Musing

Video Games: The Future of Book Publishing?

KWhipkey 1 Comment

There are whispers in the halls of publishing about how the future of books will slowly evolve into the business model seen in the video game industry. But no one seems to be able to define exactly how that will happen, or which facets will be adopted. And frankly, I just don’t see it. In fact, I’d even go so far as to posit that the people spreading these whispers have little to no understanding of how the video game world actually works. I realize that’s a potentially polarizing assertion to make, but here’s why I think this: see, I actually come from the video game industry. I have a degree (that I rarely talk about) in video game art and design, and I’ve been to the Game Developer’s Conference multiple times. So I know how the video game industry works. And publishing is already structured similarly; there’s nothing left to glean from the video game industry that hasn’t already been incorporated into publishing, or vice versa.

But, just for the sake of argument (and because no one else out there seems willing to break this prediction down and explain it), let’s do a little compare/contrast analysis.

From where I stand, there are only four possible areas where the business models of the video game industry and publishing coincide:

  • Distribution
  • Interactivity
  • Production
  • Content

So let’s explore each one and see if we can’t figure out exactly what these vague whispers and predictions are talking about.
 

Distribution

 
Since I’ve heard these claims from people who are largely on the indie side of the spectrum in publishing, this is my top contender for what they’re looking at. And largely why I suspect people haven’t done their research. There seems to be a misconception floating around about the distribution channels involved in producing a video game. The assumption is that games go direct from the developer to the audience. That’s not exactly true. Even for casual games (otherwise known as the time-killing awesomeness on your phone).

Games, just like books, have multiple parties involved in the making and publishing of a title. It starts with a developer, yes, but that developer then has to secure the interest of a publisher (sound familiar?), and then said publisher needs to find a distributor to actually disperse the thing into the world. So, to simplify, it looks like this:

Game Developer –> Publisher –> Distributor –> Audience

And, in comparison, this is what traditional publishing looks like:

Author –> Publisher –> Distributor –> Reader

There are varying steps that factor in to each that I’m not documenting, (such as agents in publishing, or outside investors in video games), but the basic formula, is, at its heart, very similar. Even if you look at the indie side of things in both industries, the model is the same, minus one step in the middle:

Game Developer/Author –> Distributor –> Reader/Audience

 Video games also struggle with the same divide between traditional publishing and indie, where the AAA titles (as they’re called) are the ones that are mass distributed to brick-and-mortar stores and garner media attention, acclaim, and the all-important exposure needed to succeed. While, on the other hand, the indie titles are left to duke it out for visibility in the digital jungle of the various app stores. Again, it all sounds very familiar, doesn’t it? So where is the innovation and industry-changing business model we’re supposed to be looking to? Not here, unless I’m missing something. So let’s move on.
 

Interactivity

 
This would be another possibility for what the self-proclaimed Seers of Publishing are predicting, and in some ways, I can see why they’d say it. But I still don’t think it will ultimately come to pass, and here’s why:

Video games are a very different form of entertainment from books. Both rely on the idea of escapism, of transporting the consumer to another world where they can step outside their own reality and immerse themselves in someone else’s. But the way they accomplish it is fundamentally different. Games are an active form of entertainment, requiring the user to literally interact with the game world. Books are passive, relying on the reader’s ability to visualize and imagine the words on the page as a real scenario. (Note that I’m basing this observation on a scale of  interactivity, and not on the level of imagination/brain involvement required.)

So, in theory, if books were to go this direction, we’d need to increase the level of interactivity to simulate the gaming experience, right? Well, then let me point you to these lovely things, which already happen to exist:

  • Choose your own adventure books: Immensely popular with young readers in the 80’s, these books required their audiences to put themselves in the character’s place, choosing how they would handle the scenario and seeing the immediate consequences of that action. Notice I said they were popular in the 80’s, though. Meaning they fell out of favor almost as quickly as they rose. They still exist, but they’re rare and outnumbered, by far, by the more traditional forms of reading material.

    •  

  • Enhanced books/eBooks: Yes, this is a thing. There are experimental authors and publishers out there who are trying to find ways to bridge the gap between traditional print and multimedia. Some examples include Booktracks (which pairs a soundtrack with your novel, using auditory cues and music to create a richer immersion for the reader), puzzles deciphered while reading, and enhanced books that are almost more like apps, featuring animations and sound effects. Cool ideas, yes, but again, not very popular with readers.

