Our Diary

On the one hand, as an editor, you don’t want to repeat yourself. On the other hand, I do find myself saying some of the same things over again (so much so that at times I will just copy the comment from above and paste the same exact one below). That got me wondering if it would be helpful to describe some recurrent challenges I see, so that writers might get ahead of the issues before they become structural. In that spirit, here are four common editorial observations along with a brief exploration as to what they might mean on a larger scale.

1. This feels a little abrupt: I understand that links, those transitional passages that fuse one scene to another, often come last. At the same time, nothing benefits “the willing suspension of disbelief,” as Samuel Coleridge put it, more than a causal connection between scenes, or a temporal one, or some other reasoning (which is clear enough to the reader) why something should come next and something should come after that.

So why might this “feel a little abrupt”? It could be that the order of scenes (or subheads, if you are working in non-fiction) is actually off — a common enough challenge to navigate in the drafting process. In fact, you can actually work backwards and say: if this feels a little abrupt, might it be that things don’t go in this order at all? 

If, however, you are content with the current sequence of things, then you might have to dig deeper to discover why a segue isn’t satisfying between one scene or paragraph and another. What is the tributary, the meaning, that can be harnessed, so that you can the river of your discourse can flow from one aspect of presentation into the next? 

2. Dragging in here: As you can see in this reel, I am a big fan of something happening in a work, regardless of the genre. It’s like Robert Louis Stevenson said, “When we are in a hot corner…we want incident, interest, action: to the devil with your philosophy.”

 Now, I understand that the novel as an art form was, in part, invented to give voice to interior monologue. And that people read for different reasons; some, like the British novelist Laurence Sterne, maintain, “Digressions are the very soul of reading.” Nevertheless, I often find myself wondering while editing, what is the point of this speechifying, if nothing is going to happen? That is the first definition of scene, after all: A scene is where something happens. The second definition follows from that: a scene is where because something happens, something changes.

I don’t think it is just my taste for (relative) minimalism — as evidenced by the fact that my contract for my forthcoming parenting memoir, Amnesty Day, called for 70,000 words — a bar which I found almost impossible to reach. Rather, I think I am not alone when I find myself asking, “Is it so much to ask for for something to happen?”

3. Question to be answered: This is a good one — see, they aren’t all bad! This comment means that we have identified where something is at stake. There always has to be an unanswered question that the reader keeps in mind. Otherwise, as the theater critic Louis Catron once said, “When the questions are answered, the play is over.”

 If you have gone to the next level with the Book Architecture Method, you know that every series — those repetitions and variations of an object, a character, a relationship, a location, or a phrase which create meaning — has to ask a question. The question might be basic (“whodunit?”) or it might be complex; it might be brief, or it might require most of the narrative to answer. But these questions are literally what keep the pages turning, so that we can find out whether someone ends up safe, falls in love, gets what’s coming to them, etc.

Some advanced considerations in this category include: a question being resolved in such a way that it poses a new question, not having too many open questions at one time that the reader can’t keep them straight, having the same question open too long so that the internal development stalls, and — if at all possible — avoiding those kind of clumsy recap paragraphs when the author tells us all of the open questions at once.

But perhaps the most important aspect to keep in mind is that, following the logic that a series worth tracking has to ask a question, that question has to eventually be answered.

4. Avoid repeating the same word in the same paragraph: This might seem obvious. Less obvious, perhaps, is the challenge to not repeat the stem of the same word in the same paragraph, or even on the same page. 

At last count, there are about 170,000 words in current daily use in the English language. Even if you don’t fancy yourself a word nerd, the average native English speaker knows at least 20,000 words and usually more like 35,000.

So, use them. One of our Book Architecture core values is, “We use our words.” We aren’t too afraid to raise the bar with our vocabulary, even in a social setting that doesn’t seem to call for it. Let other people puzzle the meaning of a word out from context…or even go look it up.

This comment isn’t solely designed to help you avoid repetition; it is also meant to encourage you to think about the exact shade of meaning you are trying to convey. To lift your writing out of cliche into an original expression with every word choice. 

Ironically, the better your writing gets, the more challenges that will present themselves. Because some words are so dynamic that they can’t even be repeated in the entire manuscript. We learned this injunction from editor Annie Tucker, who once told us that the mark of a good editor is that they can remember you used a word like “deromanticizing” once already, and even though it is now 183 pages later, you can’t get away with it a second time without making it seem like your resources are limited.

In our ongoing series of unpacking what exactly it is we do here at Book Architecture, we’ve shared what both a Phase One and Phase Two of developmental editing looks like, with the former being about manuscript evaluation and the latter being about manuscript revision. But what about the clients who don’t have an existing manuscript? What if they’re looking to us to generate that?

What we’re talking about, then, is ghostwriting.

Ghostwriting is a term that can have a lot of negative associations, but while we have ghostwritten dozens of books in as many disciplines, we’ve never once ghostwritten someone their philosophy. To us, that is the core distinction. With that out of the way, let’s get into the nuts and bolts of what the process looks like.

