As I type this, I am two days out from receiving an edit letter for my debut novel, All We Have is Time. When I revise, I don’t number my drafts, but if I had to nail down a number I would say that this draft is my seventh or eighth.
I wrote the original draft, then did two to three rounds of edits on it before querying. I did three rounds of edits with my agent before we sent it out on submission. I’ve done one round of revision with my editors already. All this to say, I’ve edited my book a lot, with the guidance of my agent, with my editors, and all on my own. Getting an edit letter is still this strange tension filled thing where I both really want this incredibly thoughtful, helpful, professional feedback that I know I am very lucky to have and will make my story better and…don’t. I don’t think I’m the only writer who both hopes for and dreads the constructive criticism of their work.
The Waiting Game
So, you’re waiting to hear back from an agent or an editor with your edit letter. This is the stage where it’s nice to have something else to focus your energy (and wildly running imagination) on, like another writing project or a completely different creative outlet, or spring cleaning your house. Whether you’re waiting for your very first round of feedback from an agent or editor or are on round two or three, I’ve found my thoughts to be similar. You forget, for a while. They need time to read and digest and makes notes. But as the weeks creep by you begin to wonder what is taking so long. You remind yourself that your book isn’t the only one on their desk and that helps, for a little while at least. But then you think, maybe it’s terrible. If this is your very first edit with your agent or editor, you might feel some of that imposter syndrome start to seep in. Why did they sign you as a client? What did they see in your book? Why did your editor buy it in the first place?
It’s easy to spiral, to let that imposter syndrome take over. This is where you take a breath and ask yourself, what is the worst that could happen? Your editor tears apart your book, red lines on every page, margins full of questions. They tell you your favorite scene isn’t landing or your opening is dragging down the pace of your book or your main character needs more drive. But they love it, they swear. You’re not so sure anymore.
My heart still skips a beat when I see an email from my editor pop up. Last time I saw an edit letter in my inbox, I closed it immediately. I took a breath, reminded myself that my editors are all lovely people. We are all on the same team, all have the same goal: to make this story the best that we can.
I once described querying as handing out your heart to strangers and saying, “Here, I hope you love this thing as much as I do.” Well, with an editor, you’ve found the person who does. Maybe that’s why it stings when they tell you what is wrong with it. Not wrong so much as places it could improve. Which is why a lengthy edit letter isn’t the worst thing that could happen—it’s the best. It means your editor cares about your story, too, cares about making it stronger. Every red line and question and suggestion is an opportunity to tell the best story you can.
That doesn’t make receiving an edit letter any easier. I still get nervous waiting for it, but I like to think I get over it quicker than I did the first time. The notes I have received have always been helpful, but constructive criticism is still criticism, and nobody likes the way that feels in the moment. It’s just a feeling you have to have, even if in your head, you know the reaction is foolish. Then you can get down to the business of revising. I find, after the initial emotional charge of reading the edit letter fades, I’m excited to move forward with the next steps.
Making an Edit Plan
After the emotional turmoil of receiving an edit letter has passed, you need to figure out how to tackle the changes you’ve been asked to make. It can be overwhelming staring at the whole thing, so just like when I’m plotting, I like to break it down into smaller, more manageable sections.
All editors work differently, but for most writers, the first edit letter you’ll receive will be for what’s called a developmental edit, which looks at big, structural sorts of changes, like adding character depth, fleshing out location descriptions, or cutting, moving, and adding chapters.
My edit letter was five pages long, and was divided into sections of concern. I used those sections to organize how I would tackle my edits. I made my own document with my editors’ headings and notes, then went through my manuscript looking for places where those notes would apply. For example, I had a note to expand on my descriptive language. When I read through my manuscript again, I highlighted any place where I couldn’t picture what was going on—whether that be where someone was standing or what kind of clothes they were wearing—and I put all those page numbers under that heading from the edit letter. I did this for all the headings that were given to me, but if your edit letter doesn’t come in that format, you can pull out your own from the topics your editor covers for your novel specifically.
