make them into the best possible execution of my vision.
To me, though, the secret lies in lots of mental plotting and prepping, and *not* writing a book that hasn’t already successfully written itself in my mind. For example, I’ve been toying with writing a sequel to a standalone I published in 2023. Well I’ve shelved that sequel for now because no matter how much I thought about it, I had a good start, a good end, but no compelling middle. More concerning, the stars of the book were secondary characters: if my protagonists don’t inspire me enough from the start, the book isn’t gonna write itself as I plod on.
As for editing, it’s kind of the same. I got lucky with my debut in that it didn’t need that much dev editing, and that left me unprepared to learn what it meant to edit a novel at the level that’s to be expected of a published writer. I learned that the hard way throughout the editing of my second and third novels, which weren’t nearly as ready. By the time I finished the fourth, I had learned to self-edit as I wrote. When I turned in that fourth book to Tiffany, I remember her telling me that the editorial letter would be short because there wasn’t much to revise.
It was a huge reward, but that came from ruthless self-editing. Nowadays, I never write a straight first draft. The final “draft” will have gone through at least ten versions, usually over a year, and throughout that process, I will routinely cut entire chapters that I loved but recognize that they just don’t advance the plot or work where I placed them.
So, if I had to sum up my approach, it would be:
⭐ You won’t have to shelve a manuscript if you don’t write it: don’t start a book if all you have is a pitch and a great key scene.
I did that once and got away with it (and it turned into my longest and richest book), but it’s too risky. As I mentioned earlier, this is clearly not working for the sequel to that book. I can sense it, and I’ll spare myself months—if not years—of self-inflicted grief by waiting until the novel is fully formed before I commit it to words.
⭐ Your developmental editor can’t hurt you if you hurt yourself first: the best way to neutralize Tiffany is to listen to your internal alarm bells and revise before she tells you to.
You know that middle is saggy; you can sense when the pacing of a scene is off and drags on instead of closing on a decisive hinge in the story. You just think you can get away with it because some bits are that good.
I’m sorry…”The best way to neutralize Tiffany”? 😉
This is such great (and fascinating) insight to how you work, Camille. And I can testify firsthand that you have an uncanny ability to develop a story with a depth and clarity that is impressive before you write a single word. I’m not sure that’s something many authors could do the way you do it–your mind is a wild place. 🙂
It may also not be a productive or inspiring way for every author to work–it wouldn’t for me. If I know that much about the story before I write it, I don’t need to write it; I write to discover the story myself. It’s not as efficient sometimes as exhaustive preplanning, but for me it’s far more effective–and creatively satisfying.
And that’s my point, really–that every author has to find the way of working that suits them best. I know countless “revision writers,” many of them bestsellers, whose approach is more like mine: discovering the story as they write it. Does that necessitate a lot of effort and discarded words? Sure, it can. But the way I see it, you’re doing all that mentally beforehand; other authors do it physically along the way. Tomato/tomahto–in either scenario that same level of deep work has to happen.
I see a lot of writing systems that purport to help authors avoid ever “wasting” a bunch of discarded material or having to do multiple drafts by doing extensive planning–but in my view it’s a bit of a false premise, and a false promise. Either way you have to do the work of developing and deepening the story–and no matter how carefully you plan, there’s no guarantee it comes out on the page as effectively as you envisioned. Those systems can help guide authors in the way you say–to get them thinking more deeply about the story and its structure. But they aren’t a failsafe and they aren’t a one-size-fits-all panacea. They’re just another tool in the toolbox for authors to choose from, to be used when they might be helpful.
Thanks for this glimpse into your process!
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
Tiffany, your perspective and how you convey it gets better and better: the original piece and now comments adding up to more than the sum of the work. You’re speaking directly to my situation and I so need to hear it! It always amazes me when what is needed most is also delivered at the most opportune time. As always, your post is insightful, bang on and thankfully real with the occasional implied profanity. You’ve given me the impetus to get back into the frey. Many, many thanks.
These are really interesting comments–I thought so too! 🙂 I’m really glad this one hit you at the right time, Kimberley. Hang in there and persist! And thanks for the kind word.
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
Great post! When I get to hiring an editor, I want all the help I can get. I don’t want to be coddled—I’m looking for guidance, ways to learn and improve. And I’d be flattened if an editor told me to shelve a project.
Thanks Tiffany.
FLATTENED, yes. I would too–and I’ve heard too many heartbreaking stories from authors who have had the heart sucked out of them by feedback like this, or lost confidence in themselves, or even considered quitting writing altogether.
Thanks for the kind comment, Leslie!
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This deserves a standing ovation! I can’t believe how much easier diagnosing problems is now compared to two decades ago—because it takes time and hard work. There’s no app to download so you instantly have experience, experience that never stops accumulating. Thing is, too, learning is inspiring!
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Thank you, I think you’re right. It’s hard to imagine a story idea that isn’t strong enough to provide a satisfying reader’s experience. It may just take a lot of hard work.
The question I asked the editor that I worked with was: Is this story idea strong enough to carry the novel to a satisfying reading experience for a mystery reader? I got,’ yes, strong work,’ and some very helpful challenges, which I have gratefully accepted and continue to pursue diligently.
After reading your wonderful post, the question I’d ask is, How much work of what kind would I have to do to make this story a satisfying reading experience for a mystery reader?
In other words, I agree with you; it’s for the author to decide whether it’s worth it or not. The power of revision is limited only by the author’s commitment to the story. Ably assisted by the guidance and encouragement of the editor, of course.
