It Was the Best of Edits, It Was the Worst of Edits.

This week, I’m pleased to welcome fellow Vancouver author Iona Whishaw. She’s the award-winning author of the Globe and Mail bestselling Lane Winslow Mystery series, and she’s here to answer the question: Tell us, the best edit or manuscript advice you received, and the worst?

by Iona Whishaw

So, let me start by saying I’ve adored my editors, every one, across the twelve books. But one of the things I’ve learned is that editors are people too. I’d been apt to think of them as disinterested geniuses with pumpkin-sized brains who are driven by a zeal for grammar and continuity. But of course, their brains are normal-sized and they generally maintain a very professional neutral view of the work before them. 

My editors have been exceptional, and I myself, being a boomer, am the very definition of laid back, and have endeavoured to be as hassle-free a writer as possible. I genuinely trust my editors to know what works. I have been amazed by how laser-sharp they are about every detail in 400 pages of script. They can remember that a character I only use briefly had a different name 239 pages ago. Or the details of weaponry: wasn’t that gun a Welbeck? Why is it now a Colt? Or are you sure about the moon phases in ’47 in August? They catch a thousand little problems in the manuscripts. But there is one thing I most value from my editors under the heading, Best of Edits: catching repetition.

 

My editors are absolutely fixated on eliminating repetition of any kind in the books. If they spy one of these offenses they pounce and leave a terse little comment: “you already said this.” And this can apply to a repetition made within a few pages, or indeed, one that appears three hundred pages later. Or my favourite: “you get to use this word once per book, if that.” (‘Epiphany’ anyone?) I don’t mind this, in fact, I feel a bit silly when I get caught out like this. But, I didn’t fully appreciate this service until one day I was reading a thriller by an extremely famous author who shall remain anonymous, and I came upon the fourth repetition of the same information about a corpse. I made a mental note, thinking, hm … this author’s editors are not so picky as mine. By the end of the book there were not four, but seven repetitions of that same information, I’m not making this up, and to be honest, it was pretty unpleasant the first time around.

 

I wondered this: Is it because this writer is so famous? Maybe editors wouldn’t feel they could leave imperious little notes all over my manuscript urging me to condense, if I were insanely well known. Or maybe Anonymous is mean and snaps at any hand that tries to curb this repetitiveness.

  

When I see how clean and tight a book can be when the editor forces the author to trust the intelligence of the reader, I find myself incredibly glad I am only moderately well-known. No editor has hitherto felt any compunction about whipping my prose into shape, and I suspect it is because they may think it’s not just my book, it’s theirs too.  

But, there can be a downside to this inclination to think the book is theirs. Consider for a moment that it is possible that an editor who is very attached to a book or series might, from time to time, have feelings about what’s going on in the story. It is here that great work can be done, but counterintuitively, it can also be the source of the most difficulty.

Even where there is a laid-back author and fully supportive editor, this editor/writer relationship can be fraught. I nearly always give editors the benefit of the doubt, and rarely kick up a fuss, because I assume they work from their experience of what makes sentences flow and books sell. But, here’s the thing; if you write a series, as I do, the editors can decide they know who the characters are and how they ought to behave. Sometimes this is brilliant. I get a note from time to time saying ‘so and so wouldn’t say this.” I feel a momentary bristle and then I realize the editor is absolutely right. That’s not the way this guy talks at all. Good catch.

On the other hand, this familiarity and attachment to a character can get in the way.  I have an inspector who is famous for being snarky and caustic, and very funny, even with people he loves. Because he is the love interest of the main character, my editors have been very invested in him. In one scene Lane, my main character, says to him on a visit to the police station, that there is but one piece of chocolate cake left, and she plans to eat it before he gets home, to which he responds, “I hope it chokes you.”

This bit of banter caused a wail I could hear across the city. “NOO!” the editor wrote, in caps, extremely distressed by this apparent cruelty. How he could be so mean and unpleasant? That’s not like him! But it is exactly like him! This editor was upset enough to beg me have him kiss her so we could all see he doesn’t really mean it. I was gobsmacked by this complete lack of understanding of the relationship between these two characters, especially after a number of books. This episode was enlightening, because it was the first time I realized editors can become personally invested in characters.  

My most puzzling and trying experience, however, was when an editor struck something that appeared in dialogue. It was early on, maybe third or fourth book. I was bopping along reading the editorial comments and agreeing with them, when I saw a note explaining that this expression was coming out because it made no sense.

I immediately reinstated the phrase, because after all, it was my intention that my character should say this very thing. Imagine my irritation when the manuscript came back for the next round with the same thing struck through.  

