I’ve had people ask if I’m harder on the books small presses send me than I am ones where the author pays me. The answer: I’m harder on the author as a client.

Now, why is that, since the client usually pays more and is paying me directly? Simple. As an author, you expect certain things of the publisher from all but the smallest presses. This book should already be vetted. The publisher will likely flag any major issues. In one case, I had a tale with supernatural elements that probably should have had a developmental edit, but I was able to meet with the author in person. Going back and reading that book just as a reader, I now have a better understanding of what to ask and what to flag. (Plus, that guy sent me notes for the next one.)

So why be harder on the writer as a client? Simple. I write indie. So I know the writer chasing an agent or a publisher or even going indie is flying without a net. So my edits are going to be deeper. I’m going to cut (and add) more if I don’t think you’re getting your point across, and a bit less lenient on tangents. (I know. As an author, I love my tangents, too. Hurts to kill your darlings, but we can’t all be Stephen King. And even Steve and his editors cut a lot of stuff.) Why? There’s no one, except maybe beta readers, who will tell you when that pronoun should have been a name because you have more than two people in the same conversation. “He said…” Okay, if there are two hes in the conversation, which “he”? If it’s a man and a woman, and they’re the only two people in the conversation, then we’re fine. 

It’s the writer clients who get the long-winded explanations about drive-ups. I’m harder on run-ons with them. Most clients I get for copy editing are newer writers, so I need to help them put their best foot forward with an agent or an acquisitions editor. Yes, experienced writers break the rules, but we’ve been following them for years. So we know when coloring outside the lines looks artistic (We hope!) vs. looking like your two-year-old niece or nephew savaging a coloring book with whatever Crayola they grabbed first.

That’s not to say I don’t get some challenges from Down & Out or other publishers. My very first client I like to say has been doing this longer than I’ve been alive. And I’m just barely old enough to remember when Abbey Road was new. (I also was a toddler. Make of that what you will.) His original editor was Ruth Cavin at St. Martin’s Press, who is still considered a giant in the crime fiction field. My initial client’s manuscripts are not as clean as, say, Jim Fusilli’s, who writes for The Wall Street Journal. Editing Jim is basically moving commas around, half of which I’m pretty sure Jim stetted. The other client is used to pushing it to the deadline, so there’s an expectation (as expressed in feedback) that I’m going to have suggestions how to clean it up. So far, it works, and he’s put out some pretty good books since I started working with him.

And then we have the anthologies. Usually, they’re as much fun to edit as they are to write for. (Okay, I actually prefer writing for them. Less time, except less money.) But even that’s a challenge. Half of mine have Michael Bracken as the main editor, and Michael has sent me several “Go with God” emails after learning I got the copy edit assignment. Why? Short story author A will submit a story with almost no corrections. Yes, that actually happens. Author B can’t consistently capitalize or lower-case a proper noun. Author C is a lawyer. They capitalize EVERYTHING! (Sidenote: My last author was actually a district court judge. He did NOT capitalize everything.)

In the end, it’s what serves the reader best. Sometimes, I’ll leave an entire passage as nothing but sentence fragments because that’s how the author writes, and the reader will just get confused if I try to fix it. Plus, you try to fix every damn sentence in a book. Usually, by page 2, you have the writer’s rhythm and cadence. As an editor, don’t mess with it unless it’s unreadable. Because isn’t that why you hand off to an editor?