Writers Resources

Motivation (Or the Lack Thereof)

KWhipkey 4 Comments

Writing requires two things to flow smoothly– inspiration and motivation. I’ve already ranted about the fickle nature of inspiration here, so today, it’s motivation’s turn.

We’ve all had those weeks where it feels like we’re carrying around 500 pounds of iron. Where even breathing is too much work, and the lure of creativity pales to that of our bed or TV. But life can’t just stop, can it? No matter how much we don’t want to deal with anything, wishing to bury our heads in the proverbial sand, we have to suck it up and carry on. And while that attitude can get you through the dreary act of day-to-day chores, (barely), it’s as good as cyanide to your muse.

Muses are easily chased away by anything from stress, to illness, to exhaustion. That perfect combination of inspiration and motivation? It only strikes like a lightning bolt in a blue moon. If you wait for it, you might get a whopping 3 days a year to write, and they’ll land on days when you don’t have more than two seconds to yourself. Guaranteed. So what do you do instead? What do you do when motivation leaves your sails deflated and your muse MIA?

Just like inspiration can be tricked into making a reappearance, you can kick-start motivation. Everyone has their own methods, but here are some of mine. Feel free to give them a try if you’re suffering a bout of motivation-less blahs like I am.

  • Read:  I find reading relaxing, so whenever my muse decides to take a vacation without me, I turn to books. Reading puts me back in the literary frame of mind, and nothing is more inspiring than reading someone else’s brilliance. You never know, maybe some of that brilliance will rub off on you like the dust from a butterfly’s wings.
  • Listen to music: Music is such an integral part of my storytelling process that it’s no surprise this is on the list. Since it’s the root of all my inspiration, spending some quality time surrounded by the songs tied to my works-in-progress can jump-start my inner projector and get things back on track. So if you don’t already use music as the excellent source of motivation it is, try creating a playlist of songs that evoke your story in some way, either the emotional content, the visuals, or the overall tone, and see if your muse will decide to come dance in the melodic rain for you.
  • Watch TV/Go to the movies: Storytelling is storytelling, and sometimes just being immersed in it can be enough to rekindle the sparks of motivation. (Yep, I just gave you license to be a couch-potato. You’re welcome. 😉 )
  • Chat with your critique partner: No matter how lame I’m feeling, a critique buddy can instantly get me fired back up. Plus, I really hate to let people down, so my sense of guilt for being a slacker can sometimes be enough to spur me back into action. If you have a critique partner, you already know there’s nothing better for motivation than commiserating with a fellow writer. If you don’t have a critique partner, find one. It’s amazing what having a little accountability can do.
  • Work on something easier: I find blogging to be exceedingly easy compared to fiction. (Although this week has been like pulling teeth, so maybe this theory is a bust.) Anything that uses what I call “Essay Voice” doesn’t require as much thought for me. So I use it to get the words flowing. If fiction has come to a grinding halt for you, try working on something else. Either something that has fewer expectations of greatness because you’re less invested in it, or something that uses a less formal voice. Even Tweets and Facebook can count. Sometimes. Just don’t let your social-media addiction derail any motivational value you might get from them.
  • Deal with the To-Do list: I’ve found that I can’t write a darned thing when my To-Do list is as high as Mount Everest. So when my internal stress alerts start to sound like a bomb about to explode,  I take a deep breath, set aside any thoughts of writing and tackle that list one step at a time. Eventually, I get to the end and am able to write burden free.Distraction is a writer’s worst enemy, so whether you’re worried about finances, your house needs a thorough bath or your DVR is about to overflow and erase all your favorite shows, (No? That last one’s just me? Awesome), face the demon. Take the time you need to deal with that particular set of worries. Balance your checkbook; figure out where all your money is going and how to stop bleeding green. Clean your house. Watch those shows. (I really want you to be a couch potato, don’t I?) Do whatever you have to in order to clear your head. Then, get back to writing when motivation isn’t being buried beneath six feet of stress.
  • Take a nap/bath/shower: Creativity is akin to dreaming in many ways, so doing things that promote that state of mind always helps. For me, those activities are sleep (which is also beneficial if you’re a walking zombie and can’t even function, let alone write), or anything related to the shower. Don’t ask me why the combination of hot water and bubbles cues up the movies in my head, but I swear, the shower is the best place for me to write. If only they made waterproof laptops I could install in the tile wall. Point is, whatever location is most conducive to your imagination, go there. Maybe it will trigger something.
  • Force it: This rarely works for me, as evidenced by the somewhat lackluster drivel of this post, but for some people, it’s the only answer. If I try to force it, kicking and screaming like a kid about to go to the doctor for a shot, I spend the whole day staring at a blinking cursor and end up with four sentences I delete later anyway. So this is a last resort kind of thing for me. But maybe you’re the kind of person that can grit your teeth and force your muse to play like a bully forcing an unlucky victim into a locker. If you can, then more power to you. My muse is too fragile for that kind of brutality. It would leave me forever if I tried that approach.
  • Give up and wait for the blahs to pass: Sometimes you really just need a day off. I’m an admitted workaholic, so I take a true day off once every 3-4 months. (A “true day off ” meaning that I plunk my butt on the couch and watch as much TV as I can in a single day.  See?  You wouldn’t be alone in couch potato-land. Come join me; it’s fun!) And I immediately feel guilty for it. But sometimes you really just need to recharge the batteries. Our beloved phones can’t run on empty, so why should we? Remind yourself it’s OK to be a slacker every now and then and give yourself a break. The blahs will pass once your battery hits full and motivation will return with a vengeance.

