I’ve probably said this before; in fact, I know I said it last Tuesday evening and the previous Thursday, because it was written into the notes I made when I went to give a couple of talks. But it’s a neat little soundbite, not to mention as true a description as I can offer, so I’ll say it again.
An editor’s job is to ensure that the book that gets published is the one the author thought s/he had written.
(Hey, guess how I’ve spent the past few days! If anyone had time or inclination, they could draw a map of my working life from these blog posts…)
Yes, folks, I’ve been nose-to-keyboard at work on our first 2010 title, and I’ve just come up for air. And I’m not grumbling one little bit about all the hours I’ve put in, or misplaced apostrophes, or any of the other little niggles that mar my perfect days. Some books are up there with good coffee ice cream and Green & Black’s chocolate in my great scheme of things: among life’s pleasures.
Shameless plug coming right up: It’s called The Broken Token; the author is Chris Nickson, a Yorkshireman who came back to the UK a few years ago after 30+ years in Seattle, so he has connections both sides of the pond. It’s another foray into the darker side of the 18th century, which seems to be becoming a historical speciality of ours, though not by conscious design – and I love it to bits. When I first read it I was put in mind of C J Sansom’s gloriously rich evocation of Tudor England in his Shardlake series – and that guy has won awards and made the top ten best sellers, and is regarded as one of the UK’s top historical crime writers; my fingers are firmly crossed, and if there’s any justice... You’ll have wait till next year, but feel free to wait with bated breath. It’s worth it.
The best thing was that it was a dream to edit. The guy even used double inverted commas for his dialogue – our choice for house style, but not exactly common these days – and put the apostrophes the right way round when they indicated an abbreviated word.
Don’t laugh. Don’t even sigh. These things matter, and they don’t happen by magic or technology. And it’s the editor’s job to make sure everything conforms to house style, however fiddly and time-consuming the manuscript amendments are.
But best of all, we found we were on the same wavelength when it came to the little tweaks and adjustments which turn a good manuscript into a superb novel. There was, as there always is, a certain amount of this doesn’t quite link up, and what was he actually feeling at this point? (sorry to appear sexist, but I find male crime writers have a tendency to be economical with emotion!), and a handful of words which came up too often, and the odd viewpoint glitch, a particular bugbear of mine.
The problem is that the author gets too close, too involved; it’s kind of an extension of the old chestnut that you never see your own typos – and like clichés, old chestnuts only live to be old because they’re true.
The secret of good author/editor relations lies mainly with the author. I’ve encountered one or two who are so protective of their babies that the most tactful suggestion is interpreted as a suggestion that the little brat is as ugly as sin, and if they hand it over to the nanny to be freshened up, she'll teach it all kinds of bad habit.
But if you can’t trust your nanny, it’s maybe better not to have kids in the first place.
The other reaction, the one the nanny – OK, enough with the metaphors: editor – hopes for, is the slapped forehead and why on earth didn’t I see that? Fortunately that’s what I got this time. Chris not only accepted my suggestions; he picked them up and used them to mend the small flaws so that good as new became better than ever.
The result was a novel Crème de la Crime will be proud to invest money and effort in. And that has to be the best reason in the world for becoming a publisher.