Basically, you list the issue the editor has mentioned, and go through your book looking for places you see it and can implement a change. I like to use highlighters on a paper manuscript because it’s easier for me to visualize all the places the story needs strengthening, and also, it’s less permanent than diving right in and fixing things. You can see where a change can be made, but you haven’t made it yet. (If you prefer to work on your computer, you can use the Track Changes feature in Microsoft Word, Revision Mode in Scrivener, or comments in a Google Doc.) I think it’s a good way to stay open to changes your editor suggested but you’re not quite sure about yet, and when my notes are done I can see the big picture.
After I’ve mapped out all the areas I want to make changes, I assess how long I think it will take me to implement them. If you don’t have a deadline, this will give you a realistic time frame to complete your work so you can set one. If you have been given a deadline by your editor to return your next round of edits, this step will help you figure out a schedule to meet it, or to know if you should ask for an extension. This is something only you can decided for yourself, based on your writing process.
How do you decide where to start?
When I had a call with my editors to discuss my first letter, they asked me where I thought I would start revising. I told them I would probably start with the biggest edit, the one that would cascade through the whole story. In the past, I had favored this format for my edits because I felt like it saved me time in the long run, since bigger editorial changes can effect smaller ones. But then one of my editors asked which edit I was the most excited about. It wasn’t the largest edit. It was the edit that I was the most certain about, the one I knew exactly how to implement, the one that felt right to the story. So, I started with that one. The change that I considered my largest? It got tackled third or fourth on the list, after I had made the changes I had the most confidence in, that I knew I wanted. I thought I could work the bigger change around those “right” moments, but it was more like fitting a puzzle together. You can’t force the pieces into places they don’t belong. I knew what pieces the story needed and I think that made it easier to discover those changes I was less certain about. I had smaller gaps to fill in now as I reshaped my story, and I had momentum. Starting with that biggest change would have been like pulling teeth. Starting with the change I was excited to make? That was fun. (More on joy in writing in this week’s Substack post).
What if I make my book worse?
Maybe all those red marks from your editor and questions in the margins of your manuscript isn’t your worst fear. Maybe it’s that you pour your heart and soul into your revisions, send it off to your agent or editor and they come back with, “This isn’t working.” All that time—all that work—wasted! Now what are you supposed to do?
Cry. Breathe. Let yourself be frustrated and embarrassed and indignant. Wallow in the fact that this totally sucks. (Because it totally does.) And then, count your lucky stars that someone was brave enough to tell you, that they didn’t just let you slap some pretty words over a story that isn’t working—isn’t the one you are working so hard to tell.
When I received this note, it was the biggest setback of my young author career. In my mind, the path was linear. I’d do the big edit, then minor edits, then go on submission. Sure, I’d been told “This isn’t working,” for a single scene in a script, or a short film treatment, but an entire novel? And how had the book gone from getting me an agent to “not working?” In other words, how had I screwed up so badly?
I floundered for weeks, trying to find my footing in my story again. My confidence as a writer had been shaken, and I was no longer sure of what was or wasn’t working. I brainstormed and outlined and sent ideas off to my agent for feedback, but nothing felt quite right. Finally, my agent told me to write the next draft, but to remember the heart of the story as I did so: an immortal woman and a time traveler fall in love. Okay. Hadn’t I been doing that?
Apparently not.
This time, when I revised, I kept that sentence top of mind. I had it on a notecard pinned above my laptop, went into every scene with that thought running through my head. What story did I want to tell? What story had I lost in that last revision?
As I wrote—put words and time between me and that botched revision—I came to appreciate it more. It wasn’t wasted work or wasted time, more like two steps forward, one step back. Mistakes are progress and all that. At the time, it was the worst that could happen to my writing, and I still came out the other side with a better book. I got proof that I can trust my agent with my story. It taught me more about the difference between story and plot then a hundred craft books ever could.
By the time you are reading this, another edit letter should be waiting for me in my inbox. I will try to remember all of this when I see it and my heart skips a beat.
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