Now, it’s your turn. What are your strategies for jump-starting motivation? Maybe you have some nifty tricks up your sleeve that I haven’t tried yet. And I could really use an ace right about now. So feel free to share in the comments below. Help a brotha out, or something like that. I guess technically it’d be sista, but whatever, you know what I mean. 😉

Divorce Your Words; Save Your Story

KWhipkey 4 Comments

Revision. For many writers, I may as well have said Root Canal. They dread it like they do a jury duty summons. They know it’s necessary but hate every second of it.

I’m not one of those writers. Revision is actually my favorite part. There’s something so satisfying in tearing apart a story to reassemble it in a better version, polishing and cutting and rearranging it like pieces in a puzzle until everything finally clicks. I don’t fear the delete button, I wield it proudly. That 6 page scene I slaved over for three weeks still isn’t working? Buh-bye! Two-thirds of my story is riddled with plot-holes, superficial characters and overall stinkage? Adiós! The word count is too high for the magazine I want to submit to? No problem, let me grab my scalpel.

How am I able to freely chop my manuscripts into little mutilated bits? I don’t marry my words. Maybe that’s a perk of writing like a film director. I don’t see words on a page, I see the scenes themselves. The words are just a way for me to communicate those scenes to my audience. They’re my camera. So when what I’m trying to convey gets lost in translation, I have no problem chucking them and trying again.

I know, I’m extreme. Cutting an entire section is most writer’s worst nightmare. But sometimes, that’s exactly what needs to happen in order to save your story. Sometimes, you have to strip it down to it’s bare bones before you can build it back up. Sometimes, you have to hit delete.

Similar to “kill your darlings,” which tells us our favorite phrases are also the cancer of our manuscript and should be instantly removed, you have to divorce your words before you can successfully revise. Easier said than done, right? I know how hard it is for some of you to disconnect from those precious patterns of words and beautiful phrases, to see past the letters to the plot itself. Which is why I decided to write this post. I’m going to teach you my method of revision in the hopes that it helps some of you become less afraid of the process. :)

Step 1: Remove the Rose-Colored Glasses of Creation

Let’s face it, when we’re wrapped up in a love affair with our muse, we think everything we write is brilliant. There are days when we know it isn’t, because we’re having a lover’s spat with the fickle biatch, but deep down, we still think our manuscript can do no wrong. Everything is tinged with the rosy glow of creation.

You’ve heard of the runner’s high, yes? The rush of endorphins that provides runners with a euphoric moment in paradise? Well, I believe creative people feel a similar burst of euphoric pride, a creator’s high if you will, that prevents us from seeing our work the way the rest of the world will. So the first step in my revision process is to disconnect from the piece. Set whatever you’re working on aside and wait for the creator’s high to wear off. This can take anywhere from a day, to a couple weeks. But once you’re no longer creatively invested in the piece, you’ll be able to see it through the harsh lens of reality and objectively assess it.

Step 2: Strip to the Bare-Bones

Once our judgement is no longer clouded, we can easily spot flaws, the scenes that just aren’t quite right, the wonky phrasing, the plot holes. Don’t get discouraged though, that’s exactly what we want. Because now you’re in editing mode. One of an editor’s jobs is to see past the words to the skeleton beneath. So that’s exactly what step 2 is about.

