First up, I know that editing makes written work better. Exponentially better, in fact. I fully acknowledge this fact, and have seen it in my own work that has benefited from multiple revisions. The problem is that I find the process excruciatingly dull.
A part of my brain finds it difficult to go back over a manuscript and redraft it, and that’s the case whether it’s general nips and tucks or simple (ha, simple!) copy proofing. Apparently I’m hard-wired to enjoy the writing process itself, when the words are coming out hot from the forge, but am less enamoured with the essential bits that come after.
The exception is in a more drastic structural edit or total re-write. That feels more like writing a manuscript for the first time but with the assistance of a map drawn up by an adventurous ancestor; a map that shows all the hidden pits and spiked traps.
Our brains have amazing autocorrect
This is top of mind at the moment as I’m working on the final edits for my book No Adults Allowed, which is coming out in ebook and paperback format ‘very soon’. The book had been through a few edits already, including early in 2021, and I’d thought it ready for publication. My original plan was to release it only as an ebook, until I decided to put in the extra effort to create a paperback edition as well. This was primarily because I wanted to hold a physical version in my hands.
Turns out it was an excellent decision. I ordered a proof copy, which was dutifully printed and sent out from Amazoin’s POD machines. It’s a lovely thing. Immediately it was obvious that the manuscript needed more work.
Human brains have the world’s best autocorrect, just like your phone’s keyboard, but it only works on your own material. Read someone else’s writing and you’ll instantly spot all the errors. Read your own prose and your brain will assure you with absolute confidence that there are no mistkes.1
It’s immensely frustrating when writing is your profession, or if you’re writing anything that you want to be of high quality. I’ve a background in copywriting, which helps a bit, but it’s still excruciatingly difficult to spot my own typos.
Two things can help, I find:
Time. Spend enough time away from a manuscript and it slowly becomes detached from your own memory. When you come back to it you see it afresh, which makes it easier to see errors. It’s more like reading someone else’s work.
Shift it into a completely different form. This can be as simple as reading it on a tablet instead of on a desktop screen. Or it could be printing a short story out onto some A4. A novel is a bit trickier given its size, so creating the POD proof was the first opportunity I’d had to transpose it into a new form.
The proof provided a fresh look at the manuscript. It’s a physical thing with a different page layout, plus I wrote the original version back in 2020. As such I’ve spent the last several weeks going through the book with a pencil, marking down anything that needs fixing. These changes I then implement in two places: the Scrivener project file, which serves as the master, and the Reedsy project where I typeset the book for print. It’s a faff, but absolutely essential.
If I hadn’t created the print proof I may not have realised how much additional work was needed to get it market-ready. A terrifying thought.
Maybe editing isn’t so bad
This process has also made me realise that what I particularly dislike is slogging through a Scrivener manuscript during the editing process. It feels like re-doing the same thing, a kind of groundhog day punishment for daring to want to write a story.
Going through the print proof has been almost…fun? It’s given me a way to encounter my book in a fresh way and assess it almost like I might someone else’s. Improving its quality has been enjoyable, and rediscovering the text has been something of a revelation. There’s a weird sensation what you’re reading words that you wrote but have no memory of writing. Most of No Adults Allowed is in my 2020 brain, which has long been archived to make space for new things. I’ve been reading sentences and chapters that have made me pause and congratulate my slightly younger self.
While simultaneously bemoaning 2020 Me’s typing accuracy, of course.
Most writers I’ve talked to over the years seem to have preferred editing to writing. It’s in editing that a book often really ‘comes together’, especially if you write in a non-linear fashion. I wonder if I’m in a minority for preferring that initial creation of the letters?
Let me know down in the comments. Oh, and I’m hoping to release No Adults Allowed towards the end of November. Stay tuned!
That one was deliberate. There are undoubtedly other unforced errors in this article. See?
For novels, my method is “Write a chapter. Next day, read what I wrote the previous day and fix any mistakes or typos. Write the next chapter. Repeat until novel is done.” No rewrites. One draft. For better or worse, that’s how I do it. The thought of rewriting a whole novel is unimaginable to me.
I don't know that I could separate the two. It's all writing to me until I sit back and say, okay it's a finished story. I suppose at some point it becomes editing when I've finished, but I start back at the beginning. I don't really mind it.
My other suggestion is to have other non-writers, preferably avid readers you trust, provide feedback. I listen for things like, "I don't understand this part," or, "Would someone really react that way," and that sort of feedback. That helps me think more about the need to strengthen the story instead of thinking about it like it's editing.