Writing and Editing

Writhing Together

A manuscript page from J.G. Ballard’s Crash.

Some writers need a lot of editing; some need almost none. This last group (where I sit) edits as they write, sometimes pausing to find just the right word, with the right number of syllables, to make the sentence sing. For them, writing and editing happen almost at once, so little gets changed in the rewrite on a line-by-line basis, although entire pages and chapters may be moved about or discarded.

Others write more quickly, their fingers scarcely keeping up with the mind that animates them. Or they write multiple drafts, keeping copies of each, lest one felicitous detail in draft 3 get forgotten. These writers often have a hard time putting together a final draft.

In the old days, writers wrote their revisions in ink over their typed manuscripts, so scholars today can easily access their editing process. The early 20^th Century writers Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Wolfe did a lot of self-editing, as we can see on their pages. Maxwell Perkins, their legendary editor, also left his comments on their manuscripts. In the 19^th Century, before typewriters became widely used, authors edited their own handwritten pages and, similarly, left a paper trail.

Future scholars will not be able to study revisions in contemporary novels, as self-editing, at least, usually happens on a word processor, with earlier stages obliterated. When there’s an outside editor, suggestions are usually conveyed through Track Changes or in a Google doc., with only the final document saved.

Whether done by the author or somebody else, editing has an important function. I write for myself, quite slowly and quite steadily. Later on, I edit my work for the benefit of others.

I write to get the beast out; I revise by trimming its nails and combing its hair.

When I edit other people’s pages, my allegiance is not to them but to their work. How can it be better? How can I possibly know? At this point, after decades as an editor, it’s almost instinctual, and I make my suggestions and hope they’ll be followed.

It’s great to have outside eyes assess your manuscript, because some things writers just cannot see for themselves. Personally, I have no idea if a story or novel I’ve written is inherently interesting. Nor can I tell if an episode or even a sentence is funny. I need my early readers to tell me about these things.

If I’m in the room while they’re reading my pages and they laugh, I demand to know what they’ve just read! Often, I hadn’t meant it to be amusing: now I see how it is.

If I can’t have outside eyes, I imagine myself to be one of those other readers. I have read my own short stories beginning to end, “as if” I were, say, my husband, in the hope of getting a new perspective.

I’ve been working as a writer and an editor (https://www.catherinehiller.net/events.htm) my entire professional life. At its best, when the manuscript is worthy and the author is responsive, it’s like we’re sharing a brain. That is editing at its highest, and when I am there, I feel I should be paying my clients for the privilege—though I send them the usual invoices. I feel utterly confident as an editor, so editing most things is fun. Don’t we usually enjoy doing what we’re good at?

I don’t have this confidence as a writer, as I mentioned earlier, never knowing crucial things (interesting? funny?) about my work in progress. However, writing is more deeply satisfying and exciting, more immersive.

In his recent Substack post, writing and publicity coach Dan blank inquired of our deepest pleasure by asking: What makes you feel most alive? Without skipping a beat, I thought Writing. And The Moments Right After.

Like now.