Archive for the 'Musings' Category

Acknowledgments

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on November 24, 2008
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The Acknowledgments page of a book is where the author gets to thank all the people who helped along the way and added their professional or moral support toward getting the book into print. Some publications, such as professional journals, don’t allow personal acknowledgments, but they’re common and expected in books.

The Acknowledgments page is the one place where you as a writer can publicly credit your editor. In many cases, it’s the one place where your editor will have verifiable proof that she worked on your manuscript, for her own CV.

Acknowledging your editor is like tipping your waiter. You don’t have to do it, but it’s polite to. You’d give your waiter a minimal tip for acceptable service; it’s polite to at least mention your editor even if you don’t feel he’s made a notable contribution to the book. You don’t have to pile on glowing praise if it’s not sincere. Just a brief “thanks to [editor] and [publisher]” is plenty. Of course, if you feel your editor helped you, developed a rapport with you, or improved your book in some way, glowing praise is always welcome—the same way that you’d tip a waiter a little extra for exceptional service.

I do a lot of work through publishers, but when I create a contract directly with an author, I have a line item indicating how my name should be spelled in the Acknowledgments. That’s the only guarantee I have that it’ll be in there; I still have no control over what the author might choose to write, nor would I want to tell a writer what to say. Firstly, they’re the writer, not me! Second and more importantly, it’s essential to keep things in perspective: My goal is to do good work for an author because I take pride in my work, not to ensure that I get a paragraph overflowing with adjectives in a published book.

What happens when the editor doesn’t get acknowledged?

Are my feelings hurt if I don’t get a mention on the Acknowledgments? Sometimes, depending on how much work I’ve put in. If it’s just been a simple proofreading job, or a once-over on a set of galleys, it’s a lot less of an issue than if I’ve been more deeply involved in the process, through more intensive copyediting or substantive revisions.

Do I take it personally? No. It isn’t personal. It’s business. It was probably either a complete oversight, or the author just didn’t feel the edits contributed that much to the finished product… and authors are not, on the whole, an ungrateful lot. If they feel that way, it’s probably because it’s the case. Catching two typos and adding a comma does not make an editor a hero.

Would I do repeat work for an author who didn’t acknowledge me? Yes. Though at that point I might bring up the subject, politely asking if the author felt I didn’t make a significant contribution to the previous book, and telling them I’d appreciate a mention if they feel I’ve contributed to this one.

It’s not worth getting upset over, but it’s not worth swallowing your perspective on, either. You’re building a professional reputation just as your author is, and put politely in those terms, they’ll usually be perfectly happy to oblige.

WriMo

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on November 17, 2008
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Here’s a timely question I’ve received for the middle of November:

How do you feel, as an editor, about NaNoWriMo and other writing activities that stress quantity of words and sheer output over things like, say, quality, or editing?

The answer is, I’m all for them. (As long as they don’t take away from your time working on the next draft you owe me!)

Anything that hones your skill and makes you more disciplined about writing, is a good thing. Whether it’s NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), or a workshop, or a blog or story group you contribute to regularly, or even if it’s just writing fanfic for fun, you’re still writing, you’re still practicing your craft and working your creative muscles.

If you end up learning that you can crank out a huge word count in a month, that’s a good thing to know about yourself. If you end up learning that you can’t, then you’ve pushed yourself and you know where your limits are, and you might still have a good start on something you can finish up and polish later.

Additionally, the forums that spring up to support and offer resources for projects like this are often great sources of inspiration, information and networking. They’re worth checking out and keeping up with. You may find something that helps you on your work in progress, an expert you can query, or a writing group that decides to keep the momentum going all year.

So, to those of you slogging toward your 50,000 words, I cheer you on!

(And, my rates are reasonable should you want someone to edit them for you in December.)

What Writers Read

Published
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on October 16, 2008
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I’ve noticed that my audience here is predominantly writers and other editors, with a sprinkling of a few friends and fans (hi, mom!). Today I thought I’d pose a question to you, the writers (and editors) who read this blog.

Writers seem to fall into two camps with regard to reading. Most of them love to read, of course. If you didn’t love to read, you’d probably have very little interest in forging a career based on writing things for other people to read. Finding time to read is another matter entirely. That’s a matter of circumstance, and not due to any particular personal philosophy on the issue. The division I’m talking about is more in what writers read.

Some writers read extensively. Some pay particular attention to what’s going on in their own genre, to keep up with the field, with the trends on the bestseller lists, with the hot names and the up-and-coming.

Some writers avoid their genres just as studiously. They may read about the market, but they won’t read the books themselves. They worry that anything they read may soak into their subconsciouses and become accidental fodder for their own creative processes, lessening the originality of their own work.

I can see both sides. I’m curious about your perspective as writers, whether hobbyists or professional. Do you read your genre and keep up with the trends, or do you avoid it to maintain intellectual distance and keep your ideas your own? Please drop me a comment.

Why not a teacher or an astronaut?