At this point I sent a little email, saying it was staying. Several more emails were exchanged, each increasingly stiff, and I became genuinely puzzled by the absolute insistence of this editor to edit out this bit of conversation.

“No one will understand it. It’s not a thing. It’s not going in, I don’t care what you say,” the editor said when we’d finally had to resort to talking on the telephone.

“It’s a perfectly good British expression,” I said.

“I don’t believe it. I’m not,” said the editor … I could imagine the crossed arms, the vigorously shaking head … “backing down on this.”
(I should say at this juncture that it is so too bad that in the modern world one cannot slam down a phone receiver.)

After a number of days of silent standoff, I finally got a note saying the editor had quizzed an English friend and been told it was a perfectly normal English expression, so, reluctantly, it would be allowed. And thus, this little frisson ended. But I became more cautious after that. Though editors are brilliant, they don’t know everything, and I would sooner have had a note saying “what the hell does this mean?” than the embroglio we engaged in. Because, just as editors can think they know your characters because they have a relationship with them that is different from yours, their understanding of how language may be used is formed to some extent by their age and experience.  

    

I’m as old as its possible to be and still be ambulatory, and I’m writing books that take place in the late 1940s, with many British characters. There are bound to be usages that perplex my younger north American editors. And now I’m also being more dogged about drawing the line at any tendency to edit dialogue unnecessarily. Dialogue is something writers think very hard about because it is the outward manifestation of who the characters are, and the essence of how they relate to other characters in the story. Being edited for informal grammar in dialogue, or expressions the editor might not be familiar with within the confines of the quotation marks, can be frustrating, especially when you’re, you know, as laid back as I am.  

All’s well, of course, that ends well. Harmony restored, the good work of the partnership moving forward. Though, to be honest, I feel myself growing in confidence…I’m working on my thirteenth book, after all…so, is it just a matter of time before I stop being chill and start demanding that editors just leave my prose the hell alone?  An enticing prospect to be sure, but gosh, I really hope not. 

Editing: Who Needs It?

 

Terry here, with this week’s question: Tell us, the best edit or manuscript advice you received, and the worst? 

 First let’s talk about editing. People either love it or hate. I happen to like it better than writing first draft. At least you have something to work with. And it always needs work. 

 I know people who edit their own work, and I admire them. But I have to have other people take a look at what I consider my final product. Even though I know it isn’t “final,” it means I’ve done everything I can by myself and I need an outside eye. If you give your story to beta readers or a writer’s group, advice abounds on what to do with your precious manuscript. Some of it is useful, some not so much. 

 Here are some of the “nudges” I’ve received—all on the same manuscript. 

You need more backstory. 

You need less backstory. 

The backstory needs to be woven into the book more. 

You should tell more of the backstory up front.

I don’t like the main character, but I like the plot (this from an acquiring editor that turned it down).

I love the main character but I don’t like the plot (this from a different acquiring editor that turned it down).

Here are some other pieces of advice I’ve received, not necessarily all on the same book, thank goodness: 

You need to start the story later. 

Cut the first six chapters. 

You need one more twist. 

Write one more final chapter. 

Too many characters introduced too quickly. 

Choose your details more wisely.

And then there are the specific “notes” that gently tell you that something in your plot makes no sense because (you name it). And it's always true.

After I have work critiqued, I have to let the advice sit for a few days. That’s because I’ve found that my first response is often skewed by my bias in favor of what I’ve written. How can I possibly cut my golden words? What I wanted to hear was how wonderful the piece was, not what’s wrong with it. But trust me, no matter how wonderful it is, there’s always something wrong with it. 

When I’ve let a critique mellow, the trick is to sift through the advice for the following: 

1) Does the suggestion serve the story I want to tell—in other words, does it ring true to me? 

2) Is the advice coming from someone I trust? This is equally important to number one. I belong to two writers groups. I’ve learned to trust particular advice from particular members. One member always focuses on descriptions. Another, character development. One is a non-fiction writer who has an uncanny ability to zero in on exactly what is not quite working—anything from a scene that doesn’t quite get to the point, to a character who doesn’t belong. Another seems to have an unerring sense of the intricacies of plot. I’ve learned to listen to them. 

3) I’ve learned to pay special attention to any critical comment that I immediately reject. Why? Because my knee-jerk response often means I knew there was something wrong and I didn’t want to face it. And/or I know fixing it is going to require rethinking, and maybe a lot of rewriting. 

