Recently I had the opportunity to get some perspective on a novel project from an honest-to-goodness editor who’s recently launched her own freelance business, Story-Driven Editorial.

Jessica Barnes brings years of experience to the table, knows the publishing industry, has an instinct for storytelling, and has a great bedside manner as she dissects authors’ work. In addiction to providing me with invaluable feedback about how to improve my book and make it more marketable, she generously gave more of her time so I could interview her about the ins and outs of editing fiction. I hope you’ll find her responses as informative as I did.

LR: First off, do you do any writing yourself?

Jessica: I dabble a bit, and I do enjoy writing, but I realized a couple years ago that I’m a much better editor than I am a writer. As a famous fiction editor named Ellen Seligman once said, “What I am is the ideal reader, not the ideal imaginer.” That describes me to a T. So yes, I do write. Just not with what you’d call purpose.

LR: Why did you decide to become an editor?

Jessica: I’ve always been a reader, a lover of fiction. I wanted to be involved in the making of stories, because story and fiction is so important to culture and society–there’s a reason morality and wisdom has been passed down through storytelling since the beginning of civilization.

Wow. That sounded really pretentious. Mostly, I just love books and wanted to work with books. Editor seemed to be the way to go.

LR: How did you become one?

Jessica: I was an English major in college, and I had this vague idea that editing books would be a cool job, but I didn’t really know how one went about it or what it involved.I took creative writing classes, where I learned about good writing and how to put a story together, and then after college I went to this mini-grad school / summer course called the Denver Publishing Institute. There, in a month, you learn about all the different aspects of publishing, try your hand at some editing and marketing, and meet a lot of industry people. I somehow managed to land a job at a publishing company as an assistant after that, and it turned out all my reading and my writing courses had given me an instinct for good story and good writing.

LR: So you can get a job with an English major. Good to know!

Was an English or writing major required for the Denver Publishing Institute? Are there other such programs available to would-be editors?

Jessica: No, you didn’t have to be an English major to apply for the Publishing Institute. There were people there from other countries, people making career changes, people in related fields that wanted some background in publishing, and, of course, a ton of college students dying to get into the publishing field. The Denver Publishing Institute at Denver University and the Summer Publishing Institute at New York University are the only two summer publishing courses that I know of, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more.

LR: What’s your typical editing process?

Jessica: Editing is an incredibly subjective, gut-instinct kind of process. It’s reading a book, saying “I don’t like this” about an element, figuring out what isn’t working and then how to fix it. There are some black-and-white rules, but in writing, the rules get broken just as often as they get followed, so you can’t rely on them. It’s more about evaluating the experience of the book, making sure it’s as strong and has as great an impact on the reader as possible.

Generally when working with a manuscript, I start big and work my way down to the details. I usually read the manuscript all the way through first, perhaps making some notes on my initial impressions about plot elements or character interactions. Then I read it through again, more slowly and carefully, looking at the plot and structure of the book as a whole, identifying the weak spots, and brainstorming ways to make them stronger. At that point, usually, I give the author my notes and suggestions so they can make some revisions to the book, strengthen those weak spots. Then, on my third pass, I look at the nitty-gritty details and the actual writing. This is the stage where the manuscript gets marked up so that it “bleeds red”–trimming unnecessary words, rephrasing passive voice or clunky passages, making sure all the details are consistent. The author gets it back, goes over my changes, makes any changes they’d like, and then the manuscript is ready for the copy editors!

LR: And how does the copy editing process differ from what you do?

Jessica: Copy editing is the nitty-gritty detailed editing work–punctuation, spelling, formatting, those obscure grammar rules that most of us don’t even know exist. They check facts, making sure everything is accurate and correct. They catch consistency mistakes, they question details that might not, under scrutiny, make sense. Copy editors are amazing and undervalued. They make the author (and the editor) look good, and they rarely ever get credit for their efforts.

LR: How do publishers assign editors to authors?

Jessica: Every publishing house does this a little differently, but in most of them, an editor acquires their own authors. They read the author’s proposal, liked it, bought the book, and take it from there. So in a sense, the editors assign themselves to authors.

LR: So are editors the people who actually field book proposals from agents and read and accept manuscripts for a publisher?

Jessica: Usually, at least in the houses I’m familiar with. The agents communicate directly with the editors on what they’re looking for and pass them proposals. Sometimes these might go through the editorial assistants, but the assistants are more usually digging through the “slush pile” of unsolicitied submissions. But because the editors and agents have a relationship, they work directly with each other. Editors read the submissions from agents and decide which proposals they like enough to take to the acquisition committee, where the rest of the company editors along with some sales and marketing folks evaluate proposals and decide which ones to buy and publish, based on quality, marketability, and how many copies they think they can sell.

LR: How different is a manuscript after you’ve worked on it? Do authors have much input on the editing process?

Jessica: How different a manuscript is after I’m done with it compared to when it came in really depends on the project. I’ve had books on which I did very little–just polished it up, mostly–and I’ve had books in which I gave the author an entire new outline for the latter half of their  book. Most of the time, it falls somewhere in the middle. Maybe 25% of the book changes significantly.