Published
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on October 9, 2008
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My call for questions brought in a couple of good ones. Some are questions about me, some are more particular questions about the editing business and how I handle specific situations. Please drop me a line via the contact me tab above, if you have a question or a comment.

A question I’m asked frequently is, “How did you become an editor?” This is almost as frequently followed up with “How do I become an editor?” I’ll address that in a future post, but today I thought I’d back up a little and start by answering a more basic question I received this week:

What made you interested in editing?

Three things, really, I think: A love of books, an eye for detail, and a sense of humor.

I learned to read at an early age, with parents who encouraged my education and raised me on a diet of science fiction, fantasy, and the classics. We had the leatherbound rune-inscribed edition of The Hobbit, and I remember getting a chapter a night at bedtime when I was very young. I remember that sometimes I was read to, but sometimes I would read it myself and just get help on the hard words. I grew up in a house full of books, and I grew up learning to love books and the flights of imagination they held.

My second year of high school, I spent a summer working in the school library for credit. Thereafter, I worked in the library every summer, and every day before class and at lunch, if I could. When I graduated, I got a summer job with the library system. I would work at one school cataloging new books, or I’d go to another school that was just automating their checkout system, doing inventory and barcoding old books.

When I first entered the workplace, I found myself with an aptitude for data analysis, and ended up working data analysis jobs across a number of industries. It was that attention to detail and the inherent knack for proofreading that made me successful at it. (That, and a lack of fear of Excel formulas!)

I’ve always been the sort to point out questionable wording or typos, or teasingly question the literal meanings of things. I’ve been spotting typos and photographing funny signs for a long time.

Eventually, I got the opportunity to work for a major publishing house. I wasn’t an editor, but I was responsible for catching errors in other people’s work, and in the corporate database as a whole. Like any muscle that strengthens with use, my existing aptitude was sharpened greatly. I learned to stop assuming that facts were correct just because they were in print. I learned to second guess what I saw, and how to research facts, and how to point out errors and request their correction in a tactful, professional way.

And I met editors. They were people just like me, doing a job very similar to mine, just on different kinds of files. And then I realized that I could be doing what they were doing. I had met people who spotted typos for profit, not just for fun; and with a little focus and training, I could be one of them. I love books, and the thought of getting involved in such a deep, hands-on sort of way with their creation was a very appealing one. So I set out to make it happen for myself.

How did I do that? Stay tuned, dear reader. That’s a topic for another post.

Bunny Slippers and the Professional

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on September 22, 2008
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Right now as I type this, I’m wearing black sweatpants and a faded X-Files t-shirt I’ve had since 1996. It’s a little cool here today, so in a while I might put on a pair of black and pink striped socks. I showered and washed my hair this morning, then ran a brush through it and let it air-dry into the random soft ringlets and waves it likes to make. And… makeup? What’s that?

Technological advances have made telecommuting possible. Working from home is a commuter’s dream. No queues, no crowds, no traffic, no weather. Many days, I’d be slipping up the stairs of the bus at 6 a.m. and squishing into my seat, staring out at the rain or slush and envying those friends who were snug and warm in their own home offices, with their own hot cocoa, sleeping in until 8:50 and padding across the hall in their bunny slippers at 9:00.

If you ask any random person what the biggest draw of working at home is, they’ll likely give you the same answer: Going to work in your pajamas. (Okay, some of them might say “underwear”. Personally, I live in a place where it’s not that warm, and I like to have a window open. Let’s not scare the neighbors: Pajamas, it is.)

One of those same advances that make telecommuting happen, though, also seems to threaten to undermine the very spirit of it.

I’m talking about videoconferencing.

Bunny slippers and messy hair may be the hallmarks of the telecommuter, the freelancer, the work-at-home professional. But don’t get me wrong, I clean up every bit as nicely as the next girl.

Freelancers are still professionals. There’s a time for wearing pajamas and shuffling across the hall to tackle edits, but there’s also a time for looking like the professional that I am.

With a little advance warning, I can do my hair and dig out some eyeliner. I can adjust my laptop’s built-in webcam and my room lighting, get frustrated and run back to the bathroom to put on foundation and do my makeup again. I can make sure that my big-name reference materials and my own clients’ books are featured front and center on the tidy shelves behind me.

I have colleagues in four countries, but I have yet to work with anyone in my own timezone. Phone and video chats are the closest things I have to meetings with my clients. I think there’s a definite benefit to being able to see the nuances of the people I’m conversing with. It adds a face, literally, to the transaction.

Videoconference may feel like the enemy. It may feel like a threat to the freelancer way of life.

It isn’t.

A videoconference is your chance to show your client that you are that professional they hired. It’s another tool in your professional arsenal, and if the opportunity comes up, don’t be afraid of it. Use it to your full advantage.

(And you can still wear your bunny slippers. I won’t tell!)

Battling the Red Ink Blues

Published
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admin
on September 4, 2008
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Editors aren’t schoolteachers. We’re not here to handhold, or praise, or encourage, or assign an opinion or a grade to the manuscripts we receive. We’re here to correct, to polish, and to be professional.

