by Shari Randall
Yesterday I received a package from St. Martin’s Press: the
editorial letter and marked up manuscript for the first book in my Lazy Mermaid
Lobster Shack mystery series, CURSES, BOILED AGAIN!
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| Editorial Letter - Before |
Last year at Malice Domestic, I met my editor, who is
delightful, hardworking, and sharp. After
the whole process – the agent, the contract, the deadlines, the writing – I was
getting a critique from the person who would guide my story from manuscript to published
book. But now that she’d read my book, what did my editor think of it? Were we, if you’ll excuse the expression, on the same page?
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| Editorial Letter - After |
The simplest, and most simplistic and terrifying, view of
the editorial letter is to see it as a writer’s report card. Did my book pass?
Did my editor like it? What’s wrong with my baby?
Instead of a report card, the letter seemed more like a
conversation, like that first blind date when you try to figure out the basics.
What does my editor like?
What does my editor dislike?
Does she get my sense of humor?
Will she want to go for another book/date?
My editor’s letter helped me figure her out, too, giving me deeper insight into her approach and
point of view.
For all my nerves about this letter, I realized that my
editor probably felt the same way. How to critique somebody’s baby is a
delicate business. She was probably just as anxious writing the editorial
letter as I was reading it.
I tore open the package, curled into the fetal
position, and read the letter through my fingers. Slowly I uncurled and
exhaled. My editor’s tone was collaborative and collegial, professional and
friendly.
After the initial Sally Field moment (she likes it, she
really likes it!) I realized there were several pages of editorial suggestions to
be implemented, each page with many bullet points of suggestions for cutting,
adding, honing, sharpening, improving. Thank goodness her comments were concrete
and perceptive.
To be honest, some of the suggestions sting. But after
implementing them, I see that my editor is right – sometimes you do have to
kill those darlings. That passive voice? Gone. Those two characters who added
nothing to the scene? Sayonara, guys!
Years ago, my ballet teacher told the class something that stayed
with me. Some kids grumbled about the tiny adjustments to form that our
teacher demanded – a hand lifted an inch, a tilted chin, a pointed toe
stretched just a bit longer. “If you get a correction, it means you’re worth
correcting,” she would say.
My goal: to be worth correcting.
Have you received an editorial letter?