Read your manuscript again, ignoring the small things, the weird word choices, the rocky sentences, the missing punctuation, and focus on the scenes themselves, the flow of the story. (Click here if you need an explanation on what I consider “flow.”) Channel your inner film director and watch your story unfold in your mind. Kind of like one of those computer generated posters that contained a 3-D image if you crossed your eyes and stared long enough, (Yep, fads from the ’90′s for the win!), the words should fall away and you should be left with just the visuals they contained.

Those visuals are what I consider the skeleton of a piece, the bare bones. Once you have stripped away all the clothing, fat and useless fluff that masks the underlying architecture, you can analyze that skeleton, looking for cracks and weaknesses and in some extreme places, breaks. Much like a doctor examines x-rays, devising a strategy to repair the damage, an editor uses the bare bones of a story to identify and repair problems with the overall flow and structure. Which brings us to step 3.

Step 3: Divorce Your Words

This is where a lot of you are likely to rebel, because it’s where you’ll move from simply identifying the issues to becoming the surgeon that fixes them. And that’s a transition a lot of you might not like. (Warning, it involves heavy use of the delete button.)

Keeping the visuals from step 2 in mind, read your manuscript again. This time, compare what you’re reading to what’s in your head. Do they match? Do the words accurately convey the emotional content, the action, the details of the scene? If not, can it be fixed with a few minor tweaks or smoothing? (Not all editing has to be dramatic, after all.) Sometimes it just takes a minute shift of a single word or phrase to make everything perfect. But if the gap between the scene as you imagine it and what’s on the page is as large as the grand canyon, then you’ll have to do something more drastic– rewrite.

This is what it means to divorce your words. Highlight the trouble passage and say, “sayonara!” No alimony, no visitation, just rip it off like a band-aid and hit delete. (If that terrifies you, you can cheat slightly and copy/paste the original passage into a different file. That way you still have it if you don’t like the new version. But trust me, you’ll never need that safety net.)

Now that you have a blank slate, picture the scene as clearly as you can and try to recapture it. You’ll be surprised how often the second, (or third, or fourty-fifth), attempt is dramatically improved over the original. My theory is that the original acts as a dry-run. In film, they’d call it blocking in the scene. It’s essentially a rough draft placeholder meant to provide guidance for the real thing in terms of lighting, mood, choreography, etc. It helps the director organize their thoughts so that when the time comes to film it for real, it’s smooth sailing. Plus it’s cheaper to work out the kinks without the actual actors.

A similar thing happens when you rewrite. Rather than try and force the original to behave, you are free to start over. But because you’ve already practiced, it’s easier to write this time, and the result is a closer translation of the scene in your head.

That’s really all there is to it. Three simple steps that can take you from laboriously beating a broken carcass of letters into a semblance of what you hoped for to a liberating experience that gets you closer to your original goal. This method might not be for everyone, and that’s quite OK. But if you find yourself dreading the revision process like you would going to the dentist for that root canal, give it a try. Kick your words to the curb and you might just save your sanity as well as your story.

Believability; It’s Not an Option

KWhipkey Leave a comment

This week I started work on the Revision Project, as I’m dubbing it. For those of you just joining us, the Revision Project refers to the massive overhaul I’m giving my previously published short stories before re-releasing them. I won’t go into the details of why I’m doing this again, so if you’re curious, check out the post where I explain my reasoning at length.

Anyway, reading these manuscript dinosaurs in preparation to give them their much needed facelifts, I’ve realized just how much I’ve learned about myself as a writer and about storytelling in general over the past year. Largely thanks to this blog. Nothing makes you understand a process faster than having to break it down and explain it to someone else. I learned that during my martial arts training, but apparently it’s equally true for writing. Which is why seeing those old works through the filter of fresh perspective brought to light a common theme that plagues them– a distinct lack of authenticity.

This is particularly true for The Bardach, which was my earliest endeavor and admittedly the weakest of the three. But there are moments in all of them that feel superficial to me now. Like we’re just grazing the surface, floating over the action like we’re peering down at it through a snow-globe. And it got me thinking. Why is that? When I wrote them, I didn’t feel this lack of investment, even after the rose-colored glasses of creation had worn off and the overly critical ones of the editor returned. So what’s changed?

