The Art of Editing

Perhaps it is a quirk—or maybe a perk—of the job, but you’ll find that editors ask a lot of questions. We must, if we are to understand what writers are trying to say and to help them in the best possible way. Many of these questions concern the text and the author’s intentions, but there are others that whisper more insistently in the adytum of our minds.

One of these, inevitably, is how much is too much when it comes to the extent of our editing?

It’s a question I guess most editors will ask at some point in a project. It’s certainly one that I ponder often. This may have something to do with the type of manuscripts I edit, but it may also relate to my approach as an editor. It could be that I engage more directly with a document than some of my colleagues. If I see how a piece of writing could be improved, my inclination is to do it; always keeping in mind, of course, the importance of maintaining the author’s voice.

But truthfully?

Those improvements I make are based on my personal perspective. Even with seemingly straightforward matters like sentence structure and punctuation (which are never really that simple), another editor may view the whole thing differently and edit accordingly. It’s the nature of the work. Editing is interpretative, creative and subjective, all of which makes it difficult to answer that nagging question of quantity.

I have been fortunate that none of my clients have so far expressed any anguish about the approach I have taken with their writing. It is possible they are all polite enough to keep any dark mutterings to themselves, but it is just as likely that I have not interpreted any comments I have received from them as complaints, simply because I believe it is part of the editing process to engage in a constructive dialogue in order to achieve the desired result.

In practice, that means I will ask if it is okay to proceed before proposing any major revisions. I explain my intentions as well as my actions to my clients, and I expect them to inform me of any concerns they may have. If a client does express doubt or suggest some other solution, I adapt my approach.

The answer is trust.

I trust in my insight and expertise as an editor. I trust in my ability to communicate clearly and sensitively with my clients. And I trust my clients to tell me if and when they need me to soften—or strengthen—my intervention.

Although it occupies my mind, the funny thing about all this solicitude over the depth and extent of my editing is that it is actually immaterial, because in the end, the choice is always yours. Or rather, it is a decision we reach together.

That’s one thing you can trust. Between us, we will find your writing’s sweetest and most fluent rhythms. We will divine its brightest shape and clearest tone. We’ll get it to the form and place it needs to be.

And you can be absolutely assured that I will ask you many, many pesky questions along the way.

Have you ever been uncomfortably over-edited? Do you get frustrated by your editor’s endless questions? And be honest now: have you ever encountered the word “adytum” before?

There is a saying that good editing is invisible. Since my Zen-inspired musing on voice and how to find it, I’ve been wondering if editing is—or should be—inaudible too.

Just in case you missed it, my earlier article advised that the way to find your voice as a writer is to use it. However, looking at this from a writer’s viewpoint is only one part of the story. Editors have a perspective on voice too, although it is one that does not get discussed nearly as much.

In a simplistic definition, editing can be described as the art of tidying up a text to ensure its message is clear, concise and compelling. This includes consideration of the structure, content, style and syntax of the document, all of which involves working with the author’s voice. But before we get too concerned about this, let me assure you that it does not mean an editor’s job is to change that voice. In most cases, the opposite is true.

As an editor, I will not alter your voice unless you explicitly ask me to do so. I may make observations and offer suggestions about it, but these are always done in consultation with you. It could be that the tone you are using is too formal or informal for your intended audience, or perhaps there is a shift in the voice that has resulted from the many (many, many) different drafts you have penned. In such cases, I would alert you to the issue and offer suggestions for how to remedy it. We would work together to ensure that your voice is both appropriate and consistent for your purpose and audience.

How exactly this happens is part of the mysterious magic that is editing. The best way I can describe it is that an editor ‘tunes in’ to the voice in a manuscript, becoming conscious of its cadence and responsive to its rhythm.

