These days I don’t do much copy-editing – checking spelling and grammar, rewriting the occasional clumsy phrase, and checking that Susan’s blue eyes which sparkled with fun on page 2 have not become brown ones filled with tears on page 200. And that bus-stops don’t become bus stops.
Nowadays I spend more time ‘editing’. It’s a pity that, as publishers and writers, we haven’t found more exact terminology to express these different processes.
I am the first stop after a manuscript has been accepted. I read it as a whole, alert not only for infelicities in the style, but also for lack of credibility in the plot, unconvincing motivation, loss of pace, oddities of characterisation, and a thousand and one other things. (Though we always hope there won’t actually be that many.) Recently I’ve worked with both American and Australian writers, so there are often some cultural misunderstandings along the way, too.
I mark up the MS with notes to myself, and at the same time I keep a chapter list on a separate sheet of paper, outlining what happens in each. This is invaluable for referring back when the plot gets out of hand.
Then I make a start on the dreaded ‘Notes’. I always wonder if the authors quail when they see the title of the email attachment, because Notes cannot afford to pull their punches: we’re in business to make this book the best it can be.
The first set of Notes covers generalities: major holes in the plot, characterisation and pace. Only when we’ve sorted out those issues do we move on to the page-by-page comments. This is where the style gets examined. (I recently had an author who simply couldn’t decide which adjective was most important: ‘X was sitting at his large sixteenth century French provincial mahogany desk’.)
To and fro we go, sometimes debating the best solution for particular problems, until we both think we’ve done the best job we can. And only then does it go to the copy-editor. So when you sign your contract and the publisher gives you a publication date which seems impossibly distant, bear in mind: there’s a lot of work to be done between now and then.
2 comments:
If an author is famous (or at least, it is known the books will sell a gazillion copies regardless of content) does the MS still go through an editor?
My friend who works in Children's publishing implied that some authors become 'untouchable' so their work is not assessed nearly as harshly as it should be. I feel the clearest example of this is the books by Christopher Paolini, the first one being 'Eragon'. He was 17 when he wrote the first book and honestly, it's not at all bad. I was pretty into the plot and keen to finish when I got about 1/3 through. However, despite the fact I feel he can write, the next three books are ridiculously long and lack any kind of pace. I think an editor should have come in and told him to half their size. Indeed, the series was supposed to be a trilogy but is now a quartet of huge books.
If I were strictly honest, I'd also say that the later Harry Potter books would have been better with a firmer editor.
... am I being terribly harsh?
So, are some publishers loathed to edit certain works? Or is it that less effort it taken if you know the book will sell well?
In theory, yes, everything goes through an editor. But in practice, you're right, best-selling authors seem to be treated as above criticism - usually to the detriment of their books. To your examples of Paolini and Rowling I'd add Philip Pullman. In each case the later books are bloated giants, capable of being cut by at least a third in most cases. Like you, I loved the early books and found the later ones a bit 'meh'.
I'm never sure whether it's the publishers who economise on editing, knowing that the book will sell to devoted readers whatever it's like, or the editors who become afraid to criticise the cash cow, or the authors who become divas and object to criticism. See, I'm even more cynical than you!
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