I said in my article about storytelling for demo teams that story is about conveying an emotional message. That’s a dramatic difference from the way I used to view it. I used to focus primarily on plot. The characters were in an integral part, of course, but the narrative focused more around the action than anything else. I wrote like a film director rather than an author, worrying about how to convey the cinematic dance of camera angles instead of creating fully realized, three-dimensional characters. That’s not to say that I wasn’t able to weave a story that had impact. I think Confessions managed that. But emotional depth wasn’t necessarily my strong suit. Then along came Unmoving, a story so completely focused on the inner turmoil of the lead character that it forced me out of my comfort zone. It made me grow as a writer. It made me redefine my idea of storytelling.

I feel this is a common journey for newer writers, and especially younger writers. When we first start out, we try so hard to mimic the examples of storytelling we’ve been exposed to– film, TV, video games, books– that we end up missing the point. We manage to learn the basics of narrative– how to craft an action-packed plot, write witty/natural-sounding dialogue, paint settings with just the right amount of detail– but we never learn the one thing that really resonates with readers. Believability.

There are two types of believability in storytelling. The first, making sure all the details and logistics of your story make sense, is a pet peeve of mine and has already been ranted about in a previous post. So we’ll jump right to the second type– emotional believability. This is what takes a good story to a great one. Take a moment and think about all the books that have ever moved you. Now think about why. I’m probably not far off in guessing that the answer had to do with feeling invested in the characters, in their struggles, their emotions? That’s what I mean by emotional believability. It’s an authenticity that speaks to the core of human nature, to themes that transcend genres and are universally understood. It’s the ability to translate personal experience onto the page, and it only seems to come with maturity.

There’s a reason they always say “write what you know.” Personally, I never subscribed to that. I’m a fantasy writer, so how am I supposed to write what I know when what I know is too dull and ordinary for the worlds I like to hang out in? It’s not like I can go to the zoo and observe the behavioral patterns of a unicorn, now can I? So I always threw that phrase out like wasted salt. Until now. Now I get it. It’s not about writing what you know in the literal sense, (although it can be, depending on what you’re writing), it’s about using your experiences to infuse believability into your story, to fully immerse your readers into that character’s existence, to move them.

Now, I’m not saying that younger writers can’t craft a great story. I’ve read well-done work written by all ages. What I’m saying is that there is a definite difference between the way someone writes when they’re new to writing, or life, or both and the way they write after they’ve been around the block a few times. But rather than argue theory, or semantics, or what-have-you, how about I just give you an example from my own writing. Examples always trump convoluted discussions in my opinion.

As some of you may know, I’ve had the privilege of being stalked by a panic disorder for most of my life, but it wasn’t until about two years ago that I actually suffered what can be officially declared a “panic attack.” As in a complete freak-out, hyper-ventilating fear-fest of doom. (I know, I make it sound so dramatic, huh? 😉 ) But panic attacks have appeared in my writing far longer, making them the perfect candidate to help illustrate my point.

Here is an example from The Bardach: (Note, this was written before I had suffered one myself.)

Amyli shook her head to try and clear it from the fog that suffocated her thoughts and followed her study partner down secret corridors she had never known existed within the Temple’s simple construction. Even encased in the thick stone of the walls, she could hear the screams of the dying. And suddenly the walls themselves seemed to be closing in, the air thick and stifling. She stumbled and clutched at Calinfar’s hand.

“Wait, I can’t!” she gasped, trying to breathe, one hand against her chest. Calinfar stopped immediately.

“What’s wrong? Amyli?” He grabbed her shoulders once more, releasing the injured one quickly when she winced. Welling tears glistened in her vision as she gazed into his concerned face and suddenly everything that was happening washed over her with the force of a burst dam.

Aside from the various other quality issues in that excerpt, did you notice how superficial it was? You get the idea that she’s having a panic attack through my attempt to describe it with overly-used, clichéd phrasing and imagery. But you don’t feel it, do you? It’s over too fast to really elicit more than a shoulder-shrugging “meh” from the reader. You’re not invested in Amyli’s emotional state, even if you had read the context leading up to it. You could take it or leave it at this point. Nothing about that moment will stay with you past the 10 seconds it took you to read it.

Now, here’s an example from Unmoving: (Yes, that’s right, a rare tidbit from my work-in-progress.)

The resounding clap as the wood violently met its frame shuddered through me, and I knew what was about to happen. In an effort to avoid the oncoming storm of remembrance, I stared at the flurry of peeling white paint her exit had sent drifting to the floor. But that only made it worse.