Being attuned like this to the voice in a manuscript is an essential skill for editors. Without an awareness of how the voice sounds, it is difficult to make insightful recommendations or adjustments. Remember how I mentioned that good editing is invisible? This is because it amends a text without leaving any sign of the process involved. It takes expertise to achieve this and can only be done when an editor has an excellent sense of the author’s voice.

The changes an editor suggests to a text should blend in imperceptibly, appearing as if they were always supposed to be there. When reflecting on editing in terms of audibility, however, I’m not sure the same aim applies.

One way to think of it is that an editor lends a voice to the chorus that allows an author’s words to soar. By adding a few key notes and harmonising with you, your editor contributes to the overall artistry of your voice in terms of its fluency, sensitivity and melody.

Basically, editors make you sound better.

Yet while it may be vital to the final, shining version of your writing, an editor’s voice should never dominate. In this sense, editing is audible, but only just. Although its resonance may be there, the true voice—the one that sings distinctly and is heard most purely—is always and uniquely yours.

Have you had a harmonious relationship with an editor? How did that editor help to enhance your voice? What observations or advice do you have about working with voice for writers and editors alike?

Friendly and professional. That’s what I am to be in my business. In my interactions with clients and the care I give to my work, I am guided by those two qualities. However, despite my best intentions, it is not always possible for me to embody them.

Being professional is important to me, in terms both of my proficiency and how I manage my business. While I am confident in my expertise in the areas of editing and writing, I am consistently seeking to learn and improve. That, to me, is a more professional – and realistic – attitude to hold than one that assumes I already know everything and can do it perfectly.

Another way I aim to be professional is through being honest and respectful in my communication. I am truthful about the nature, scope and timing of the assistance I can offer prospective clients. I am not the right editor for all writers, and I value the relationship between editor and writer too highly to just accept every job that comes my way. When I do enter into arrangements with writers, I keep them informed of my progress with their manuscripts and discuss any concerns either of us may have. If something takes longer than anticipated or is delayed for any reason, I let my clients know.

As anyone who has perused the pages of this website has hopefully found, my tone is approachable and perhaps even affable. I don’t want to seem like a scary, scolding sourpuss who will disapprove of the way you use commas, because that’s not who I am nor what I do. I appreciate creative people and the work they make. I especially admire those who find meaning and joy in their process, as their dedication to their creations is often conveyed to those who encounter them.

I choose to be friendly when I engage with writers because I know how intimidating it can be to share something as personal as a story or a poem. I am honoured that people trust me with their words and consider it a privilege to develop a rapport with my clients.

But being professional means that I can’t simply be a friend.

If I see something in your manuscript that bugs me, I will tell you. If I think you have used a few too many anecdotes or, yes, too many commas, I’ll advise you to excise some. If the bit of your book that you love so dearly somehow doesn’t work, then I will gently propose that you shorten, shift or ditch it.

My job as your editor is not to approve everything you do. It is to help you refine your writing so that it reaches its readers in the most effective, expressive and meaningful way possible.

You won’t always agree with my suggestions. You might not always like my advice. And you know what else? I won’t always be right. Nevertheless, the relationship we have when we work together involves me giving you my insight, my ability and my opinions. This can be done courteously, and I hope that is how you perceive it. But it’s not always ‘nice’ and nor is it benign. I want to encourage you to think and make decisions about your writing, regardless of whether you find that comfortable or not.

Maybe the distinction I am drawing here falls between the adverb and the noun. In other words, it is the difference between being friendly and being a friend. I will be friendly to the extent that I can, but if you ask me, I will not recoil from telling you where and how you can improve.

Perhaps that is what good friends do. In any case, it is what you can expect from me as a friendly and professional editor.

What characteristics do you value in life and in business? What qualities do you look for in an editor? What matters most to you in the relationship between writer and editor?

I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. There are many things I love about my job.

One of the best aspects is the diversity of manuscripts that I get to edit. This year’s assortment included everything from picture books to PhD theses, and from personal development texts to post-apocalyptic epics. There were also meditative coming-of-age stories, quirky short fiction, and philosophical musings on loneliness, fate, geology and love, with a bit of sci-fi thrown in as well.