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  • Supplemental Materials: These are almost more marketing related than anything, but I’ve seen authors create real-life scavenger hunts and multimedia apps that go along with their story and world, engaging their fans in new and immersive ways. Essentially, they quite literally marry the video game industry with publishing, but not in a way that truly enhances the reading experience. It’s additional to that basic action, rather than replacing/modifying it.

 
Which brings us to my point, the reason why I don’t see books becoming more like video games — books were never meant to be truly interactive. If anything, they compete with film for their audience’s attention, because film is another passive form of entertainment. Both of these mediums have always been about observing. Yes, they can affect us, making us feel emotions and form bonds with fictitious beings in ways that might have us wondering about our sanity, but their point is to detail observations, impart information, and deliver messages that transcend our day-to-day lives and make us empathize with, or understand, the world around us. Gaming is entirely different, more akin to physical activity in the way it engages the brain. You won’t often find gamers who spend hours mulling over the morality of murdering that NPC (non-player character) they saw appear on the screen for half a second. Because the act of gaming is about reflex, instinct, and less about deep philosophical thoughts and musings.

But that’s a conversation for a later day. Today’s point is that readers don’t necessarily want to interact with books. They simply want to read them. And until that changes, I don’t see interactivity becoming the hot trend publishing will steal from the gaming industry.
 

Production

 
Ah yes, production. This is where I most often see a lack of understanding about how games are made. There’s this underlying idea out there that games are easy to create, that the time invested in them is minimal in comparison to the profit. And just like the first point, distribution, that’s not entirely true.

The AAA titles — the big ones everyone hears about, the Halos and Dragon Ages and Skyrims of the world — take, on average, 3-5 years to produce. And that’s with teams of several hundred people. You have game designers, artists/animators, programmers, actors, PR/marketing/administrative staff, and sound engineers involved, and it’s as time intensive as creating a feature film. The reason these are considered AAA titles is because they have budgets that rival cinema blockbusters. It’s no small feat to release a game of this scale, and with the advances in technology, gamers are becoming more and more expectant of this level of quality. Anything that falls below this often earns derision and ridicule.

The casual games (think the ones on your phone that most people consider mindless wastes of time) are less intense, but still generally require at least a small team of people to invest months or even years of their life into their creation. There are a few really astounding individuals that have found success doing it all on their own, but those are the exception, not the rule.

All right, how much of what I just said sounded familiar to all you writers out there? I’m guessing all of it. Because again, it’s not dissimilar to the way the book industry already operates. You have the Big 5 publishers (with the equivalent of blockbuster budgets) publishing a select few, super prominent titles, and guess what? On average, it takes 2-3 years from the time they sign you to the time your book is in stores. And then we have the indies, where the timeline is much shorter, but you still have a team of experts (editors, cover designers, formatters, etc.) helping you put out a product that is largely under-respected by the world.

So what’s to be learned from the gaming industry here? They’re fighting the same equality battle that publishing is, and frankly, they’re not doing any better than we are on that front.
 

Content

 
This is the last possible area that could potentially be what the predictions are talking about. But they have it backwards. See, the divide between gaming and books isn’t being bridged because books are becoming more like games, it’s because games are becoming more like books. There’s a movement within the gaming industry to include stronger storytelling in games. Let’s face it, up until maybe five years ago, games were not hailed for their storytelling prowess. And that’s because 90% of games were written by game designers, people who focus more on what makes a game fun than anything else. They created the game mechanics (the rules) and built from there.

And then along came companies like Bioware and Bethesda and Square Enix, and suddenly storytelling started to become more important, leading to the employment of actual game writers. So now we have video games that actually include epic narratives with quality writing, bringing the worlds of literature and gaming one step closer together. But that’s not publishing noticing the strengths in the gaming industry and adjusting accordingly, that’s the gaming industry glomming onto the strength publishing already had — story.

Which brings us to the conclusion of our analysis. As you can see, for someone standing with a foot in both industries, this prediction of publishing turning into the gaming industry makes little sense. I simply don’t see the shiny new path these people are touting. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. If someone out there has a better understanding of exactly what this vague statement for publishing’s future means, I would love to be enlightened. Please share  your thoughts on this interesting topic in the comments. Do you see publishing moving toward video games, and if so, in what way? I’m sure I’m not the only one out there dying to know. 😉

Featured From the Archives: What is “Flow”?