Instantly, the images I had tried so hard to forget crushed me like an avalanche. I saw snow swirling in the darkness, heard the squeal of tires trying to find traction, the snap and whipping sound of the seat-belt, smelled the sickening mix of burning rubber and dirty slush. Her screams pierced the memory like a relentless soundtrack, echoes of terror I could never outrun.

I braced myself and waited for it to pass, for the tightness in my chest to diminish and the invisible stranglehold on my throat to ease. Every time I felt the wave of adrenaline crash over me, I wondered if this is what it felt like to drown.

See the difference? That was written after I had experienced the horror of a panic attack for myself. You can feel it now, can’t you? (I hope so anyway.) The words have a sense of urgency, the descriptions are more realistic, the emotions believable. Even without the context prior to this, you can sympathize with him. That’s the difference a little life experience can make.

So the point of this long-winded ramble-thon is this: believability isn’t an option. If you want to write something that resonates with readers, you have to learn how to create that deeper level of immersion. How you go about learning that depends on you. You can wait for life experience to cast the slant of a more mature perspective on things. You can mooch off other people’s life experience, using research and interviews to beef up your knowledge of things you aren’t familiar with. Or you can fake it ’til you make it, as they say, and just keep writing, letting practice hone your ability for you. However you go about it though, strive for authenticity. You’ll know when you find it, and your readers will love you for it. Guaranteed.

How to Work With a Freelance Editor

KWhipkey Leave a comment

The writer/editor relationship is an interesting one, built on trust, open communication, honesty…things which, let’s face it, most of us suck at. So it’s not surprising that for a lot of writers, it can be one of the more intimidating steps on the road to publication. It’s scary to send your manuscript, your baby, off to an agent or editor– otherwise known as Total Stranger Whose Sole Purpose is to Rip it to Shreds. But editors are not the enemy. In fact, they’re your best ally. And, as someone who toes the line between writer and editor, I can tell you that the process is just as nerve-wracking from the editor’s side of the fence.

Yes, our job is primarily to pass judgement on something you’ve slaved over for years. But it’s also our job to polish, refine, and help you present your work to the real jury– the readers– in the best form possible. Like jewelers honing an uncut diamond into the sparkly perfection adorning someone’s engagement ring, we hack and chop and tweak your manuscript until it shines like the brilliant gem you knew it was. We invest in your work, not nearly to the level that you did, of course, but enough that we care about it’s success. We want to see it make the bestseller’s list almost as badly as you do. Because the reality is, it’s success reflects on us as well. Which is why it can be just as scary for us to take on a client as it is for the client to hire us.

What if they don’t like our work? How will they react to all the changes that need to be done? What if the book flops because of me? These are just a few of the anxiety-producing thoughts that can run through an editor’s head. Not so different from the nail-biting that ensues while you wait for our verdict, is it? But this relationship doesn’t have to be a stress-producing, hair-graying, fear-fest. It all depends on the approach. This is the part you will be hard pressed to find information about. There are plenty of other posts that explain how an editor works, what the average rate is, how horrifying a process it is for the writer, etc. But very few will tell you the best practices for actually working with a freelance editor. Until now.

Things That Make a Writer/Editor Relationship Work Smoothly:

