Being brilliant and coming off that way are two completely different things.
I should know. For the last 15 years my job has been (and probably will be forever) to take the work of people much smarter than me and to make it present well. As a designer, nothing I do is truly my own. I craft and shape. I massage and unify. I do any other modifying verb you can think of to other people’s work to help it land in the right place.
It can be rewarding work.
Two years ago I helped the world get access to tablet-based ultrasound for the first time ever. God knows I didn’t invent the technology. I didn’t invent the chips that modulate the frequency just so. I didn’t code the app that allows the tablet to both simultaneously display what’s below the skin and connect frontline medical staff with experts in real time. I didn’t craft the financial system that allows doctors in resource-strapped communities to get this technology for less than $200/month.
But I did help them communicate that the product does these things.
I worked with the brilliant minds that had poured themselves into this capability for years before I showed up. They had carried this project up to the finish line and it was ready. We crafted a landing page and a service portal together that enables customers and staff to meet each other’s needs online. I ran responsive web tests to check breakpoints and combed the graphics and copy to ensure that we were keeping the message consistent. My job was to make sure these PhDs came off as smart and on-brand as I knew they were in the flesh. I was there to take what they’d done and show it some love.
No mumbling—just clear value.
And yet, I still hesitate. I strain and grumble when it’s my turn to trust someone to carry my work over the finishline.
What is that?
I know the value. I produce it every day. I have received more heartfelt thank-yous than I can remember. Trusting someone to refine your work has real, tangible value. It’s important, and maybe that’s why it’s scary.
There is more emotional risk in having someone edit your ideas than just shooting them off into the ether. There is no uncertainty about whether or not they will criticize your work.
They most certainly will.
You’re paying them to.
And down at a base level that’s what we’re avoiding, isn’t it. The lizard brain is afraid that someone might do something besides applaud. Someone—if they are careful—might see through the façade. If they pay close attention, they will find out that I’m just beginning.
The horror!
What’s a new writer to do?
Well, lets take a break and act “as if” for a moment.
If I were to act as if I were an experienced writer and I was concerned about scrutiny over the quality of my writing, I would hire an editor.
Well, crap. That was instantly recursive.
Thanks for your time, I’m all done here.
But in all seriousness, it’s worth a good long think about the value of giving an editor a crack at your malformed idea-baby. It’s not as cute as you think it is. And even if it is complete brilliance (teach me, oh wise one), the validation is worth it. Professional authors the world over take this step no matter their skill level.
In fact, it may be the single greatest indicator of whether you are truly turning pro or not.
Personally, I rely on an incredibly dependable source for my editing: Editing Love. The editor on staff has 3 degrees in grammar, and taught ESL (English as a second language) for 8 years before starting her own business. Trust me, if she can get students with extremely limited English into American universities, then she can definitely take what you’ve hacked out and ensure that it is typo-troll-proof. When you’re ready to turn pro, you’ll find that $45/hour is well worth the refinement and headache-prevention.
And since she’s sitting across the table from me wrapping presents for a preschooler’s superhero-themed birthday party we are attending in 20 minutes, I cajoled her into giving all y’all a special flat-rate of $20/article.
Go get that lovely deal here.
If you would like to see the edits this piece received for your self, it’s all right here: Being Brilliant (changes tracked)
Disclosures:
- I am married to the editor in question.
- I originally published this piece without having been edited (shame).