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Next week, I’ll be participating in a panel discussion on editing and “voice.”  (It’ll be at the NW Bookfest Conference, if you happen to be attending.) “Voice” is one of those oft-touted, rarely-defined writing terms, and as I work on compiling my thoughts on it, I figured we’d revisit another tenuously defined term — “flow.” I’ll post notes from the panel (well, mostly the material I present) for those of you who won’t be joining us there, but for now, let’s start the discussion off with . . .
 

What is “Flow”?

by Kisa Whipkey

Originally Posted on 10/19/12

 
Stop the snickering and dirty jokes, I’m not talking about that type of flow. 😉

I stumbled on an interesting and rather heated discussion this week (as most conversations involving the dissection of writing tend to be), about the use of “flow” as a literary term. The forum seemed pretty evenly divided between writers that absolutely despised it and felt it should never be used in a critique (an argument that instantly smacked of stereotypical writer pretentiousness), and those that felt it was a valid descriptor (instantly hailed as amateurs by the snobby residents of the Anti-Flow brigade). And it got me thinking. What exactly is literary flow?

Technically, “flow” isn’t recognized as a legitimate literary term — go ahead, Google it. I did. You’ll find it’s omitted from nearly every list of valid literary terms. Yet it’s probably one of the most frequently used words when discussing someone’s work. I know I’m guilty of using it — you can find it’s offensive four letters listed among the things I look for when freelance editing. So how did it become such a firm presence in our literary vernacular if it doesn’t technically exist? And why is using it tantamount to dropping another four letter word starting with “F”?

My theory is that it’s because no one really knows what it means. Is it referring to the structure of the piece as a whole, the “flow” of the words themselves, the pacing, what? It’s this vagueness that makes feedback including it seem awfully similar to:

“I loved it!”

“This sucks. I hated it.”

While those are, I suppose, acceptable reader responses, they fail to tell the writer anything useful, namely — why? In order for any critique to actually help the author, it has to explain why the reader felt the way they did, and what they would have liked to see different or not. Telling us that our work is lame, that you think it’s utter crap, or on the flip-side, that it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever read ever, really doesn’t help us improve or repeat the success. Telling us why you hated it, or loved it, is like feeding a starving man — it’s what we really care about. Nothing will get your opinions ignored faster than failing to quantify your experience as a reader. I believe this is why “flow” causes such a divide among writers — it gets thrown around like it’s a brilliant little gem of insight when really it’s just unhelpfully frustrating.

I don’t agree that it’s a bane to literary terms, though. Actually, I think it’s a perfectly valid starting point for a critique, as long as the reviewer goes on to define it. The definition is crucial, because “flow” is one of those terms that can mean about a million different things to different people.

For me, “flow” is synonymous with “smooth.” When something flows, it should have an effortless feel that allows me to forget the words and really immerse myself in the story. It’s a visceral sensation of rightness that you only really notice when it’s disrupted. I tend to imagine storyline as a thread running through the center of a piece. Ideally, that thread should be smooth and straight, holding everything tightly in place. When that happens, the story “flows.” But if the thread gets crinkled up in a tangent, veering away into a knotted section of confusion, or frays into several disjointed, broken paths, the story’s flow feels off. Much like the way a river flows toward the sea, everything in the story should flow toward the final goal. This is part of why you need an editor, or critique partner, or random-person-off-the-street to read your work. Authors are usually too close to the story to be able to catch these flaws in the thread. But your readers sure will. They may not know exactly how to define it, but they’ll feel it.

I use “flow” to start a conversation about the structural integrity of a piece, but I can think of at least two other ways in which it could be defined. Let’s put that to the test, shall we? In the comments below, tell us what “flow” means to you. And please refrain from derailing this into the gutter. This is a serious, (ok, semi-serious), literary discussion, and I do have the power to decline your comments (Mwahaha!). So family-friendly only, please. 😉

Featured From the Archives: Inspiration is a Fickle Wench

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Ah yes, my post about inspiration, or rather, the lack thereof. As I stared blankly at the titles in my drafts folder this week, waiting for something (anything!) to spark an idea, I realized that this post would be oddly fitting. It’s also fairly old, so there’s a good chance it will be new to a lot of you. Given my complete lack of inspiration this week (I’m serious, I think my muse died, or decided to flit off to her beach with the cabana boy again), it’s safe to say this is better than anything I could have managed to drag, kicking and screaming, from the depths of my brain. It’s at least somewhat humorous, and I bet a few of you out there will be able to relate. Enjoy!
 

