My editor sent my quote unquote novel back with her notes. It’s a true, old school line-edit. Be still my heart. Her pencil is everywhere: tone, structure, point of view, word choice, continuity, transitions. There is nothing like being in the hands of a real editor. The careful attention, the big picture, the perspective. You know my level of gratitude is enormous. That’s not to say that I didn’t plummet to the depths today, just facing how bad the bad parts are, the rookie mistakes, the wanton abuse of semi-colons. The sheer wordiness (which I had deluded myself into thinking was my “voice”). I’m gonna get a good night’s sleep and hit it again in morning. The one guarantee about writing: One day you’re great and the next you’re the worst.
How do you handle editorial feedback?
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Betsy Lerner 
With open arms and a faint smile to conceal the ache. If I just wanted to write for myself, I would complete a few pages then feed them to the wood stove, words in flames. At times, I’m surprised by what someone else thinks needs work, but mostly I agree and wonder why what seems so perfect in my head loses a step or two in transition to paper. And, as you note, tomorrow is another day, hopefully with an exhilarating Super Moon of creativity.
When I get feedback from friends, my reaction is always the same: “Who the hell asked you?” And then I remember, “Oh yeah, I did,” and three days later I’m able to take another look at it. After a week I can agree with them on some points, and then I see how much better it is, and in the end I’m so grateful to them for looking out for me with such attention, I want to buy them a puppy.
I would love to have someone point out all the flaws in my writing in an objective way. Not saying I’d enjoy it on an emotional level, but at an intellectual level, yes – 100 %!
I love an intelligent, insightful edit more than nearly anything. Have fun!
Damn those editors! A love/hate thing, for sure! But you always make me laugh so hard!
I don’t cry.
I don’t get mad.
I am convinced I am brilliant.
I know I am stupid.
I am relieved.
I am grateful.
“How do you handle editorial feedback?”
With attention and appreciation. I may be captain of my boat, but there’s nothing like the aid of a skilled navigator who can chart the shoals and rocks, knows the secrets of the wind, and knows how to shoot the stars with accuracy.
Man, that is a dream.
The first and, sadly, last edits that come to mind that are similar come from my undergrad years, during a magazine writing class that sent my life in a romantic and unprofitable direction for a great long while. Our professor was the kind that visits for a few years. He wrote for Time (Vietnam!), wore the same shirt every day, and would never tell us anything about himself. He edited our stories–on paper–with a fountain pen. A fucking fountain pen. Sometimes there was more of his ink on the page than mine and I devoured those edits. I turned in assignments he never asked for. One day, maybe just because he was sick of me, or maybe because I’d actually done something right, there was only one comment, written in that thick, black ink: “Scott. You’re writing.”
I probably wasn’t, but…still.
Those papers are deep in a drawer in my office, and I am too afraid to look at them.
And semicolons, eh? You think you know a person. But I still like you.
Great story. Nice to see you at the Lerner Home for Wayward Children.
Great story. Nice to see you back at the Lerner Home for Wayward Children.
wonderful