With all that in mind, I’ll answer the original question. Oddly, there are no “worst” pieces of advice I can cite. That doesn’t mean I haven’t rejected some advice, but I always knew it was given with the best of intentions, so I didn’t think it was “bad,” just not useful for me. However, there is one humorous bit of editing I’ve received that I’ll relate. My publisher is in England, and all my manuscripts have “Texas” phrases in them. Invariably the editor will change something from “Texan” talk to “British” talk. I have to remind them that I’m writing Texas characters and the way they speak is not the way the English speak. My favorite example in my last manuscript was when a character asked another one, “Do you want to come to my place?” The editor changed it to “Do you want to come to mine?” Nope. That’s British terminology. 

As for best advice, there are a few gems I’ve gotten over the years that have stuck with me: 

One doesn’t happen so much anymore, but it was vital for me to learn as a new writer: If one reader loves the character and but doesn’t like the plot and another likes the plot but not the character, there is something basically wrong with the manuscript—usually that the action doesn’t derive from the what a character wants or needs. Character and plot are inextricably intertwined. Character moves plot…and whatever happens in the story has to move the character. 

Another was advice I got from my former agent, Janet Reid. It has become a vital part of my process. On each book I wrote, she said, “You’re not done.” She meant that the book needed one more twist, or a chapter that brought everything to a close. The first time I heard it from her, I stormed around grumbling for two days. “She’s wrong! The manuscript is great the way it is. It is done ….” And then, “Oh, wait.” Every, single, time, the book became better for that advice. It meant stretching my imagination. It meant really thinking about what I wanted the book to be. Janet is no longer with us, but her advice lives on. 

When I was at Squaw Valley Writer’s Conference, I had a chat with an editor who talked to me about “a sense of place.” She didn’t mean only the description of where a scene was taking place, but how the character fit into that scene. What was the character experiencing in that particular place. What did it mean to him or her? Was it uncomfortable for some reason? Comforting? Baffling? The point was that the devil is in the details—the particular details that are important to that particular character. If you want an example of that, ask any three people the first thing they noticed when they walked into a room. People notice very different things. One person may notice that the room was cold, another that there was a familiar face, another that there was a painting they admired. My series protagonist, Samuel Craddock, has an art collection. It stands to reason that when he enters a home for the first time, one of the first things he notices is the kinds of art they have on the walls—if they have any. You have to know your character enough to be able to tell the reader something about them simply by the way they react to their surroundings.

I mentioned my writer’s groups earlier, and recently one specific piece of advice I got completely changed the trajectory of a book I’d been working on for years. I had struggled with not feeling like I had a good handle on my main character. Several readers said they didn’t like her. The woman in my writer’s group asked, “What do you respect about your main character?” It was like someone hit me over the head. I thought about it for a while, and thought, “Nothing. And that has to change.” It didn’t require a huge amount of rewriting, but it did require subtle shifts that worked. 

Edits can be really valuable. You have to learn to separate the ones you want from the ones you need. Is there bad advice? Probably. But I what I remember is the best advice.

It was the best of edits, it was the worst of edits. Tell us, the best edit or manuscript advice you received, and the worst?

Happy New Year! Brenda starting off 2025.

Hope you gave and received lots of books these holidays :-) 

As every writer knows, a book will succeed or fail based on the quality of the editing. I've come to appreciate the editing process more and more with every manuscript that I've written, accepting that you simply can't skimp on the process.

As a helpful side note, I watched a Zoom webinar once where the author made a post-it note timeline of each chapter, arranging on sheets of paper in chapter order. It seems simple, but it helped to keep the weather, date, order of plot points, etc., straight. This is an especially helpful hint for editing.

Good manuscript advice: Don't worry about getting everything correct on draft one. Write the story with a sense of freedom with the understanding that you'll be spending a lot of time finessing it later. 

If I'm giving advice, I'd add to make sure each paragraph and chapter has a reason for being included, whether moving the plot forward, developing character, planting a clue ... attempt not to ramble, information dump, or pad with filler. I'd add to focus on the paragraph and chapter you're writing at the time and not to be concerned with the entire manuscript. It's almost magical how the story all comes together in the end.

As for the worst editing advice I've ever received, I honestly can't think of anything. Every editor I've ever worked with has had the best interests of the manuscript at heart and we've worked together to improve the final product. Some editors have been better than others at catching all the errors, alas, but there's not one thing I can point to in regards to advice.

Editing is a time-consuming, meticulous endeavour that doesn't get easier. I've learned that even when I believe a piece of writing is as perfect as I can get it, there's always something to improve once I have another read through. It's all part of the sweat and joy of creating, and that's okay by me. After all, if it was too easy, there'd be no challenge and no feeling of accomplishment when all is polished and done.

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