Inspiration is a Fickle Wench

by Kisa Whipkey

Originally Posted on 8/10/12

 
Have you ever had those days where you suffer from a complete lack of inspiration? Where you feel like a creative well that’s run dry? Yeah, me too. In fact, it happens more than I’d like to admit. For someone plagued by the never-ending breeding of plot bunnies, I have a remarkably hard time finding the motivation to actually write. Oddly, the most sure-fire way I have to motivate myself is to declare to the world that I’m not writing. (Sorry, writing group buddies. Sometimes I have to cancel just so the muses in my head will freak out, screaming, “No! You can’t write absolutely nothing this week!” and finally show me the path to the next scene they were greedily withholding.)

But inspiration doesn’t just apply to writing. We need it for all things creative. It plays just as much of a role in creating a masterpiece of art, or choreographing a moving sequence for demo team. And some days, it’ll simply refuse to come when you call it.

I find the idea of inspiration a fascinating thing. Where does it come from? Is it an invisible lightning bolt that shocks our imagination to life the way a defibrillator brings our hearts back from death? Is it a gift from some higher power, sending waves of creative energy coursing through us like sunlight? Is it the whispered voice of a muse dressed like the women of Greek mythology? Or is it just some random combination of neurons firing that creates a delusional escape from reality? Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does. But I do find it intriguing that when a writer talks about hearing “voices,” they’re considered brilliantly touched by inspiration. When anyone else says it, they’re considered mentally ill.  What separates inspiration from insanity? The final product? Who’s to say that people with schizophrenia or brain tumors warping their neurological pathways aren’t the most in tune with that magical force we call inspiration. Or that those of us who claim to rely on it for our careers aren’t actually suffering a slight mental meltdown. Interesting stuff, isn’t it?

All I know about inspiration is that it rarely shows up when I want it to. Case in point, I’m now suffering through week 2 of the current inspirational drought. This wasn’t even the blog post I had scheduled for today, but I was too uninspired to finish the original one. Which made this the perfect week to muse about the elusive nature of the muse, so to speak.

I’ve mentioned a few times that I find inspiration through music, going into rather lengthy, and probably creepy, detail about it here. I’m not sure why that’s my avenue of choice, but it’s always been that way. Maybe I’m mooching off the creative brilliance imbued by the composer/songwriter. Maybe I’m gifted with a finely tuned sense of musicality, and I can find stories through the nuances and layers of musical instruments the way others can through dreams or spoken words. Maybe I’m just nuts. But regardless of the reason, that reliable source of  melodic inspiration only seems to cover the initial conceptual phase. It gives me the base-line, the foundation on which I have to build, and more plot bunnies than I could ever write, even if I was lucky enough to be a writer that could finish a novel in a few months. When it comes to the actual creation part, the nitty-gritty work part, I’m left to suffer the whims of inspiration like everyone else.

Every writing website, advice article, author/artist blog out there will tell you that creator’s block is a myth. That it’s just an excuse for being lazy, for procrastinating, for giving in to your fear of failure, or for a plethora of other reasons. They’ll all tell you that you just have to power through those days when you’re lacking inspiration. That you have to discipline yourself to create every day. That you can’t wait for the muse to come to you, for the weather to align perfectly, for the fourteen cups of caffeinated beverage to kick in, or for whatever that magic combo is that ignites the fires of inspiration for you. And they’re probably right.

I, however, can’t force it. When I’m not feeling inspired, I end up with this:

“Blah, Blah, more Blah, Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh! Stuff and things. Blarg. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Oh, and more Blah.”

How would you like to read an entire novel of that? I know I wouldn’t. So I ignore all those lovely professional people out there smarter than me, because their perfectly valid advice doesn’t help me. And I wait, sometimes days, sometimes weeks, sometimes even months for the return of inspiration. Does that make me a lazy, procrastinating, fear-frozen artist/writer/choreographer? Maybe. It definitely makes me slow. But one thing I’ve learned over the years chasing down my dream of making a living at something creative, is that you have to be true to yourself. You can read as many books, blogs, advice columns as you want; take a million classes to hone your skills; talk to everyone you admire who have been lucky enough to make a living doing what they love, but in the end, it’s all about figuring out your own creative style, the strategies that work for you, and the confidence to believe that just because your process may be a little different, doesn’t make it wrong.