But, when someone’s life’s work is sent back to them covered in red ink, it can be more than a little disheartening to them. Intellectually, your writers know that you’re their partner in this. You’re on their side. Your job isn’t to tear down their work, but to make it the best that it can be, and any criticism or questions you return with, or corrections you suggest, are only offered in the interest of making their work stronger.

Intellectually, they know that. But find a non-patronizing way to remind them, anyway. Emotionally, when writers open a file to find their “baby” marked up with a sea of red ink, it can be hard to keep rationality and objectivity at the forefront.

That’s their problem, you might say. They need to learn to accept criticism and develop a tough skin if they want to make it in this industry.

Well, yes. Yes, they do. But at the same time, they’re not paying you to tear them down. They’re paying you to help them. It’s their responsibility to take corrections in the proper spirit, but it’s equally your responsibility to offer them in the proper spirit, with professionalism and sensitivity.

In my intro letter when i contact a new author, I usually take a moment to explain how I work and what my style is, and to mention the kinds of changes I’ll likely be suggesting so that they’ll know what to expect. Within the file, I make a point to keep a lighthearted tone in my comments if there are items that I question, or places where I feel the need to explain the rationale behind my suggestions. I’ll occasionally add humor to my comments if it’s appropriate, but I won’t tease or criticize. One of the authors I work with has been a close friend since college and I feel comfortable joking with him at other times, but when it comes to his manuscripts I’m very careful with the sarcasm. I want to develop a rapport. I don’t want to critique anything in a way that might feel like an attack.

Editors are often the first audience for a manuscript. We’re being entrusted with it, and our responsibility as substantive editors is not only to fix the little mechanical things that are obviously broken, but to be honest about what the manuscript needs.

If a sentence or a concept or an image really stands out to me as being exceptional, I’ll leave a comment in the margin to say so. If I’m really enjoying a project or if a cliffhanger gnaws at me so sharply that I find myself wanting to go back to work at 10pm just to see what happens next, I’ll say so. I’ll check in from time to time and offer a reader’s opinion on a plot twist or a joke, or an observation on what, at this point, I’ve been led to predict will happen with a certain character or plot thread. All of these sorts of observations are invaluable to the writer: they’re the first indication they’ll have, in some cases, as to whether they’re leading the reader down the intended train of thought: whether a plot twist is too obvious or a twisting trail of clues is too confusing. Whether that joke is actually funny.

Strike a balance. Don’t handhold or head-pat constantly. You’re not their schoolteacher or their cheerleader, and it will hurt your credibility with them if you come across as if you think you are. But remember that positive feedback is important feedback, too. It encourages good behavior, like parallel construction or vivid showing-not-telling imagery. A simple “this sentence is perfect”, or “I love this image” or “I laughed out loud right here” reassures the author that their words are coming across as intended. It reminds them that you really are reading instead of just slashing away with the red pen, and that you really are on their side.

Grammar Vampires

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on July 31, 2008
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Since I frequently work in the fantasy genre, and since I’m something of a gamer and a geek by hobby, fantasy elements are bound to creep into these posts fairly regularly. With that in mind, Monday’s post seems like a good segue into the introduction of one of my favorite terms, as well as a fairly important concept: the grammar vampire.

You’ve probably heard of grammar nazis, or maybe grammar police: these are people who patrol vigilantly, armed with their dictionaries, their thesauri and their love for words. They answer a deeply-rooted calling which urges them ever onward to stamp out typos, improper subject-verb agreement and rogue apostrophes wherever they may dwell. It’s a noble battle, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes the defenders of grammar get a little… well, overzealous.

I am not a grammar nazi. I’ll state that right now. For one thing, as much as I can appreciate the term in the proper spirit when others use it, personal beliefs and cultural heritage keep me from ever being comfortable applying it to myself. For another, it’s not really my style.

I eagerly seek out errors on menus and signs; spotting them is something of a hobby (albeit a shamefully geeky one), and often a source of great amusement. These are in the public domain, so I consider them fair game. I don’t, however, pounce on my friends, my family, my acquaintances, my casual email conversations, my forum discussions… you get the idea.

I fully appreciate that proper writing is important, and that pointing out an error is a necessary step to prevent its repetition. At the same time, I feel just as strongly that there’s a time and a place for such things, and I think it’s equally important to keep a sense of perspective about it. I may choose not to get into deep online conversations with someone whose spelling and grammar are atrocious, but at the same time, there are some situations where all that really matters is that people can make their points understood. Everyone makes typos. Everyone lets their fingers get ahead of them now and then. I see no benefit to antagonizing my peers by pouncing on their every mistake. All that does is, well, antagonize people. It doesn’t show off my knowledge or earn me any respect.

I like to think I’m a bit more subtle than that. I don’t rage about grammar; I’m not militant or aggressive about it. If I’m asked to beta-read or offer advice I’ll gladly do so, but I don’t force my red pen upon my friends or anyone else.

That’s the key to grammar vampires: they’re perfectly capable of correcting your mistakes, but they’ll only do so if you invite them in.