BtO reader Lark asks us:
That's a terrific question. I well remember, after the initial rush had faded in the wake of my first novel sale, receiving a box from my editor containing the battle-scarred manuscript, which was marked up for revisions. The delivery followed a phone conversation touching on some more general points she hoped I would address. (Throughout my career, I've never received the "revision letter" a lot of authors bemoan. At some houses, they're de rigueur, but for me, phone calls from the editor have always been the way.)
But back to the box in the mail. I decided to go through the manuscript and mark the location of every editorial note with a green sticky note. By the time I'd finished, the manuscript - all 500 pages of it (ten years ago, it was no great shakes if your historical romance was 120 or 125K words) looked as if it had grown moss. Seriously, there were suggestions on nearly every page, and we're not talking copyedits but commentary regarding character consistency, flat or jarring dialogue, sexual tension (or lack thereof), hooks for the end of not only every chapter but each scene, etc.. It was a wonderful and incredibly rare (editors seldom can spare the time or have the patience do edit on this level, especially nowadays) crash course that was the best education I could have possibly received at that juncture.
It was also scary as hell.
"But I thought it meant she liked my book when she bought it!" I wailed after looking at the Mountain O' Moss and trying to imagine how long it would take me to get through it. And what might happen if I failed to address each requested change. Would she yell at me? Bad-mouth me to all the other editors? Fly to Texas, spit in my eye, kick my dog and steal my firstborn child? Or, WORSE YET (cue the gasping) kick me out of the published author club by canceling my book?
As I painstakingly worked my way, page by page, through those revisions, it gradually dawned on me that -- hey, wait a minute -- the editor was actually on my side, the book's side, and the side of its potential readers. The changes I was making were sharpening the book's focus, ramping up its impact, and, what's more, making me a far better writer as I absorbed the lessons gleaned from her experience working on countless other novels. By clapping onto the fact that we were working as a team in the service of my novel's success, I totally changed my attitude about revisions. Instead of dreading them, I came to see them as a sign I had an editor who really cared about the story.
I've never again had to do such extensive edits, but when I do get those calls, I welcome them (after a few minutes of feeling bruised and misunderstood, anyhow) as the chance they are to make my manuscript the very best book I can.
I've heard some authors say they never have them, others talk about 10+ page revision letters. If an agent or editor "loved" the work, what kind of revisions are they likely to want?
That's a terrific question. I well remember, after the initial rush had faded in the wake of my first novel sale, receiving a box from my editor containing the battle-scarred manuscript, which was marked up for revisions. The delivery followed a phone conversation touching on some more general points she hoped I would address. (Throughout my career, I've never received the "revision letter" a lot of authors bemoan. At some houses, they're de rigueur, but for me, phone calls from the editor have always been the way.)
But back to the box in the mail. I decided to go through the manuscript and mark the location of every editorial note with a green sticky note. By the time I'd finished, the manuscript - all 500 pages of it (ten years ago, it was no great shakes if your historical romance was 120 or 125K words) looked as if it had grown moss. Seriously, there were suggestions on nearly every page, and we're not talking copyedits but commentary regarding character consistency, flat or jarring dialogue, sexual tension (or lack thereof), hooks for the end of not only every chapter but each scene, etc.. It was a wonderful and incredibly rare (editors seldom can spare the time or have the patience do edit on this level, especially nowadays) crash course that was the best education I could have possibly received at that juncture.
It was also scary as hell.
"But I thought it meant she liked my book when she bought it!" I wailed after looking at the Mountain O' Moss and trying to imagine how long it would take me to get through it. And what might happen if I failed to address each requested change. Would she yell at me? Bad-mouth me to all the other editors? Fly to Texas, spit in my eye, kick my dog and steal my firstborn child? Or, WORSE YET (cue the gasping) kick me out of the published author club by canceling my book?
As I painstakingly worked my way, page by page, through those revisions, it gradually dawned on me that -- hey, wait a minute -- the editor was actually on my side, the book's side, and the side of its potential readers. The changes I was making were sharpening the book's focus, ramping up its impact, and, what's more, making me a far better writer as I absorbed the lessons gleaned from her experience working on countless other novels. By clapping onto the fact that we were working as a team in the service of my novel's success, I totally changed my attitude about revisions. Instead of dreading them, I came to see them as a sign I had an editor who really cared about the story.
I've never again had to do such extensive edits, but when I do get those calls, I welcome them (after a few minutes of feeling bruised and misunderstood, anyhow) as the chance they are to make my manuscript the very best book I can.
Comments
Tessy
Once I started to dig into the revisions, I got what the heck my editor was talking about, and it made it a much better book.
LOL And Joni, I think I'd still rather do the edits.
You are so right – that’s what keeps the entire process fascinating… :-)
Revising on spec, with no commitment from the agent or editor requesting, has to be one of the toughest things writers are asked to do. My advice: do it only when the revisions requested jibe with your vision of the story. It can be a great learning experience and in some cases actually does result in an agency or publishing contract. A lot of times, however, it can be an exercise in frustration for everyone involved.