The First Draft: Generating Material

When a ghostwriting project commences, we begin by digesting all of the material that already exists on the topic, be it the client’s emails, video presentations, white papers, haphazard notes, general research, or beyond. Then, we begin to generate new material with purpose, but openness, as everything that is unearthed during this phase has value. Zoom-based video interviews that we go on to transcribe often form the heft of this step, but we might also send the client a series of email prompts to which they are encouraged to respond in an unselfconscious way (i.e., no copy editors here). They might keep notes on their phone of anything that comes to them, or in a journal that they will later type up and send to us. Whatever helps to run up the word count is the goal here. By the end of this stage, we will have a glorious mess of between 50,000-70,000 words…the length of an actual first draft.

Between The First and the Second Draft: The Outlining

Time spent here in analysis both allows our creative mind to rest, and pays huge dividends for a reorientation to a successful second draft. Without forcing it, the end goal of this interim stage is the generation of a detailed outline which accounts for all of the best material that has been generated thus far, and that serves as our personal roadmap for moving forward. 

The Second Draft: Bringing the Best Parts Up a Level

Draft two simultaneously focuses on what is truly working (something that was identified during the previous analysis), on new opportunities for generating first draft material to be woven in, and of course, on what can be cut. During this phase, the client becomes the editor, reviewing drafts and offering comments through whatever mechanism is comfortable for them. Much of the collaboration during this step also occurs via video calls that will be transcribed, only this time around the questions have grown much more focused. 

Between The Second and the Third Draft: Working with Beta Readers

Beta readers are people who read a work before it is finished and offer feedback, and they should be chosen for their variety while also being part of what the client sees as the audience for the book they’re writing. We can recommend and hire beta readers on the client’s behalf, or they may have people they are connected to personally or professionally that they want to bring into the process, or both. Beta readers are then given a questionnaire with ten specific questions that we have generated to weigh in on. 

The Third Draft: Making It Shine

The first draft is about getting it down, and the second draft is about making sense. The third draft is about making it good. Beta reader responses can contribute powerful information to this last stage of the drafting process. The client and I can populate a punch list of changes that we want to make and sections we want to improve. The best way to keep the momentum here—an inevitable challenge at this juncture—is to keep the subject matter of the revision fresh. Or, as a mantra for this draft might read: “Hit it, and get out.” Where we land at the back end of this is the polished draft, and it is this draft that will go to copy editing.

As you may recall, earlier this year we detailed what the first phase of working with us here at Book Architecture typically looks like when it comes to developmental editing. We call it a Phase One and, in short, it’s about manuscript evaluation. Today, we’re going to discuss what happens next: Phase Two, manuscript revision.

If we get an inquiry from someone wanting to start in this Phase Two, because they have seen the Three Phases document on the website, I will usually decline. If it is an author I have worked with before, or an author whose work has already had extensive editing and I am being brought in to get that project over the finish line, I will consider it. But for the most part, Phase One provides the overview—just as the name says—not only for the author but also for me.

Additionally, if an author does resonate with my Phase One written commentary, and we have had a good follow-up conference, chances are excellent that we have already begun to map out the direction that their revision can take. In the case they choose to continue our work together for a Phase Two, there are two primary options as to how that can happen:

• Option A. I describe this to the author as quite similar to the Phase One process we just completed. First, they finish the work and then I read it closely, adding extensive comments on the pages. I draft a cover note of 2-3 pages detailing the major concerns, which we discuss in a follow-up conference of 1.5-2 hrs that also covers any of my comments that they have questions about.
• Option B. This includes progressed feedback as the author moves through the rewriting of the material; coaching that will help discern which topics to tackle in which order; feedback on the new material via page-by-page commenting and cover letters with live conferences as needed; and notes on how to weave new material together with the old so that the entire hangs together. Together as author and editor we progress through the rewrite until it is ready for beta readers. The advantage of Option B is the continual support authors receive as they rewrite the book once with a clear and confident direction.

In both cases, the comments I provide that come directly from the content of the manuscript are supported and furthered by suggestions that arise from the projective exercises I lead clients through, largely centered around the Book Architecture Method, such as: scene structure, narrative arcs, questions on their way to being answered (or not), thematic work, or anything that was treated in the previous chapter, such as POV, tone, characterization and relationships, the dimensions of a work, authorial intrusion, audience and genre.

The nuts and bolts of Phase Two, whether a client opts for Option A or B, are pretty straightforward: I receive revised sections of approximately 25 pages from the author (around 5,000 words) and comment on the material. The author reviews those comments and we may meet to clarify anything outstanding or brainstorm solutions to agreed-upon problems. The author then revises that section again and sends it to me for a re-read after which we move forward to the next 25-page section. Through this process we work our way through the manuscript doing essentially two revisions at once while feeling secure that we were heading in the right direction at all times.