What really happened when I hired an editor

When you’ve edited and re-edited ad nauseam and you’re too close to your novel to see it objectively, it’s time to take a break or call in a professional. This summer I did both.

Sick to death of my book and discouraged by the prolonged silence that greeted me when I sent it out to agents, publishers and even some test readers, I was wallowing in self-doubt. My novel sucked. I’d just wasted four years. I would have nothing to show for my writing life. Boohoo, woe is me.

Honestly, I don’t know how my family put up with me during those dark days.

Fortunately, it being summer, my days weren’t literally dark. I was getting out regularly to run, bike and swim with my triathlon-training group. I lived for those workouts. They cleared my head, cheered me up, and gave me a feeling of accomplishment. If nothing else, I could say I swam out to the buoy and back.

The teammates who knew I was working on a novel asked me about it. I told them I’d finished it, bracketing the word finished with finger quotes. I said I’d sent some queries out to agents and small presses, but hadn’t heard back from any of them.

This didn’t surprise me, and I said as much. Agents and publishers can take months to respond, if they respond at all. Most don’t bother.

Meanwhile, a short story based on my first two chapters was getting turned down by literary journals – not an encouraging sign. As time wore on, I began to think less about agents and publishers and more about editors. Maybe I needed to pay someone to do a content edit of my book and tell me what was wrong with it. At the very least, I knew this person would have to get back to me.

“Why don’t you call Lish?” suggested my coach, the awesome Denise Geroux.

Turns out Denise’s sister-in-law is Lish McBride, the author of four young-adult urban fantasy horror novels: Hold Me Closer, Necromancer; Necromancing the Stone; Firebug and Pyromantic (forthcoming 2016). She is also one of three professionals behind Nothing to Novel, which provides individualized support for aspiring novelists.

With her books, her teaching experience and an MFA in fiction from the University of New Orleans, Lish had the credentials I was looking for. She was also local, well versed in the YA genre and remarkably affordable at $525 for a full-manuscript consultation. Some of the bids I received were well into the four figures. (Editing is expensive, but a good editor is worth every penny.)

Lish wanted to see my first 10 pages. This initial consultation would show me the kind of work she did and help us both determine if she was the right fit.

I have to admit, I was a wee bit nervous sending the beginning of my book to TeamDamnation, Lish’s email address.

She writes horror, after all. Would she be bored to death by my realistic and relatively quiet story?

Any doubts I had were put to rest by the detailed line-edit I got back. Far from being bored, she told me that a lot was happening in my first 10 pages. Too much. I needed to slow way down, expand some summary into scenes, add sensory and time/place details, and show more of my protagonist’s thoughts and feelings. She also thought I could use a better title than The Leaving Year.

While I was disappointed she didn’t like my title, I was thrilled with her suggestions. I knew I’d have my work cut out for me, but this was the kind of feedback I needed.

I sent her the entire manuscript, and waited none too patiently for her “notes” to come back.

Less than a month later, they showed up in my inbox along with my marked-up novel. I swallowed hard and opened the first attachment, her letter to me.

Lish didn’t start off by saying that she loved or even liked my book, and I had to remind myself that I wasn’t paying her to do that. If I wanted praise, I could go back to my mother.

No, she started off by advising me how to take editing, not just hers, but edits in general. As a former newspaper reporter, I was no stranger to editing, even harsh editing. Still, I appreciated her sensitivity.

“It can be overwhelming and disheartening (to receive an edit),” she wrote. “Any time that happens, take a deep breath and remember that you finished a draft of a novel and anything that needs to be fixed, you can handle. For some perspective I usually do about eight drafts of a novel, not counting copy edits. Some authors do more, some less. I’m finishing up my fourth book and I still get overwhelmed and discouraged every time I read my editing notes for the first time.”

With that introduction, I expected her to break it to me gently that my novel sucked, but she didn’t. Her advice was constructive and her comments kind, but not overly so. She noted what she liked as well as what needed more clarity or fleshing out. Her edits were heavier at the beginning because she didn’t want to keep repeating herself on some common problems. Also, she thought I hit my stride as the plot progressed.

She had many more observations, pretty much all of them spot-on. At no point, did she suggest I burn it and start over.

Once I’d digested her margin notes, we met for coffee, and she spent two hours answering my questions and, truth be told, reassuring me.

She’d been there, done that: the despair, the self-doubt, the painful cutting of much precious prose and even an entire villain. It’s a process, she added, so no effort spent working on your book is wasted.

Until, of course, you reach absolute burn-out blindness with your words and can’t tell up from down.

Now that I’ve had this months-long hiatus and Lish’s edit, I’m ready to tackle Round, um, whatever. I’ve lost count. But my faith is restored, and I will see this novel through. Mark my words.

Photo credit: Laura Ritchie