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Die! the Editor SaidJuly 17, 2007 Historic first (I think): This afternoon for the first time I told a publisher client I couldn't finish a copyediting job. Not "couldn't finish it by the appointed deadline" -- I've done that a few times, rarely by more than a day or two, and besides the original deadline for this baby passed earlier this month. Nor was I begging off because someone died or because my one good eye gave out or because the cables carrying electric power to Martha's Vineyard broke and I couldn't access my computer. No, my subject line was just "I give up." This book needed way, way, way more than a copyedit, way more than a heavy copyedit even. I'd pointed this out after I finished the first chapter. The message relayed by the managing editor at the publisher was that it would get better. It didn't. After I finished chapter 4 (these were long chapters), I reported that "getting better" wasn't happening. Edited chapters were passed on to the editor and thence to the author. I started another job: O joy! O rapture! A straightforward copyedit! Shortly thereafter word came back through the pipeline that the author hadn't had a fatal coronary when he saw the edited manuscript (good news? bad news? damned if I know) and I should press on. This morning I decided once and for all that what this job needed was a stake through the heart. "I give up," I wrote in the subject line of a fairly detailed memo about what development work the manuscript needed before it was ready for production. I've been editing long and well enough to know for absolute sure that this was not my problem. All the same, it pissed me off. The person I really wanted to strangle was the book editor. The author isn't a professional writer and he needed a lot more development help than he got. That's what the book editor is supposed to do. This is why I no longer do book-length editing for individuals unless I know them or their work, or they come recommended by someone I trust. All too often an aspiring author would ask me what I'd charge to "proofread" his or her manuscript, certain that all it needed was a little polishing before it could be submitted to agents or publishers, or maybe self-published; after reading 50 pages or so, I'd be on the brink of blowing my brains out. Writing is not as easy as it looks. (It looks easy? Someone thinks writing looks easy??) Having the ability to produce a competent 5,000-word essay does not guarantee that you will be able to produce a sensibly organized 600-page book manuscript. I should be reassured. I keep falling into the assumption that anything I can do, anybody can do. This Job That Wouldn't Die reminded me of something else: that I'm pretty good at doing things I don't think I can do, like identify problems in a written work and explain how to fix them. Why didn't the book editor see what I saw? Why did the manuscript come to me in such abysmal shape? Evidently I can do some things better than the people who are being paid to do them can. I have to admit it: I'm a bloody good editor. If only bloody good editors got paid as well as bloody good car mechanics.
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