For me, editing is a very collaborative process. I’m very aware, as I work, that this is not MY book. It’s the author’s. The author is trusting me to look at it objectively and make suggestions for how to make it better. Most authors understand this as well, so it’s a very rewarding experience, working hand-in-hand with someone to shape their vision into the best possible version. I love brainstorming with authors, trying to figure out a sticky point in the plot or a way to rewrite this scene so that it accomplishes everything it needs to. In the end, however, the book is the author’s work, and they have the final word. (Doesn’t mean I won’t argue with them a little, but in the end, it’s their call.)

LR: How do authors typically respond to your feedback? Have you ever encountered a really stubborn author who refused your advice and then reception of the book suffered for it?

Jessica: Most of the authors I’ve worked with are favorable to editorial feedback, because they understand I’m helping them, not attacking them. I’ve been lucky that the situation in which a book suffers because an author and I couldn’t work together hasn’t happened to me. Though I’m sure other editors would have a different story for you.

While I’m on the subject of names…

My strengths as a writer do not include a particular talent for naming characters, let’s just establish that from the start. While I despair ever having the knack for it that—oh, anybody else—does, I do try to at least name my characters with significance.

For example, one of my characters in Songs for Piano and Voice is a nosy, tea-and-sympathy-doling, everybody’s mother figure, a la Molly Weasley from the Harry Potter series (who would also be likely to say, “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU $%&@*!”) so I made her a red-head and named her Ginger.  Perhaps not the best example of creativity or originality, though I like to think of her as an homage.

I’m rather proud of how I named my leading lady, Laura Lovelace—though someone-who-shall-not-be-named tells me this name makes him think of Luna Lovegood and thus “Loony Laura Lovegood.” Any of you other Potterfans who’ve also read Songs think of that? (Also, I’m suddenly alarmingly aware of the number of Potter references I make…)

Back to the point…When I was conceptualizing this character, an Italian aria I sang during my brief stint as a voice major kept coming to mind. It contains the phrase “l’aura che tu respiri, alfin respiro,” which roughly translates to “the air you breathe, at last I breathe.” The name Laura was right there in the text, and it was pretty, feminine, and fit the mental image I had for the character.

There’s a story behind Laura’s last name, too.  Lovelace is a play on words: Laura is the romantic interest for a loveless man. Yeah, kinda lame, I know—but as I said, I don’t claim to be particularly good at this aspect of storytelling.

Which brings us to my male lead, John Marks, and an embarrassing confession: John is my placeholder name whenever I can’t think of a male name and want to move on with a project. In this case, I moved on with a whole novel, and by then had spent so much time with the character that I could never think of him as anything but John. He was supposed to be an ordinary thirtysomething pianist, so why not give him the most common male name in the English language?

John’s last name, Marks, was the product of a little free-writing to get the feel for how he and Laura interact. I wanted them to hit it off right from the start, when they meet at church, with a bit of banter/flirtation. Now I can’t remember the exactly thought process, but I wound up with a page of dialogue in which Laura teases John about sharing his name with John Mark, a nudist in the Bible. I kept the name, as well as the scene, because emotional nakedness had become a theme in the book.

So you see, while my characters may not be the best named in fiction, they are named with significance.

It turns out that John Marks is a more significant name than I imagined.

One night, while playing a game of Beyond Balderdash with friends, I learned that Johnny Marks was the composer behind all the songs in the old 1960s stop-motion Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, among other popular Christmas tunes.

I did not know this when I named my John, and though part of me is tempted to work this into the story somewhere; it would so be John to bemoan the fact that of all the composers, he would share a name of the one responsible for all his (and the author’s) least favorite Christmas songs. But doing that might undermine the wonderful, amusing coincidence of it all, which is one of the things I love most about being a writer.

In this profession, magic happens.  (And that’s not a Harry Potter reference.)

Since all our TV shows are on hiatus for the summer, Mr. Burt and I have been watching an episode of The West Wing every night after we get the Burt Squirt to bed.  We never watched when it originally aired, and I’m feeling rather late to the party as far as fannishness goes!  But this is not a fannish post, so I won’t wallow in self-pity that there’s no one to squee with me because OMG this show is so ten years ago!

I’m not at all surprised to like The West Wing, as I was a big fan of Aaron Sorkin’s more recent and more short-lived Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Though it’s a political drama and therefore deals with heavy, issue-driven storylines, it’s full of the same brand of fast-paced, witty, and often humorous dialogue that drew me to Studio 60.

And likeable characters.  Even if you don’t agree with the politics of the show, you can’t help but care about President Bartlet and his staff.  Why?  Because they’re people. Real, fleshed-out people.

Take, for example, this exchange between C.J. Cregg, White House Press Secretary, and Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn,  which occurs during a walk-and-talk about a press briefing in Celestial Navigation:

C.J.
I have a dentist appointment at noon.

SAM
What's wrong?

C.J.
Nothing's wrong.

SAM
C.J.?

C.J.
I'm experiencing some pain.

SAM
For how long?

C.J.
About a month now, but it'll go away by itself.

SAM
When?

C.J.
When I die, Sam. Carol, cancel the appointment.