I’ve recently taken one out of the drawer. Powerful opening. I know what has to happen, and I am eager to read further. I just couldn’t see how to get there. Now I know how to take it farther; I’m just not sure what I envision will take it far enough. ‘Only way for me to find out is to revise. And revise. And revise. (Winston Churchill reportedly said, “When you’re goin’ through hell…keep goin’! Leonardo da Vinci reportedly said, “Art is never finished, it’s abandoned.” I like quotes.) Even if this MS is never submission-worthy, I’ll still have learned a lot. And it’s not hell; I get a lot of satisfaction mixed in with all that frustration.
As always, thank you.
That’s the key, Bob–some stories may take a lot more work than others, and early in a writer’s career especially. Few authors produce a masterpiece right out of the gate. Writing, like any art (or really anything) takes hard work and practice…so much of it. I often point out to authors who may feel frustrated that if they wanted to dance in a ballet, or perform surgery, or fly a plane, they’d expect to spend many, many, many hours learning, honing, and practicing their craft. Yet so often writers expect to master theirs much faster and more easily.
Writing and storytelling are so unbelievably complex–the more I learn about this craft, the more I am amazed at just how much. As long as I’ve been at this–and in a pretty intense way, given my job–it always feels like there are still so many layers to mine, and always new angles and nuances and depths to discover. Yet it’s so easy to grow frustrated with our progress when we aren’t tracking where we think we should be.
I like your questions you ask yourself–both of them. I think the revised one cuts to the heart of what I was trying to say in this story: How much work would you have to do to get this story where you want it–and is that worth it to you on this one? I love this too: “The power of revision is limited only by the author’s commitment to the story.” Yes, talent is variable, but I’ll put my money on the product of the hardworking, persistent writers over the ones relying only on talent every damn time.
I know firsthand it’s a great feeling to take the book out of the drawer that had stymied you and realize you know now what needs doing–and how to do it. Good luck with that project, Bob. And thanks, as always, for a thought-provoking comment.
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
About complexity, levels, and variations, I read somewhere that there are only seven paths a story can take. They even have names, like Hero’s Journey. Well maybe, but I suspect that there are as many ways of treading those paths as there are different shapes of snowflakes. That’s probably enough for all the writers there’ll ever be.
There’s nothing new under the sun…and everything is unique to its creator. The great artistic dichotomy.
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The Real Person!
No one has mentioned cost in this discussion but if I paid a top-notch editor for a developmental assessment (which would usually be at least $2000) and she decided to only tell me “half” of what she thought needed fixing, I’d be furious. What about the other half? Another $2000? No, tell me all of it and let me deal with it in my own way.
This was a point my husband raised too, and I agree. If I go to an expert I want their full expert opinion. I take the point about overwhelm, but I think avoiding it can also be a matter of the editor’s approach, organization, and how they present the feedback. There are ways to convey “This still needs a fair amount of development” that aren’t as discouraging and offer authors an actionable way to address issues. Thanks for the comment, Maggie.
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
Interesting post. Just this week I had feedback from my agent on my new book we’d discussed last month. I’d sent her a 10k sample to look over. She told me one thing to look at (to do with structure) and that’s it. I’m happier to have the one Big Thing, because then I will find my way with the rest and (hopefully) it will all fall into place!
That’s what I mean about every author needing to find the best way for them to work. Glad you have an agent who is the right fit for you, Syl!
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The Real Person!
You never get where you’re going or attain your goals or dreams if you give up. I couldn’t agree more. After recently getting my first round of feedback from an editor, was I overwhelmed by all I realized I didn’t know? Absolutely. Am I giving up? Absolutely not. As a long-time educator, you never tell a student to give up. Our role, similar to that of an editor, is to guide, suggest, direct, support, and encourage. We are only half of the equation of success. The other half is the student or the writer.
I greatly enjoyed this post and value you sharing your thoughts on this. Sometimes, it feels like a minefield out there when you are looking for someone to help you on your journey as a writer.
I am a give-me-all-you-got kind of person because I love learning, and it is the only way I will continue to grow as a writer.
That’s always my approach too, Emily–I like to have a lot to chew on, over an extended time. That’s how I learn best–and yes, I think it’s essential to have teachers and guides who are encouraging and positive and constructive. Thanks for the comment!
The Real Person!
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In a world of work ethic aphorisms that spiral around keeping your butt in the chair for eight hours at a pop, it’s often hard to accept (and explain) that walking away and doing something else for a while is an important step in the creative process. Even harder is knowing when “a while” is over, given that it could be a few minutes or a few years. Finding that sweet spot where you actually remember what you were aiming for, while still being able to see it through fresh, rested eyes, is the holy grail.
Have you read Rest, Claudia, by Alex Soojung Kim-Pang? One of my favorite recent reads–it’s about exactly this. I do think we need to know when to step away and regroup so we can come back with fresh eyes and perspective.I try to remember that (and when I forget, my body reminds me by shorting out until I take a step back and rest).
The Real Person!
The Real Person!
Great blog–I’m still snickering about “a metric fuck-ton of feedback” feeling like a firehouse to the face! I’m hoping for a comprehensive developmental edit that will result in the most compelling, engaging novel possible.
That seems to be what most authors–at least the ones I talk to–want: tools to make the work the best they can make it, the closest to their vision. Glad this post struck a chord, Lee! 🙂