Fiction is Subjective

In your interview with Michell Plested, you said that fiction is subjective. What did you mean?

To talk about how editing fiction is subjective, it’s easier to start by talking about how editing non-fiction is concrete.

In non-fiction, a fact, a grammatical issue, or an ambiguous word choice is more often either right or wrong, and if it’s wrong, you can provide the citation to prove that it’s wrong when you offer your correction. For each change, an editor can cite a reason and a reference for suggesting that change. It’s not always so straight-forward, but the majority of issues that crop up in non-fiction will be relatively black and white.

Fiction still contains plenty of facts—historical references, technical details, and the mechanics of the world you’re creating need to be correct and consistent in order to hold the readers’ suspension of disbelief when it matters. Things like grammar and punctuation still need to follow rules. But in fiction, the gray area is much wider.

For example, rules of grammar need to be followed in fiction… unless a passage of dialog is being spoken by a character who wouldn’t speak grammatically. If a phrase is awkward, it’s less commonly a matter of right vs. wrong wording, and more often a matter of stronger vs. weaker or ambiguous wording. A character’s actions or the characteristics of a world are harder to question or defend than a logical flow of factual information would be. It’s more often a matter of preference than of rules; opinion more than fact.

If I identify something that doesn’t work in a story, my suggestion might be the product of experience, and it might be a valid and helpful suggestion, but it’s still my opinion. I can explain my reasoning, but there are no simple references I can cite to support my point of view and “prove” it to be correct, or to sway the author toward agreement with me.

When I say that editing fiction is subjective, this is what I mean: I have my perspective on what a line, or a scene, or a story needs, and the author has his perspective. When they align, it’s a beautiful thing. When they don’t, neither of us is right or wrong.

The solution is discussion. The author and I explain our perspective in terms of how each choice will affect the reader’s experience. Sometimes I will sway an author toward the suggestions I’ve made; sometimes the author’s argument will convince me that things are best left the way they are. Sometimes we’ll agree on a third solution that turns out to be better than either of the two.

It’s a difficult process, though, and it’s why rapport between author and editor is so important. In a perfect world, there’s no ego involved in the process—on either side! I don’t feel like I’m “winning” if I get an author to agree with a change I want to make, and the author doesn’t feel like she’s “winning” if she gets me to change my mind. In a perfect world, an author has separation from his work and doesn’t feel attacked or demotivated when an editor suggests that something in it doesn’t work. In a perfect world, stubbornness doesn’t get in the way of what’s best for the manuscript.

It’s not a perfect world, though. Creativity is subjective by nature, and creative people are often stubborn—they have to be, to make a name for themselves in such difficult fields. Stepping away from the safety of verifiable facts and references opens up the potential for complication.

It’s why most of the editors I know prefer to work with non-fiction and textbooks, where they have the safety net of facts and a certain amount of detachment from their projects.

And it’s why I prefer to work with fiction. I like the challenge of it, and the opportunity to both stretch my own creativity and think critically about it at the same time. I like having to work more closely with an author and get more invested in the final product. It allows me the personal investment that makes me passionate about my work.