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Of all the implications and impact of the Shy Girl hubbub—the book whose publisher dropped it just before publication over concerns that it was partly AI generated—what I keep getting hung up on is this: The author blamed her editor for the incident.

It bothers me not because she’s making her editor the fall guy, but because of what it suggests about the broader understanding of an editor’s role. Editing is one of those areas of the publishing industry that can feel mysterious or opaque to authors because it’s largely invisible except to the author and production staff. It’s hard to know what an edit is supposed to look like or accomplish unless you’ve seen editorial feedback firsthand, either your own or other authors’.

The truth, of course, is that there is no “supposed to” with editing, any more than there is in writing. Every editor has their own style just as every writer does. Much of a successful editor-author relationship involves finding the right fit between the editor’s approach and style and the author’s.

But because this incident has shined a light on what an editor actually does (or should do), and because I’ve also seen and heard from many other authors about widely varying editorial approaches—and, relevantly, because AI is also impacting the issue—it may be useful to lay out some parameters and expectations for exactly what and how much you might expect an editor to do on your manuscript.

Read more: “What Type of Edit Do You Need?”

Developmental Edit Level

“First do no harm.”

I joke this is the editor’s Hippocratic oath, just as it is the medical practitioner’s. When I approach an edit I am mindful that I am the midwife for the author’s creativity. I did not make this baby, and I will not be raising it; it is not my baby. My role is to help the author bring their baby into the world.

That means that as a developmental editor I try to hold up a mirror to reflect to the author what I’m seeing on the page, but I don’t offer prescriptive feedback to tell them exactly how they should address it. I share my observations and my reasoning to help the author see what may not be coming across clearly or might benefit from more depth or development: “This is how it seems; is this what you meant to convey?”

Where I give suggestions, they tend to be in the form of questions to help an author determine how to address the gap between their intentions and how the story is coming across on the page—specific elements that might make their story more effective and affecting: “Readers may not yet understand why she’s changed her mind about this; can we see more of what led to this turning point?” or “Why does this comment affect her so negatively? If this is hitting a nerve for her, you might let readers see more clearly what that is or where it came from.” It’s up to the author—the story’s creator—to determine which comments resonate with their intentions, and how to address those that do.

That’s not to say that when an author receives a manuscript back with my editorial notes it won’t be heavily marked up. In fact it’s likely to be, with often hundreds of comments embedded, along with an extensive editorial letter. But they will be framed as observations and questions to help an author understand why I am making a suggestion and to consider ways they might strengthen the story, rather than as instructions—and I certainly don’t make those changes myself. Remember it’s not my baby, so it’s not for me to tell them how to raise her up.

Every editor works in their own way, with their own style, so it’s key to find one who meshes with yours. Edits may be more extensive or less; more prescriptive or less; more hands-on or less. I offer an intake questionnaire to determine what approach might be most helpful for an author, but my style is still my style, which they’ve seen in a sample edit by that point.

But what I do suggest to authors is that they consider whether they want to work with an editor who gives overly prescriptive instruction, or actually makes changes. In my view that’s well beyond the purview of a good edit. (You may welcome an expert’s advice on how to raise your baby, but chances are you’d be less receptive if they step in and start doing it directly.)

And I would have thought it goes without saying, but given the Shy Girl situation…it is 100 percent your responsibility to review every single one of those edits and decide what’s right for your story before submitting or publishing it.

Read more: My extensive “Get It Edited” guide—a free download for authors—goes into more detail about how to find, vet, and work with the right editor for you.

Line-edit Level

Where I make line-level suggestions in an author’s manuscript, again it’s generally in the form of noting my observations and posing questions for the author to consider: “You’ve used this word three times in the last two paragraphs. Perhaps vary?” “This line says essentially the same thing as the one before it, which is stronger. Delete this one?” “This word connotes x, when I think you mean y; is this the meaning you intended?”

