You know how you never really know what goes on in a marriage? The same could be said for what goes on between writer and editor. The editorial process is still a private, mostly behind closed doors affair. The best editorial relationships can last a career; some don’t make it to first base. I asked five extraordinarily accomplished bigshot editors the following question: what percentage of your editing do your authors take, and how do you persuade them to take it?
Editor #1: All of it. I wouldn’t make the suggestions if I didn’t think they were the right thing to do. Of course, some suggestions can be made in the conditional, what-do-you-think? mode. The Big Persuader is, of course, the check due on acceptance. My rough rule of thumb on acceptance is this: If the author elected to proceed with the book exactly as submitted, would I publish it as is? If so, here’s your check and let’s work to get the book to its absolute peak of perfection from here. If not, let have a serious talk. These things have to be done with maximum care and diplomacy, but it is in the nature of the power dynamics of the relationship that the prospect of that payment tends to make the editor look wiser and more all-knowing.
The above goes out the window for authors with consistent net hardcover sales above 100,000 copies a pop.
Ca-ching!
Editor #2: I generally think that if authors grasp 80% of what you are asking and do 50% of it, you are in clover. One author described me as an iron fist in a velvet glove — I found this touching. For me, the key is providing, as far as possible, a healthy balance of praise (sincere, of course) and criticism. Nobody works well when they feel they’re being nagged, treated unkindly, or found wanting.
Did someone say Velvet?
Editor #3: I hate to sound smug, but I have a very high track record of acceptance – like 80-90% – so I have come to expect that. In my experience the best argument for acceptance is the editing itself – and I mean getting down to specifics. I think general advice doesn’t really help much – no one is going to disagree much over the principles that make for good writing, but when writers are struggling they generally can’t see where the problems are, or they have a general idea what they are but don’t know how to solve them. I usually tell writers that I don’t expect them to take every edit verbatim, but that in my experience just rolling up your sleeves and attempting a fix is often the best way of showing what the problem is – so I want them to look at the problem the edit points up, and if they want to solve it another way, that’s fine. In my experience the editing process is usually the most harmonious part of the publishing process – the time when the book is still a private thing, and its fate still largely under the control of author and editor. Later will come the fights (and disappointments) over jacket, publicity, sales … Once in a blue moon I have run into major editorial resistance. Once, early on, I got back a revised manuscript from the writer on a co-authored book. As I began to look through it, I noticed that he had disregarded almost every one of my comments. I called him up and asked him why. He said, “I didn’t think they were important.” I said, “If I wrote it, it was important.” On the other hand, the writers who make me most nervous aren’t the fighters, they’re the ones who have no idea – or have lost any idea – of what they are trying to do or say, and are looking desperately to me to save them. They’ll do anything you say, or try to – it’s like pushing on jello.
Zombie Brain Jello (not making this up)
Editor #4: None. Zero. I do, however, expect my authors to listen to, reflect on, and think seriously about, 100% of my edits. There may be conversations about why I suggested one edit or another, but my goal is never to persuade for the sake of persuading. If I’m doing my job right, I’m my author’s first, best reader. Hopefully, they’ll find that my edits and feedback illuminate for them what they’ve written in ways that help them make it better.
In practice, of course, if an author really doesn’t take many of my editorial notes, that’s a good sign that there’s something wrong with the editorial relationship. It means that I’m not giving them useful feedback, or they’re not listening….or, both. This thing of ours only works when there’s real mutual respect.
The password is: mutual.
Editor #5: 72.3% A claw wrench.
The End
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I wish I had something to say to inspire you tonight, but my tank is low if I’m going to be honest. I know I’m not an ER nurse, but sometimes this work is incredibly draining. Worse, I know that whatever anxiety I’m feeling whether it’s waiting for an editorial response, waiting for money, waiting for an offer, etc. it’s far worse for the writer. I have all these children living in my shoe. When something doesn’t happen for one, it’s bound to happen for another. One writer is getting tons of attention, a fat new offer on her next book, foreign sales galore. Another writer can’t get arrested. And three years from now their situations might be reversed; fickle are the gods of publishing.
The great paradox of my life as an agent is that I am able to walk through fire for my clients while I can barely ask for anything for myself. 
We’ve all been there, waiting for someone to read our work. A friend, a classmate, a teacher, a producer, an editor, an agent, a critic. The worst part, possibly worse than the verdict, is not knowing when it will arrive. A day, a week , a month, longer, like never. How well do you cope with waiting? I know I sometimes like to delay gratification, or stave off rejection with a healthy dose of denial and magical thinking (i.e. no news is good news, or at least not bad news yet.) I know a lot of my readers here on the blog drink (I’m not judging). One writer offered the following rant, which I reproduce here anonymously in all its beautiful despair:
Betsy Lerner 