Distinct as each of these manuscripts is from any other, what is constant in all of them is the heart that has gone into their creation. Some of the texts I’ve edited this year have been deeply personal, and all contain a powerful sincerity. The courage each writer has shown in expressing and sharing these truths has been a privilege to witness.

This leads me to another wonderful quality of my job. I’m fortunate to have some incredible clients, who are not only amazing and dedicated writers but simply lovely people as well. This year, a number of them experienced the joy of becoming published authors for the first time. Others successfully completed their PhDs, entered their stories into competitions, saw their novels move closer to completion, realised their dreams of creating a print magazine, and were offered multi-book publishing deals.

Already, the new year is brimming with more exciting editing projects. I’m honoured to be involved in every one of these, and I’m looking forward to seeing what else will evolve as the months of 2017 unfold.

For now, I want to give my thanks and best wishes to all my clients, all my readers and all my colleagues. You are the ones who make this whole thing matter, and it means a lot to me.

As the year ends, I hope you find time both to reflect and to imagine. The past twelve months are sure to have brought pleasures, regrets, lessons and remembrances for every one of us. With the new year soon to begin, my hope is that we will all enjoy new adventures, new discoveries and the delightful surprises that life offers us.

Be well, my friends. And thanks for everything.

What are your highlights of 2016, writing or otherwise? What plans, projects and possibilities are you contemplating for 2017? What are you giving thanks for now?

I mean because the thing is because um like well you know how we don’t people don’t like talk like we write we sort of you know oh I’m going off over here and then I’m over here something else and it all kind of runs together whatever and then kind of because what it is is that you talk as you think you don’t really think about it you just well maybe sometimes you do but most of the time it’s just say it you don’t don’t think about it you know and I guess that maybe that kind of makes it a bit hard

Well, yes, actually. It does make it a bit hard.

If you’ve ever tried to turn spoken utterances into written text, then you will know it is not as simple as it sounds. The transformation involves a number of steps, usually beginning with transcription. Already this can present difficulties, as there are different ways to transcribe audio files. Even in their raw form, some transcripts require an exacting accuracy, while others can afford more flexibility.

The presentation of the transcription can vary as well, depending on who does it and for what purpose. Linguistic transcription, for instance, is sprinkled with cryptic symbols that signify all those meaningful parts of speech that are not words. These include, entertainingly enough, the use of the “@” symbol to indicate laughter, while the “#” symbol is applied to utterances that are deemed unintelligible or uncertain. (And suddenly hashtags make way more sense to me.)

Where things get interesting from an editor’s perspective is after the words are turned from speech into script. This is often when they need to be emended – whether slightly or significantly – to ensure they appear in an orderly form for their audience.

As the sample text above endeavours to explain, we do not speak in neatly punctuated sentences. We hedge and garble, we pivot and maunder. We cram our conversation with all manner of fillers, with the result that much of what we say isn’t really what we mean.

Quiz a scribble of editors about this and you’ll get a range of responses, shared with varying degrees of vehemence. Some will insist that no changes can be made to the text. None. Every “er”, “um”, “like” and “you know” must be retained in their original form to avoid any risk of misrepresentation. Others might argue that the inclusion of such phrases is disrespectful to the speaker, who would surely prefer to seem lucid and intelligent in print. You’ll also find editors who will cheerfully change the odd spoken word or two in order to bend a sentence into a correct grammatical form. Their colleagues may do so too, but more warily.

Depending on the context, any and all of these approaches could be appropriate. In determining what to do, editors must take into consideration the preferences of their clients, the needs of the readership and the nature of the publication, as well as their own inclination. In some cases, a verbatim presentation of the speech as spoken is the only ethical option. Yet even here, complexity arises, as the words must still be shaped into written discourse. At the very least, this involves the application of some punctuation, and even the most benign of these marks can change the interpretation of a phrase.