On rare occasions where it’s easier or clearer for me to actually make line-level changes I will sometimes do so, but I always preface them by telling the author that this too is simply a suggestion, offer my reasoning, and if they disagree they can undo it in Track Changes and revert to their original phrasing. Again I trust that the author will review any suggestions and changes I might make to determine what suits their intentions and their voice.

And as to the latter, that is one of the biggest principles guiding me: I strive to retain the author’s voice and style and vision. Which is a great segue to the next type of editing and what an author might expect it to look like.

Copyedit Level

I started my career as an editor in copy editing, which means I have developed a fairly comprehensive understanding of grammar, usage and syntax, spelling and punctuation, etc.

Those areas aren’t generally within the purview of a developmental edit, although I will often make minor suggestions on that level when working on an author’s manuscript. But when you hire a copy editor you are seeking their expertise in catching any technical errors in your story, including factual ones, which is also part of a copy editor’s responsibility.

My editor’s Hippocratic oath applied also to my copy editing for the dozen or so years I did it: First do no harm. One of the most important but slippery skills of being a good copyeditor is knowing where to draw the line between correcting an “error” and changing the author’s voice or intentions or style.

I once had a copy editor for one of my own novels with a Big Five publisher who stringently went in and inserted the pluperfect tense anywhere it was strictly called for, which resulted in a preponderance of clunky “had hads” and “had beens” and “had seens,” etc., that slowed pace and risked pulling readers out of the story. I had made [see what I did there?] specific choices to sprinkle them in only where needed to orient the reader and otherwise revert to straightforward past tense, trusting that the reader didn’t need spoon-feeding.

Changing or neutering an author’s prose in favor of strict and sterile pure grammatical correctness is a quick way to radically alter their voice and style and intentions—and piss them off or shut them down. At most publishing houses, and certainly if you are indie publishing, authors have the freedom to reject a copy editor’s changes or suggestions—but that means you need a solid working knowledge of the language, because copy editors are primarily working to make the story as clear and readable as possible for the reader. Rejecting a change that genuinely needs to be made to achieve that purpose means you may be doing harm to your own story.

I have worked and talked with authors who, as a final step in their drafting and editing process, will feed their manuscript into an AI grammar checker for it to “polish” or “punch up,” and what comes back is often a bland and sometimes nonsensical soup. AI doesn’t know artistry, and good copy editing is an art, based on all of the ephemeral factors I mentioned: the author’s voice and intentions, the syntax and context of how the language is used, and of course the many vagaries of English grammar and spelling. These AI grammar checkers are often taking a machete to a job that requires a scalpel.

Words and language are the core tools of a writer’s craft. Writers don’t necessarily need to develop as exhaustive and comprehensive an understanding of the language as a professional copy editor has, but part of developing mastery of your craft means learning it well enough to use language deliberately and intentionally, rather than making unforced errors that muddy your intentions and weaken your voice and authorial authority.

If you are leaving these sorts of decisions to your copy editor as “grunt work” or unimportant cosmetics, then you aren’t yet mastering or wielding the tools of your craft as effectively as you could. You don’t craft the David by leaving the fine chisel work to someone else. That is part of the artistry and intention of the work, essential to ushering your reader into your story and conducting their experience of it.

Read more: “What to Know When Hiring a Pro”

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So how much should an editor do? I have seen and heard about editors who return a manuscript to an author redlined into a murder board, rife with the editor’s changes for ways to make it “better.”

But I’d argue that that’s a bit beyond the scope of the job—and in fact it misses the mark of what the job is. Even with copy editing, an editor’s role is not to go in and heavy-handedly change the author’s words or phrasing or voice or story, but simply to offer their subjective opinion (which is all anyone’s feedback is) on what might strengthen a story, and allow the author to determine what resonates for them and what doesn’t, and put that feedback into action.

First do no harm.

And then it’s the author’s responsibility—yours—to determine what’s right for the story you want to tell and what isn’t, make any changes yourself, and ensure before you send it out into the world that every word of it reflects your intentions and your vision.

Authors, I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences. If you seek outside input on your writing, what kind of feedback are you looking for or expecting? What editorial approach works well for you and what doesn’t—and why?

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