Arrgh! Early Halloween Special - it's the Edit Letter!!!! by Tracy Darnton

One of the tough things about writing novels, as opposed to having a ‘proper job’, is that there are hardly any times when the manuscript is truly ‘off’ your desk. But the period between delivery of first draft and the editorial letter some weeks (or months) later is one such marvellous time when there is a true long-forgotten sense of having handed in your homework. You can spend this time either worried that a D Minus is on its way or (and I prefer this approach) living in blissful ignorant expectation that your editor is LOVING every last word of it. So absorbed are they, that it’s taking weeks to formulate their thoughts. 


This time round, the gap gave me a new lease of life and I spent this time usefully on inventive school workshops, admin (not so fun), fact-checking my research, writing three new picture book scripts, being a beta reader for a writer buddy, getting a bad cold (also not so fun), starting a new story, completing ten reviews, pitching a couple of articles and catching up with all my sadly- neglected friends. Happy days!

But then IT came. The edit letter. Plopped into the inbox on a Friday when I was feeling sorry for myself, dosed up on Lemsip and running a fever after too much wild tea drinking with friends. Uh oh.
 



When I received my edit letter on my debut novel, my agent sent me a reassuring email with ‘Don’t panic, don’t panic. This is perfectly normal!’ in the subject line. She must think I am sufficiently grown-up this time round to not need one. I hope she’s right.


So I could have been that mature, grown-up author and read the letter there and then – OR – and, reader don’t judge me, I could have looked at the covering email, taken comfort at the sentence including “we absolutely loved it” and stopped right there without reading the six pages of ‘but’s and suggestions until I felt better.

Worse, I could delegate the reading of said edit letter to my offspring packing to go back to uni and childishly get him to read it for me. And then try to read his body language when he tells me not to worry – it’s all achievable. 


What does that mean exactly… “achievable”? Hmm. And what does he know? More Lemsip, more strepsils.

Two days later, fever gone, I start the first-stage process of reading it by washing the shower curtain and clearing out a bookcase. I tidy my desk. I make a cup of tea. I brace myself. I read the letter.

Before I was an author, I thought that the editor would send a list headed How to fix your book. A useful list numbered 1-5, 10 at a push. All I’d have to do is tick my way through said list – changing a word here and there, striking out that troublesome scene in the cable car etc etc. But I have news for any non-published writers: editors don’t do that.


Editors ask questions. They zero in on the slightly woolly aspects of your plot or characterisation that you hoped you’d slipped past them (Curses!). Editors ask inconvenient questions. Editors make you think about your book and how to make it the best it can be.

I have a two-hour chat on the phone with my editor. She is kind, she is calm. She gives credit where credit’s due. She makes suggestions to make my book better, pushes me to explain what I was trying to do here or there … and patiently waits when I flounder.


We talk through my draft book club discussion questions which helps me to focus on the main threads of my book, the themes, the structure, characterisation.

I draw up an action plan of things to do, some for definite, some to try out and see what I think. My brain cogs slowly turn with possible solutions. Of course, I worry, as all writers do, that the pulling out of one thread will cause the fragile web of plot to fall away. But I’m fired up to try. The game is afoot.


I’m exhausted. I send an emergency text to my teenager walking home from school to bring me a packet of Twirl Bites. He doesn’t get the message but, on his return, kindly offers me a slightly sticky, solitary fruit pastille from his blazer pocket.

I take it. The edit letter trauma has made me eat a fluffy, second-hand fruit pastille. And that, in a nutshell, is what the edit letter is like.



Tracy Darnton is the author of The Truth About Lies which was shortlisted for the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize 2019.

She is currently editing The Rules out next year with Stripes. (It’s going better than expected).

You can follow Tracy on Twitter @TracyDarnton

Whose book is this anyway? Lari Don

This month, I’ve been working with editorial notes on two different books – a novel and a picture book - and I’ve noticed slight differences in how I’m responding to those notes.

Obviously with any editorial notes, there’s the immediate emotional punch of ‘oh no, she doesn’t like it, it doesn’t work, she didn’t understand it, my story is RUINED!’ Then reality kicks in and I remember that the book always works in the end, and that editors are A Good Thing.

So I settle down and consider every single comment, suggestion and request, and work out how to respond, ie how much to change, how much to compromise, how much to defend the story as it stands.

And I’ve realised that, while equally open to every comment, I do seem to have a different attitude depending on whether we’re working on a novel or a picture book.

A novel feels like my vision, my story. So I will usually be happy to tweak, and often, if I agree, I will make major changes, but if I disagree, I will instead explain why I'd prefer not to change the direction of the story.

However, a picture book never feels like just my story, it feels like a team effort with the editor, illustrator and designer. So I’m much more likely to throw out a cherished sentence or scene in a picture book, much more likely to change direction entirely, in order to create the text that will support the best possible pictures.

I don’t want to give the impression (particularly not to my editors!) that I ignore editorial advice in novels or that I don’t feel passionate about the words in my picture books, just that I seem to approach them with a slightly different attitude. The novel is my story, and I’m happy to take advice about the best way to tell it, but the picture book is OUR story, and my words are only one part of that. So, my response to notes is based on that difference.

Whatever age group or genre I’m writing for, it’s always a bracing combination of illuminating, positive and painful to see my still soft and malleable draft story through someone else’s critical eyes. But it’s always worth doing!

I genuinely believe that books are BETTER when they have been worked on together by a talented editor and a confident writer.

However, I’ve realised this spring that even though I will weigh up each comment carefully, I clearly lean slightly more towards accepting the suggestions when redrafting a picture book, and slightly more towards proving my case for the original idea when redrafting a novel.

I wonder if any other writers feel that they respond differently to editorial notes depending on the story, the project, or even (!) the editor?

Right. Back to those notes and my responses...
 

Lari Don is the award-winning author of more than 20 books for all ages, including fantasy novels for 8 – 12s, picture books, retellings of traditional tales, a teen thriller and novellas for reluctant readers. 

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