I Lo-o-o-ve My Editor

That is, I love her at this moment. An hour from now I may not. But right this minute I love her almost as much—perhaps more than—my own children. Why?

Simple. She pointed out a flaw in a story.

If you haven’t been down this road, you may not immediately grasp how this is a loveable act. Bear with me.

If you follow the blog you know that several months ago I submitted a novel, and have been waiting to hear from the publisher since. The eventual answer was a very nice “No, thank you.” With rejection came insights passed on from acquisitions readers, consisting of several concrete jewels, including this bit: “the opening with descriptions of the landscape didn't grab them at all…”

That’s not earthshaking, is it? Except…the opening wasn’t about the landscape. It was meant to introduce the main character in her current role, illustrating her immediate decision-making process, in which the landscape played a part.

I think I mentioned last post that I’m not terribly analytical when it comes to writing. I can be systematically solution-oriented about every other issue on earth, but I struggle to dissect my own work. My initial response to the above was: “Huh? I can’t change that! That’s where she is; that’s what’s going on!”

So then, of course, I went into my cave, where several unrelated incidents prolonged my stay.

What do you mean, what do I mean, I went into my cave? I have a personal cave, don’t you? Of course you do. Everybody’s got a cave. It’s your haven when life is hard. Your cave is the place—physical or otherwise—where you regroup and mull it over, perhaps while outwardly pursuing mundane affairs, or conversely, neglecting myriad responsibilities while indulging in nonstop Facebook games (er-hmm).

Regardless, I went into my cave. And finally, two weeks later, between rounds of Farkle and voting for my Sorority Life sisters, I had a Eureka Moment.

“Well, duh, Rachel. If the acquisitions readers think they’re reading a landscape description instead of a character description, then you have written the introduction WRONG. You need to rewrite it so that they are drawn into a mercenary captain’s decision as to where her troop should camp, in unfamiliar territory with her possibly vengeful, supposedly immortal husband on their trail.”

Yup, that’s more than landscape description.

So I rewrote the introduction. I don’t know whether I rewrote it enough, but I certainly wrote it with clearer vision and purpose than I possessed the first time—or even through the 5,333rd edit done before the most recent submission.

See, this is why editors are good, people. Even when they tell you things you don't wanna hear. Much as I love my beta readers, they didn’t—maybe couldn’t—express this truth to me. My local writer’s group gave the story first place in their yearly competition. But three sucessive publishers have rejected it. Each gave it apparently serious consideration, which tells me there is something worthwhile in it, if I can just make it shine. Only the last publisher pointed me solidly to the flaws, giving me a better product to market elsewhere.

So, yes. I love my editor. (She is my editor for other works, if she isn’t for the one under discussion.)

You know what? While we’re analyzing, it just hit me that the character’s initial placement in the landscape is also an allegory for her position: caught between two worlds, essentially isolated…

Damn. It’s amazing what a little analysis can yield.

And now, the random question of the day (remember, I don't generate these. I just push a button and answer what comes up.):

When you've got water stuck in your ear, how do you get it out?

Um... tilt your head sideways? Do you even have a day job? No? Not surprised.