And mostly, that inspiration is a fickle wench you can control about as much as you can control the weather.

Book Review Wednesday: The Other Lamb by Katie Young

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Hey, look! I actually managed to finish a book review in time to post on a Wednesday. Fancy that. Of course, this may have had something to do with it:

The Other Lamb Blog Tour Banner

Yep, I signed up to be part of another blog tour. This time, for a lovely YA paranormal/horror combination with some intriguing twists on old legends. But before I get into that, here’s what you need to know about the book:
 

The Other Lamb

by Katie Young

 
The Other Lamb by Katie Young

My Rating: 4/5 Stars

 

Incarcerated on Earth as punishment for breeding with humans, the Watchers found a way to escape. Zach is living proof of that… even though someone has cut out his heart.

When Zach turns eighteen he develops an insatiable thirst for blood, but he tries to bury his fears and go on enjoying his birthday. His best friend Kim has scored them tickets to the hottest gig in town. But a charged encounter with his idol, the enigmatic rock star known as Grigory, leads to a revelation that shatters everything Zach thinks he knows about himself and the world, and places everyone dear to him in grave danger.

Zach is a Naphil, the forbidden offspring of a mortal woman and a Watcher. When those who seek to destroy him snatch Kim, Zach is forced to embark on a journey of discovery spanning continents and ages. With the help of a mysterious stranger named Sam, Zach must unearth the truth about his parentage, find Kim, and discover who has stolen his heart… before he triggers the apocalypse.

When I first read the blurb for this, two things instantly caught my eye — the fact the MC, Zach, has had his heart cut out, and the obvious allusions to vampires. But the premise is actually quite a bit more fascinating, combining the mythology behind angels and vampires into something altogether new. I will admit that I find the cover design a bit repulsive, but since the story does contain graphic violence and sex, it’s a good representation of what readers should expect. This is most definitely not a story about angels in the traditional sense, but it is intriguingly refreshing.

None of the characters are clearly good or evil, and the four arch-angels (the Watchers) are far from the pristine creatures you’d normally see. Instead, they’re much more reminiscent of The Authority in True Blood, or The Volturi in Stephenie Meyers’s Twilight Saga. The history of their fall from grace was one of the better aspects of the story for me, and it was clear the author had done a lot of research into angel mythology. But I did feel that the fast pace of the story sort of prevented me from ever really connecting to any of the characters. It’s told from a distanced, third person omniscient point-of-view, and I found the shifts between the characters to be jarring. Many of them are short, barely a full page, which created a sort of whip-lash effect as I was thrown from one person’s head to another. The graphics used to separate the scene breaks often overpowered the text itself, and only further emphasized that disconnect.

I would have liked to see the story expanded a bit more, delving deeper into the characters, rather than sitting on the surface. That said, the fast pace will send you through a whirlwind of action, with plenty of twists and turns to keep you guessing. So while I was perhaps a little disappointed that it wasn’t a more immersive experience, I do recommend this series and will most definitely be checking out more books by Ms. Young in the future.

**Disclosure Statement: I received a copy from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. **

Storytellers & Grammarians: The Different Types of Editors

KWhipkey 1 Comment

A few months ago, Hubs and I were at one of our favorite restaurants, enjoying a nice basket of Cajunized tots and a couple cold beers. And, being the creepers that we are, we eavesdropped, I mean overheard, a conversation from the next table that started me thinking. While waiting for their food, the boy at the table would challenge his sister on rules of writing, definitions of obscure words, and other English-related stuff. After the first couple rounds, Hubs started looking to me for verification, mouthing, “Is he right?” Because, as an editor, this should be my realm of expertise, yes?

Eventually, though, I honestly wasn’t sure without having to use some sort of reference guide. See, the boy had transitioned from the basic rules of grammar we all abide by into things like the roots of words and obscure facts about the structure of language and grammar that I rarely need to know while editing. But he clearly loved it as much as I love talking about the techniques of storytelling. And right there, the proverbial light bulb went off, clarifying something I’d been witnessing for a while, but that I hadn’t put into words — there are two fundamental types of editors.

I know what you’re thinking: there are way more than two types of editing. And you’re right, there are. For argument’s sake, here’s the list of the most common editing activities:

  • Developmental (Overall storytelling)
  • Line Editing (Word Choice, Smoothness, Clarity, etc.)
  • Copy Editing (Grammar, Spelling & Punctuation)
  • Technical Editing (One specific aspect of a manuscript)
  • Proofreading (Formatting issues, Typos, etc.)

