Search for the pros and cons of developmental editing for creative writing and you’ll find the usual returns.
On the plus side, a good developmental editor can identify issues with plot, character, structure, and more. Often writers struggle with aspects of character depth—how many times have you written about someone your writers’ group just “can’t connect to”—and can help you delve deeper. A good editor can help you brainstorm possibilities for character and plot that hadn’t occurred to you. As a DE myself, some of my most satisfying moments occur when my clients begin to see how those possibilities can work. The best moment is when a client says that my suggestions helped a story get published. The editor will have an experienced perspective regarding whether the work could be eventually published, and can suggest possible markets. Developmental editors are typically familiar with current trends and tropes, and can help you avoid writing on topics that have already been published extensively.
Exactly what developmental editors will do for writers varies depending on the editor. Even the Editorial Freelancers Association (EFA) has had difficulty coming up with a description the members can all agree on. You may have to shop around for an editor who handles the issues you would like to address. You may also be able to negotiate with editors on the scope of the work.
On the negative side there is the possible work involved in making revisions. Some editors have difficulty taking into account the writer’s intent, and as a result suggest changes that cause a loss of the writer’s voice. A particularly harsh edit can cause a writer to lose confidence in their writing ability. And, oh yeah, there’s the cost. Developmental editing is the one of the most expensive aspects of creative writing help, second only to going all-in on an MFA without a scholarship. The developmental edit for a novel can cost several thousand dollars, and there is absolutely no guarantee of a return. Your work may never be published. But let’s put the cost aside for now.
Since authorizing a developmental edit is a significant undertaking, putting at risk your very writer’s soul, what considerations should you have before you start looking for an editor?
First, is your draft even at the point where developmental editing will bring it to fruition? How do you know? Sure, you can ask the developmental editor, but depending on that person’s ethics you may or may not be able to trust the answer. A better bet would be to ask an experienced and trusted writer, possibly someone in your writers’ group. You can ask several experienced writer friends and get a consensus on how you should proceed. This may also provide some guidance in what you will ask the developmental editor to do.
Could be you’re just stuck. In that case maybe just a pep talk from a friend could help. Kick around some ideas with another writer or two and you might free that log jam in your creative mind.
Really you should only consider hiring a developmental editor if you feel your work is as good as you can make it, but you still feel it is lacking in some aspect. We all have different styles of revision. Some of us almost never revise, while others can’t seem to stop. Whatever your personal style, you should be sure that you couldn’t possibly revise the work anymore without making it worse, not better. This is not to say that it couldn’t be made better—and that’s what your developmental editor is for—only to say that you personally are spent as a writer. You have put everything into this work and have nothing left to add. (Which leads into a discussion of over-revising a work. But that’s the stuff of another post.)
Consider the editor’s experience. Has this person worked in publishing? At what level? Does the editor have experience in the genre in which the author is writing? You have to be very careful here. When I was just starting out writing fiction, I paid for an edit on a short story, a humorous take combining Greek mythology and modern social politics. The editor, an apparently humorless person, came back with all kinds of harsh criticism, so much so that I felt this person was trying to change the story to something they would have written. I decided not to make the edits and sent it out to a few journals. It was almost immediately accepted by one of them without any of the changes.
Remember also that the editor’s fee is not necessarily commensurate with their experience. Some lesser experienced editors charge exorbitant fees. Some charge ridiculously low fees. Here is a link to the EFA rate page and job estimator on their website. This can be a good guide for you in judging the fees quoted: https://www.the-efa.org/rates/.
You can ask for samples of critiques the editor has previously provided to clients so you can assess their style and content. The editor may ask you for a sample of your work. Personally I almost always ask to see a few pages of the writer’s work before agreeing to take them on as a client. The working relationship goes both ways. I need to feel that I can properly interpret the writing and make constructive edits. You should know exactly what you’re going to get. No sense in wasting both of our time, and your money.
Some authors find it helpful to get feedback on an outline or on multiple story ideas before moving forward. Particularly if you have a large project, such as a novel, you want to be sure that the editor is someone you can work with and who makes actionable and constructive editing suggestions. This is especially important if you are on a budget.
Consider if you want a written critique or a Zoom consultation. Or both.
Are you and the editor able to work together? Are you a good match? Before you sign a contract consider how well the two of you have communicated during the negotiations.
And yes, make sure there is a signed agreement, or at least some written correspondence authorizing the work. Hiring a developmental editor is a business undertaking and you may need to have some legal protection if things don’t go as expected.
Now let’s get back to the cost. Since developmental editing can be a major expense for writers, we at Beyond Craft are having what you might call a literary sale. Each of our editors is offering a minimum of 20% off their regular rates. Please check the Critique Services page for information about our experience and scope of services.
In the meantime, I would be interested in seeing how many people who have used developmental editors have gone on to publish their work or become successful writers. How would you rate the experience? Comments are open.