SAM
Carol, set the briefing for two o'clock. Keep the appointment.

C.J.
Sam!

SAM
Your teeth are the best friends you got, C.J.

C.J.
They are?

SAM
You take care of them, they'll take care of you.

C.J.
When'd you start talking like this?

SAM
I'm nuts for dental hygiene.

Probably not as funny to read as it was to watch, but Mr. Burt and I howled at that last line of Sam’s, Mr. Burt commenting, “That’s so Sam.”  I agreed.  And even though it’s just a throwaway line with no bearing whatsoever on the story of that particular episode, it so cemented the character of Sam Seaborn for me that I haven’t stopped thinking about what a great example “I’m nuts for dental hygiene” is of an apparently insignificant but carefully-chosen detail bridging the gap between fictional character and fictional person.

It makes me think about my own characters and wonder whether I’ve drawn them out in such a way as to make my readers laugh out loud and say, “That is so John!”  What is John nuts for?

And I realize, as I reflect, that I need to do some more work in the quirks and foibles department.  I flirted with the idea of John being a bit of a technophobe – and yet, as my brother pointed out to me, John engages in a bit of cyber repartee that hinges on knowledge of netspeak a technophobe certainly wouldn’t have. An astute reader might laugh at the banter, but ultimately would say, “That’s not John.”

So, another item to add to the revision list – that is, whenever the Burt Squirt gives me a chance to do anything with the ideas I’ve got bouncing around in my head.  Until then, I’ll keep watching good shows like The West Wing and reading good books like the several I’ve been meaning to review, in the hope that Sam and others will continue to inspire me to be a better writer.

Saw this floating around the interwebs today and had to try it.

Never having read any Stephen King (with the exception of On Writing, years ago), I have no idea whether my style remotely resembles his.  (My previous blog post came up Margaret Atwood – yay! – but the first page of my novel, which I re-wrote yesterday, came up Dan Brown – bleurgh.) Maybe those of you who read King can read this short story of mine and compare.  But do not expect any telekinetic prom queens, freaky clowns, or possessed automobiles.

Dust to Dust

I hear the doorbell ring and suddenly the panic takes me
The sound so ominously tearing through the silence
I cannot move, I’m standing
Numb and frozen
Among the things I love so dearly
The books, the paintings, and the furniture
Help me …
- Abba, “The Visitors”

Two black bags stood packed in the middle of the living room. It was the first time they’d ever been used, purchased not quite three months ago at the J.C. Penney thirty miles away. Their newness was obvious, even jarring, in the midst of all the antique furniture that fitted out the room. A lot of it was Victorian, or Victorian reproduction, and all of it feminine. None of it suited the dark paneled walls and rustic beams in the ceiling, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of furniture to suit the leathery skinned, denim clad cowboy leaning against the kitchen doorjamb staring at the bags (who, if he’d heard himself called a cowboy, would’ve made a gruff sound in his throat; he was far too old to be called any kind of boy). It was the detritus of the grandmother Judith had never known, which always seemed coated in layers of dust no matter how often she took the furniture polish to it, as if the dust were Nana’s presence in the house.

The old cowboy — Papa, he was to Judith — never talked much about Nana, yet to Judith, it somehow felt like he never spoke of anything else. He held her forever in his deep-set, startlingly blue eyes; her name was marked indelibly on his forearm, below the rolled-up shirtsleeve. Once Judith had asked about the tattoo, and Papa grunted and told her that all the guys got them during the war — anchors and eagles and such war imagery, or hearts draped in banners with their sweethearts’ names. It was very romantic, Judith thought, and very tragic. She told her boyfriend Johnny, and for Christmas he got her name tattooed on his bicep for her, which made Judith write in her diary that it would be Johnny her own granddaughter would see forever held in her eyes. Which were green, and not as naturally conducive to tragic romance as startling blue; but she had to work with what she got.

What Papa didn’t tell Judith was that Betty Jean hadn’t been impressed by the romantic gesture. Said she thought love meant remembering a girl’s name without having it written on your arm like a cheat sheet. She’d been that breed of practical Baptist farm girl indigenous to East Texas — the breed of girl Judith had never quite managed to be, even though she wore western cut jeans and shirts and boots.

But then, Judith had been born in San Francisco. Read the rest of this entry »

“You’ve finished your novel,” says a friend or family member to me.  “Now what?”

“Try to get it published,” I reply.

“Well duh,” says the friend or family member, “but how do you do that?”

“Simple,” I say.  “All it takes is faith and trust, and a little bit of pixie dust.”

My friend or family member’s eyebrows scrunch.  “Isn’t that how you fly?”

Oh, right.  I sometimes get mixed up, because getting published can seem about as impossible as flying.

The good news is, while no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to fly (somewhere, a fairy just fell down dead from my implication that there’s no such thing as pixie dust), persistent work may land me a publishing contract.  If I get lucky.  (See, I do believe in fairies, as well as their dust.)

What I’ve discovered inquiring non-writer minds want to know is:  what exactly is that work which, combined with luck, gets a writer published?  That’s what I’m here to tell you. Read the rest of this entry »