My Editing Philosophy
Like all good editors, I’m concerned with those elemental, essential aspects of writing, including plot, characters, structure, scenes, action, point(s) of view, tension, resolution, etc. These things are important. Your writing must “work.” And, needless to say, it must (usually) be grammatically impeccable, following the standard rules of the English language.
But when I do a line edit, I want* to go beyond these basic topics and focus on “craft.” I want to scrutinize your language, listen to the sound of your prose, push you in the direction of beauty. Different writers will employ craft in different ways—for example, with vivid descriptions, figurative language, narrative thickness, variety of sentence structure, interesting use of vocabulary, formal experimentation, subtlety (minimalism), and more.
The extension of craft is “style.” Every writer, I believe, is on a lifelong journey to find a style. Style encompasses the textures of your writing voice, the play of your words, the melodies in your language. It is the poetry in your prose—sometimes (often) quiet and barely noticeable, other times bright and booming. It is your linguistic fingerprint.
So this is my philosophy: Worry about the sentences. Worry about the words. Worry about sound. The rest will follow.
Literary Prose
Of course, as the owner of a company that submits to literary journals, I edit assuming the writer would like to be published in, you guessed it, a literary journal, preferably a good one. Hence, my concern with craft and style described above.
The common monikers for this kind of writing are “literary fiction” and “creative nonfiction.” If you would rather I edit for other literary styles (genre, speculative, or commercial fiction; academic or scholarly nonfiction; etc.), please let me know before I begin working on your piece.
I will also assume that the target audience is literary minded. We will not define, for example, Zeno’s Paradox or Occam’s razor or Möbius strip for our readers. We will not connect every dot. We will not repeat information needlessly. We will avoid hackneyed, commonplace references and clichés; tasteless melodrama; one-dimensional demons. We will assume our audience is made up of knowledgeable, curious, and experienced readers, who prefer nuanced, complex writing, and who, if they don’t know something, will look it up, and will do so with glee.
Honesty
I assume that part of why a writer hires me is to get my honest assessment of their work’s strengths, but also—perhaps primarily—its weaknesses.
But I do try to edit with kindness. Let’s use the word tact. I want my notes to resonate. I want the writer to use them to improve their work. (I want the work to be published in a literary journal. We are all on the same team here.) My goal is to encourage writers to improve their prose, not to give up on it.
That said, I will be honest—subjective, imperfect, yes, but honest. If you’d rather I edit otherwise (perhaps by only focusing on your strengths), please let me know.
Every Writer Is Different
A good editor identifies where a writer is going, and helps the writer get there. This means I must recognize different approaches to craft and style. One of my strengths, I think, is that I’m ridiculously well-read when it comes to literary writing, specifically that found in literary journals. I read around a thousand stories and essays a year, including the anthologized “best of the best” (The Best American Short Stories, Pushcart Prize, The O. Henry Prize, etc.).
My point is: I’ve seen it all. I will never (intentionally) push a writer in a direction they’d rather not take (although I likely will push, or at least nudge, all writers somewhere—that, I hope, is part of why you’re hiring me to edit your work).
I also understand that different writers are at different points in their journeys. It would be unfair, and unrealistic, for me to try to turn a novice writer into a virtuoso in one edit. Developing craft and style takes a lifetime. I will meet you where you are. We’ll take it from there.
I Am Not Perfect (or God)
Whether referring to basic grammar and usage, or elements of craft and style, I make no claims to perfection (or godliness). I will miss things. I will forget—or (the horror!) fail to know—a grammar rule. (It’s fifty-fifty there’s a mistake somewhere in this very post.) I will miss the joke. I will change my mind (something I notice occasionally on second edits). I might be just plain wrong about something, a word or phrase or sentence that I find infelicitous or awkward or wordy or . . . whatever.
But I also think I get things right most of the time, and to convince writers of this happy fact, I try to do two things:
When I make or suggest a grammatical or usage change, I usually include a note explaining my reasoning, including either a link to an essay on the topic, or the relevant and specific section(s) in The Chicago Manual of Style, Garner’s Modern American Usage, Merriam-Webster, or other usage guide.
When I make stylistic changes or recommendations, I often include links to well-known short stories or essays that exemplify the relevant topic. (So don’t take it from me, take it from Rick Bass or Jhumpa Lahiri or Percival Everett or Lydia Davis . . .)
So if you’re ever uncertain (or reproving!) of one of my changes or comments, whether it’s about something as small as deleting a comma or as significant as adding details and imagery to a scene, I hope you will find these links and references helpful (and convincing).
Punching above Weight
I’m all for writers pushing themselves, but when I edit, I do so not as a creative writing teacher, per se, (or a well-read friend, or your mom)—I’m editing as a professional editor. If the language is strained, if I sense that you are going too far or have lost control of the prose, I’ll ask you to reel the writing back and seek clarity or simplicity. Nothing sinks a story or essay faster than sounding as though you’re going beyond your abilities as a writer. If you can excuse the cliché, we must walk before we can run.
Do take chances. This is how we get better. If you don’t have a heap of euthanized stories scattered about your feet due to overreach or experimentation, you’re not growing. Set the bar too high. Fall facefully flat. And, indeed, I may recommend writers take their prose to places they are not—or not yet—completely comfortable exploring.
But my focus is primarily on getting this current piece as strong as possible, to give it the best chance of finding a home today.
I hope the above clarifies my approach to editing. If you have questions about which style guides or dictionaries I prefer (something I touched on only gently above, for the sake of concision), let me know. I look forward to reading your work.
*By “want,” I should say that my (hopeful) focus on craft and style assumes at least an average competency of basic grammar, usage, and form. Pieces that require considerable work in these areas may not be ready for in-depth line editing (I may need to use most of my time for copy editing). I will always do what I can with the time I have allotted for an edit, starting near the ground—the low-hanging, but important, fruit—and working my way up to the trees’ crowns, and sky.
Erik Harper Klass is the founder of Submitit, the WORLD’S FIRST full-service submissions and editing company. He has published stories and essays in a variety of journals, including New England Review, Yemassee (Cola Literary Review), Blood Orange Review, Slippery Elm, Summerset Review, and many others, and he has been nominated for multiple Pushcart Prizes. He has published a novella from Buttonhook Press.
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