Original photo by Keith Kasaija on Unsplash
At least half a dozen of the people I've done developmental edits for are now published by small presses. Maybe more. That's not everybody, but I start by sharing what's right, and maybe that helps keep the writers open.
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Over a decade ago, after months of trial and error, I’d finally crafted a strong query letter for my fourth novel. I sent it to sixteen literary agents and five publishing houses. Six agents responded favorably, along with two publishers. I was walking on clouds—but none of these opportunities panned out. Based on feedback from the agents and readers, my novel had potential but needed work.
One of the high-octane agents told me my manuscript had the bones of a marketable novel but needed help from a professional editor. So, I began combing through ads in a popular writer’s magazine. One jumped out in bold letters: Acclaimed Editor, followed by a gold-plated résumé stacked with accolades. The next day, I phoned the editor (I’ll call him Tom) and explained that a well-known literary agent who had reviewed my novel said it had promise but needed professional polishing. Tom was pleasant and engaging—charming even—and suggested I send him a hard copy of my novel, which he’d evaluate for free.
What a deal, I thought. A couple days later, I mailed the manuscript. Within ten days, Tom called and said I’d written a powerful story. “The performance is here,” he gushed. “It’s written with a lot of heart and some virtuoso writing. You did a great job foreshadowing the murder.”
I was flattered that an editor of his stature would offer such glowing praise, but I told him I only wanted to engage his service if he truly believed the novel could be elevated to publishable standards. He assured me it could. I asked how much he charged, and after a long pause he said, “My fee is five thousand dollars.”
After recovering from sticker shock, I said, “That’s a lot of money.”
“Not if you get a publishing deal,” he replied, his voice buttery and smooth.
Later, as I mulled over his offer, I thought, that’s a month’s take-home pay. But if he could fine-tune my manuscript and make it sizzle—maybe I’d hit the jackpot. I openly admit I’m a chronic dreamer; dedicated and hardworking, but a dreamer nonetheless. And Tom had set the hook and was reeling me in like a fish. In hindsight, I realize how carefully he had picked his words—how he suggested without stating, led without promising and flattered without being too obvious. The man was cunning. Two days later, after wrestling with the decision to fork over that much money, I convinced myself that he could indeed transform my diamond in the rough into a publishable gem, and I accepted his offer.
“Don’t forget to include the check,” he said.
Two weeks later, I received the edited manuscript along with a page-and-a-half summary. I was stunned. My diamond in the rough had been reduced to a quartz crystal—flawed by major literary fractures, none of which Tom had mentioned during his sales pitch. Foremost among these cardinal weaknesses was expositional dialogue. He said I had used far too much and would need to rewrite large sections of the novel, converting the forbidden dialogue into narrative. He also insisted I switch from first- to third-person narration, requiring a complete rewrite of the 75,000-word manuscript.
Next he attacked my use of backstory, claiming I’d relied too heavily on flashbacks and vignettes drawn from the plot’s distant past. He declared that no more than ten percent of a novel should be backstory, but fixing this would require significant changes.
But his literary wrecking ball wasn’t done yet. In the final blow, he explained how my story unfolded from the wrong character’s perspective, and the plot should be reorganized around another character and set back in time twenty years. To top it off, he breezily concluded that I had blurred the narration, rendering it a clumsy blend of fiction, memoir, and a psychological study.
What did this scorched-earth editing policy leave me? Not much—though I spent months and eventually executed the changes he had recommended. After completing the rewrite, I phoned five literary agents who had previously rejected the novel and explained that Tom, the famous editor, had worked with me on a major overhaul. None were impressed, but they agreed to reconsider the new version.
Within a month, every agent had rejected it. One wrote, “It’s lost its gritty, first-person narrative appeal.” Another concluded, “It reads more like journalism and not fiction.” The last email said, “There’s still no satisfying ending, no hero, and nothing is ever proved.”
Not to be discouraged, I sent my well-received query letter to fifteen literary agents in New York City, receiving five invitations to submit the manuscript. But my novel was unceremoniously rejected. Tom’s big-shot editing job didn’t elevate the work—if anything, it may have ruined it.
I am responsible—I made the choice and set myself up for a literary con job. Despite the fact that Mr. Tom had once rubbed elbows with East Coast literary pretty people, he is a sly, greedy little shark.
So … if you are a budding novelist and believe you have a viable work that just needs professional polishing, my advice is to consider this proposition: If any editor lurking among the gaggle of freelancers advertising their services online or in the back pages of writer magazines claims that she or he knows what it takes to create a publishable manuscript—don’t get sucked into the sales pitch. If these editors truly knew the magic formula for publishing success, wouldn’t they be writing their own bestsellers instead of trying to mine thousands of dollars out of dream-smitten, naïve literary hopefuls?