  • Open Communication. Yep, there’s that phrase again. But this is the heart of working with an editor. Be clear in what you expect from us. Do you just need a proofreader? Tell us that. Do you want a full, comprehensive, brutal strip-down type of edit? Tell us. If you have specific areas of concern in your work, yep, you guessed it, tell us. We’re not psychics, so don’t be afraid to provide directions. It helps ensure that we meet your expectations for the level of editing you wanted.
  • Ability to Accept Critique. So often, writers hire an editor thinking there’s nothing wrong with their manuscript beyond maybe a few typos, and that they’ll get to bask in the editor’s glowing review of their brilliance. And then they find out they’re wrong. They take the criticism of their work personally, bristling on the defensive and completely discounting the editor’s opinions. But no manuscript is ever perfect. That’s why you hire a second, or third, pair of eyes to look it over. So expect feedback. Harsh feedback. I’m sure you’ve heard that you need a thick skin as a writer, and this is why. Try to remember that as much as it stings to be told that your favorite scene really should be cut, that it’s not an attack on you personally or your ability to write. It’s a suggestion that will strengthen your story the way liposuction strengthens self-esteem.
  • Payment. This probably seems like something that shouldn’t have to be said. But sadly, it does. Editors don’t work for free. If you want that kind of superficial feedback, then what you really want are Beta Readers– people that will read your manuscript and offer the bare minimum of feedback in exchange for a free copy of something unreleased. Don’t get me wrong, Beta Readers provide an invaluable service too, and I firmly believe that any work should be read by as many willing eyes as possible before it faces the gauntlet of publishing. But they’re not editors. An editor will spend hours of detailed work, reading and re-reading passages, reorganizing and honing the text on a word-by-word basis, working with you on trouble areas and answering questions. Depending on the length of the manuscript, this can take a significant chunk of time. Time they couldn’t devote to other means of bill paying. Would you expect a lawyer to work for free? A contractor? An accountant? No? Then why would you expect an editor to work for free? Suffice to say that if you plan on hiring an editor, expect to pay a decent wage for that person’s work. Or expect it to very quickly become a point of contention that can ruin an otherwise working relationship.
  • Provide a Reference. Think of this like a review. You know how important those are to the success of your book, right? Well references are equally as important to an editor’s continued success. If you were happy with the result of your time with the editor, let them use you and your work as a reference. It actually benefits you both. It will boost the editor’s portfolio, allowing them to attract new clients, but it also acts as free advertisement for your book. Win-win, no?

Those are the basics. A lot of them are really just common sense, or should be. The writer/editor relationship is just that, a relationship. It involves two human beings, and is subject to all the follies that implies. Realize that, and you should be able to conduct yourself in a manner which generates professionalism, mutual respect and even friendship.

But there’s one thing I haven’t covered, and I would be remiss if I didn’t– how you go about finding that perfect editorial partner. Since you aren’t working with a traditional publishing house, it’s your job to vet their qualifications. And as Dr. Gregory House used to say on Fox’s House, “Everybody lies.” Especially in job interviews. So here are a few things you can look at beyond the obvious resume and references.

Things to Look for When Hiring a Freelance Editor:

  • Samples. I mean samples of their own writing. A lot of freelance editors are also authors in their own right. So see if you can find a sample of their work. It will give you a more solid feel for their understanding of the craft, as well as a sense of their particular style and voice. The second can be a good indicator on whether or not you will work well together. If someone’s writing is too dissimilar from your own, you might end up with a clash of vision. But if they are similar to you, then chances are good they’ll be able to see your work the way you do. Plus, you don’t want to hire someone whose own work is riddled with typos and errors, do you?
  • Willingness to Listen. Just like you should have an open mind when it comes to receiving criticism, your editor should be open to listening to your concerns, opinions and ideas. So pay attention to the way they correspond with you initially. Are they respectful? Do they seem open to what you have to say? Or do they seem pompous and full of themselves, coming off like you should be honored they’d be willing to work with you? There is a fine line between arrogance and confidence. You want someone that seems sure of their abilities, but not someone that seems like they know everything about everything. A good editor will take your directions into account and add them to a list of things they already look for.
  • Contract. Always work under a contract. Always. This is a no-brainer for serious freelance editors, so if the candidate you’re considering doesn’t seem interested in talking shop over the details of a contract, you’d be wise to save your money. Contracts are the easiest way to keep everyone on the same page. They should detail not only what the editor will provide, but how much they are charging, the payment terms, the deadline (if there is one), and a clause protecting the author’s rights to the work. Any editor worth their salt will negotiate the terms of the contract well before any money changes hands or any work is started.
  • Gut Instinct. First impressions are often correct, so listen to your gut instinct when considering candidates. Oftentimes, something intangible will warn you away from someone who won’t be a good fit. The same goes for finding that perfect editorial soulmate. If you find yourself being drawn to one person over the others, go with it. There’s probably a reason and you might even end up with that coveted writer/editor relationship every author dreams of. And if not, hey, that’s why there’s a termination clause in that contract you signed. 😉

I hope I’ve helped demystify the process of working with an editor at least a little bit. It really isn’t that hard. All you have to do is remember that the editor isn’t out to get you; isn’t hell-bent on destroying your work and watching it burn in a massive bonfire while they laugh at your misery. Quite the opposite. Your editor believes in you, in your work. They wouldn’t have taken you on as a client if they didn’t. So trust that they’ll make your work the best it can be. When everyone behaves with respect and professionalism, the end result could easily be the bestseller both parties hope for.