But We Love Them

A book dies and gets reborn many times before it finds its way into the reader’s hands. We swap scenes, delete chapters, write new ones, delete them, until we’re finally ready to look at our version of Frankenstein’s monster and think, proudly, ‘that’ll do.’

You see, those scars we left behind, continuity errors, jokes that are hilarious even though no longer relevant, they fade into the background, because the book is our baby, and it is beautiful.

Then comes the editor. She’s like the horrible boss that finds fault with everything. Some call her the devil. Not me. I wouldn’t dare. The editor is there to take your creation away. You struggle, you postpone the handover, you make excuses, but in the end reality hits: your work is perfect, and the editor will have no choice but concede this point and worship at your genius.

When I say ‘reality,’ you have to bear in mind that I’m a writer who inhabits many different worlds every month, and ‘reality’ is a rather fluid concept.

While your editor takes her time admiring your prose, you go through a stage of withdrawal. Your friends and family are nice and everything; sure, they care about you, yada yada yada; but the people that really matter to you now live with your editor. Not to worry, a few weeks or months later, they’ll be back with you.

Finally, that wonderful day is here. Except…

What the hell has my editor done to my masterwork? Is she crazy? I’m not an idiot, I knew there might be some minor flaws, but the margin is full of comments. Some are smileys and LOLs, but the rest? Didn’t I do anything right?

So I rant. To myself. I know not to vent at other people, but I’m a willing audience for my own anger. I read and re-read the e-mail that lists her main points, like some sick need for self-flagellation.

And something clicks. Some of her remarks echo concerns I had before, but thought I could “get away with.” So I start on the manuscript and work my way through. I take care of the quick fixes first so I can delete those comments and get some breathing space. The comments that are left will take more effort, not to mention the issues raised in the e-mail, but in my head, the final product takes shape.

By the end of chapter two, magic has happened. I can see the finished book. It will take me weeks to get there, but by God, it’s going to be worth it. And I don’t mind putting in the time. The resulting story will still be my creation, this time without scars. Plus, I’m back in the company of my favorite people.

Once it’s done, I’ll dress it up in a copy edit and some beta reading, but the tough bit will be behind me. Thanks to my beautiful editor who pushes me to deliver the best book I can. Dylan, you rock!