One illustration of this involves the words “you know”. These are often heard in speech, but can prove problematic to punctuate. Note the difference in the following:

It can be an interesting process, you know? It’s not always as obvious as it seems.
It can be an interesting process. You know, it’s not always as obvious as it seems.
It can be an interesting process. You know it’s not always as obvious as it seems.

The absence or addition of the question mark, comma and full stop alters the nuance of this utterance. In the first version, the words “you know” are used to seek confirmation of understanding or agreement. In the second, they seem to express a reflective insight, while in the third they serve as an instructive or even didactic mechanism. While the overall meaning of the remark may be similar in all three, the mood decidedly is not.

Without hearing the intonation of the speaker, it would be difficult to determine which is the most exact rendition. The answer may be apparent in the transcription itself, but transcribers do not always add all relevant textual details. Editors therefore need to be prudent when placing punctuation in the written version of a spoken source. If necessary, they should check for accuracy with the client, transcriber or speaker.

Ellipses can be interesting in this regard too. Otherwise known as those three little dots (“…”), they are used to indicate omissions, such as when words are left out of a direct quotation. You may also have seen them beetling off the end of a sentence, as if to show uncertainty or an unfinished thought or an idea that just kind of trails away… A bit like that, really. They can be troublesome when present in the written account of a spoken text because they could be interpreted as serving either of their functions. Again, it’s best that editors confirm their usage is correct.

One other piece of punctuation to mention is square brackets. These are used in cases of of editorial insertion and contain something that did not appear in the original. Instances of this may include introducing a person’s full name in place of a personal pronoun or adding a word for the purposes of precision or grammatical clarity.

This brings us to the question of how to edit the rather garbled passage at the start of this piece. If I were editing the text as a quotation in an article and had consent to make changes, I may do something like this:
People don’t talk like we write. We sort of go off over here and then over here to something else, and it all kind of runs together. You talk as you think, and you don’t really think about it. Well, maybe sometimes you do, but most of the time you just say it, and I guess that kind of makes it a bit hard.

If I needed to maintain a closer adherence to the original utterance, it might look like this:
I mean, the thing is, well, you know how we don’t, people don’t, like, talk like we write. We sort of, you know, ‘Oh, I’m going off over here and then I’m over here [to] something else’, and it all kind of runs together, whatever. And what it is is that you talk as you think. You don’t really think about it, you just – well maybe sometimes you do – but most of the time, [you] just say it. You don’t think about it, you know? And I guess that maybe that kind of makes it a bit hard.

It is worthwhile reflecting on the difference that would be made in the above example if a question mark rather than a full stop ended the first sentence. As it is, the phrase “you know how we don’t” appears as more of a definitive statement than a query. Similarly, a semicolon could be used instead of the full stop after “talk as you think”, and a full stop could replace the comma after “don’t really think about it”. Would that change the meaning or emphasis at all?

One other oddity to note is the repeated “is” in the third sentence. This known as a double copula, a reduplicative copula, a ‘double is’ (sometimes ‘double-is’) or, neatly, as an ‘isis’. Debate surrounds whether or not these can be judged as acceptable grammatical constructions, while a whole separate squabble circles around how to punctuate them. If I encountered one of these in writing, I would most likely try to revise it. They are yet another illustration of the issues that can emerge when editing the written form of spoken words.

This discussion has raised a number of these conundrums, but there are of course many more for editors to ponder and resolve. We have also dipped into some (hopefully edifying) digressions here, all of which bear some relevance to the matter at hand.

The reality is that when it comes to editing texts that derive from speech, there’s quite a bit to consider. You know?

What challenges have you faced when turning speech into text? Have you ever had your spoken words edited by someone else? What was that experience like? And just between us, you did find those little diversions about linguistic transcription, ellipses and reduplicative copula interesting, didn’t you?