Note that I called those editing activities. Because, while there are five different areas an editor can be skilled in, there are still only two types of editors — the storytellers, and the grammarians. What I’ve witnessed over the past few years is that, regardless of the type of editing activity, the person doing it will invariably fall into one of these two categories. Why? Because I’m talking about the core way they view a manuscript, their fundamental perspective.

You’ve heard me talk before about how editors are not all the same, how it’s important to know whether you’re working with a copy editor or a developmental one. And this is why. The core philosophy of your editor will dictate the quality and type of editing you receive.

Grammarians are fantastic line editors because they’re brilliant with the actual words. They love the English language will the zeal of an English professor and will be the first to call you out when you deviate from the grammar laws. In short, they’re the grammar Nazis I mentioned in my post on the different types of critiques. But in the grand scheme of things, they’re superficial editors. Meaning they never dive past the actual words on the page, the specific combinations of letters and symbols on a white background. This is the main reason you’ll see some editors charge tiny little fees and have a turn-around rate of two weeks. Because all they’re doing is polishing the surface of your work, putting a band-aid on wounds they may or may not even see.

I’m sure I’ve just offended a large portion of the editors out there, and for that, I’m sorry. But it’s true. A grammarian editor will never look at the deeper problems of a story. For that, you need a storyteller. Storyteller editors are a rare breed, capable of doing the same level of line edit quality as a grammarian, but also capable of seeing past the words to the story underneath. They’re the equivalent of literary surgeons. They’ll spot the weird bone spurs, the fractured character arcs, the fatal plot holes that bleed the life from your story, the illness that keeps the emotional context from resonating with readers. And this is true whether you hire them to only do line edits, or whether you want the developmental side. Because they can’t help but see those things.

Storytellers understand elusive concepts like voice and style, and they’ll help you bend the rules of grammar to fit your story. Grammarian editors won’t. To them, that’s a cardinal sin, and they don’t understand why you would want to do that. Storyteller editors will ensure all the pieces of your manuscript work to form a cohesive narrative. Grammarians won’t. They’ll make sure all your words look pretty. Storyteller editors will challenge you, pushing you become a better writer. Grammarians will fix your typos and call it good. I’m sure you’re starting to see the pattern here.

So, how can you tell the difference? When you’re looking for a freelance editor, or you meet your publishing-house-assigned person for the first time, how can you know which type of editor you’re getting? That’s the tricky part. Ideally, you’ll want to look at any previous work they’ve done. Buy (or borrow) one of the books listed on their resume and see how you feel about it. Is it solid grammatically, but riddled with storytelling problems? (Readers are surprisingly attuned to these kinds of issues, so you’ll be able to feel it, even if you don’t know exactly why it didn’t work.) Chances are, they’re a grammarian.

Another option would be to track down other authors the editor has worked with and ask them for their impressions. Did the editor help them with a particularly tricky part of their story, or were they fast? (Speed is an indication of quality, remember? It’s much faster to skim the surface of something than it is to really internalize and think about someone’s work.)

The final clue will be in the feedback itself. If you’ve found a storyteller, they’ll always start with in-depth feedback that delves into the core of your story. Their first email to you will likely contain information on theme, character development, pacing, and any potential problems with those areas. Or, alternatively, if you’ve hired someone solely for line edits, watch for feedback that steps out of that territory. Trust me, storytellers can’t help but point out flaws in logic or areas that are murky/underdeveloped. Whereas grammarians will stick exactly to that — the grammar.

It is my opinion, in case you couldn’t guess, that storytellers are the stronger editors, and whenever possible, you should seek one of them. But grammarians have their place as well. They’re excellent proofreaders, and if you’re confident in the integrity of your story (as in it passes your critique partners and beta readers with flying colors) and simply need someone to double-check/polish your grammar, they’re perfectly acceptable.  The important thing to take away from this is that there is a difference. So know exactly what you’re looking for, and who the best editor is for that. Don’t ask a grammarian to do developmental edits, and don’t expect a storyteller to ignore structural flaws while line editing. Understanding the way your editor is likely to view your manuscript will give you a better idea of what to expect in terms of feedback. Which, in turn, leads to a better working relationship, and everyone likes when projects go smoothly, right?