I hang out online with writers: whether they are aspiring, inspiring, chaotic, orderly, or jaded, these folks show a world’s range of approaches to their craft.
On a couple of different forums, our conversations turned to revisions and self-editing. When to stop, when to keep going, when to enlist fresh assessment from beta readers or paid freelance editors. When to recognize we need help in the first place.
One multi-published author has been at it so long he rarely revises, and does one brief typo check before sending off the article, story, or book. His manuscript is clean. It says exactly what he meant to say. His editors all know they can get on with their jobs without teaching Remedial English.
One newer writer lamented that she agonized for an hour, after sending a copy of her latest manuscript to her agent. What vital scenes had she left out? What typos had she left in? (I’ve read it, it’s damn near perfect, the agent’s reading it right now, and the author has calmed down a bit.)
Another author claimed that in his genre, at least, initial quality is unimportant. His first three novels had been riddled with errors, and the publisher cleaned everything up in editing. This included grammar and spelling errors, tense shifts, continuity errors, and structural errors. His fourth novel was better, he said. He was really getting the hang of writing compelling stuff right out of the gate. I had a chance to read part of it, and stopped halfway through the first chapter. The errors were too much of a distraction.
To be blunt, the third author thinks he’s in the same caliber as the first. Author #3 also has the benefit of working in a genre where quality has perhaps not been celebrated as much as quantity and a relentless publishing schedule. I have met many authors in that genre, who share similar viewpoints toward self-editing.
Author #3 is gambling on how long commercial publishers will excuse his quality issues as part of the learning curve, before they decide it may be the hallmark of a lazy writer. His genre is maturing, finding places of honor in mainstream catalogs and reviews. It might soon leave behind authors like him.
As beginning writers, we’re often warned to turn in the cleanest possible copies to agents and editors. That, other things being equal, the manuscript needing the least amount of work will get precedence over the one needing hours of reconstruction.
As much as we may hate to hear it, it’s true.
My first pitch to a major erotic romance publisher was soured because I’d forgotten to ‘Accept All Changes’ on my Word document, and the mms was a swamp of overwritten corrections and comments. The poor editor could barely read the story. I’m lucky I got an invite to submit other works.
It’s brutally true in self-publishing, as well. I often hear of authors self-publishing after their work was rejected by commercial publishers. The excuse is usually ‘the book was too edgy, too deep, or too different for them’. I suspect the books were rejected for the most common reason: they were just too badly written and edited to be a good business risk.
Self-publishing runs on word-of-mouth reviews and promotion. Good writing and editing may be transparent to most readers, but they do notice poor writing. They may not complain – but be sure they won’t recommend disappointing books.
Our manuscripts are our ambassadors and resumes. We might privately excuse or celebrate their quirky flaws, but they must be more polished when they represent us to the world.