The writer-editor relationship — fleeting yet forever
It is no doubt that, as a budding editor, you’ve heard the horror stories about strained relationships between editors and writers. From the famous examples (Carver and Lish; Poe and Griswold; Wolfe and Perkins) to real life experiences (I had an author ‘happily’ sign-off on a final edit, then message me two hours later requesting to retract), the writer-editor relationship appears a fragile and fleeting one.
“ I can’t undergo [that] kind of surgical amputation and transplantation,’’ — Carver on Lish, 1982.
Don’t despair — there are writer-editor associations that go against the grain (of salt?). Through collaborating with an artist who didn’t come from a strong writing background, I found this to be wonderfully true. In late March, I was assigned as the editor for RMIT Diploma of Photography and Photo Imaging student Chelsea Pickard. I worked with Chelsea to produce a 68-page photobook, Abandoned to Adopted. The editing experience was unlike any other I’d taken part in, and so was the relationship that formed from it. Each conversation ended on a positive note, there was an equal amount of respect felt between Chelsea and me, and an equal amount of dedication was put into the project.
One reason why the collaboration worked so well was that Chelsea and I were pushed out of our comfort zones — her written work had never undergone editing, and my editing had never extended to photographs. We knew that we both wanted the best outcome for the photobook, and understood that we were both trained in different areas to achieve it. I respected all of Chelsea’s photo-editing and design choices, and she respected all my written feedback and mark-ups. It was a nice break to work with someone who didn’t question every editorial decision; rephrasing, grammar and punctuation changes weren’t contested as I’ve known writers to do.
Chelsea opened my eyes to the importance of white-space; I opened her eyes to the world of textual dashes.
For a non-writer, Chelsea wrote a lot. She sent me around 3 000 words to edit. The final copy of Abandoned to Adopted has 2 200. There was a lot of rewording for clarity, but the payoff of being free to reword with trust made it manageable.
Another strength for our relationship was that Chelsea made herself available and approachable. Most of our writer-editor discussions were completed informally, over Facebook messenger. Chelsea was also open to communications through email, track-changes and in-person; her flexibility added to the success of the collaboration process.
Chelsea and I worked together on Abandoned to Adopted from the first day we were assigned the project, down to fifteen minutes before the book was due for print. Though the process was time consuming, sometimes required prioritisation over other tasks, and put us under pressure, it was worth it. When the first-print copies of the photobooks were delivered, some editors discovered that errors picked up in proofing weren’t corrected. Chelsea and I worked hard to prevent this. I discovered only a strong sense of pride, as I flicked through each page of Abandoned to Adopted.
While the relationship between Chelsea and me was not fragile, it still felt fleeting. After the photobook went to print, we no longer needed to message each other. I felt an incompleteness not so dissimilar to that felt after a break-up in not speaking to Chelsea. We had worked closely together for seven weeks; my life felt devoid in the wake. The project was really over. I was “excommunicado”.
“Ah, yes,” my editing teacher, Stephanie Holt, laughed when I revealed these feelings to her. Stephanie understood the excommunicated-ness and said it is a common feeling among editors. If you understand this feeling, pat yourself on the back my friend, because you must have had a great writer-editor relationship; “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened”— Dr Seuss.
“Editing with a writer is a joyous collaboration — not even a collaboration, but a conversation, a colloquy, a back-and-forth,” — Michael Pietsch on editing David Foster Wallace (2011, The Atlantic).
In post-print times, there are “acknowledgments” to remind you of the bond shared with your writer. My Fiction Writing teachers speak highly of their editors and have appropriately accredited said editors, in the acknowledgements of their novels. Cath Crowley thanks her “brilliant” editors, and publisher who “read so many drafts, gave so much detailed feedback” for Words in Deep Blue (2016). Clare Strahan thanks her editor, stating “your kindness and experience has made publication a joy as well as a privilege” in Cracked (2014). I received a heart-warming acknowledgement too: “A big thanks to my editor, who has spent hours looking over my messy words and bad grammar. I appreciate all that you have done for this book,” Chelsea wrote for Abandoned to Adopted (2017).
Positive writer-editor bonds were felt and shared at RMIT’s Write it, Shoot it, Show it event this past Tuesday. The event showcased all 33 photobooks produced between Professional Writing and Editing and Photography and Photo Imaging students. It was an enjoyable tribute to our efforts. Editing peer Karina Smith won an award for the most outstanding photobook, judged equally on written and visual content, with Simon’s Story. The speeches Karina and her Photography student partner, Sarah Talaj, gave encapsulated the humbling, unique and outstanding experience of the photobook collaboration.
I felt like a proud parent at a school awards night, holding the copy of Abandoned to Adopted in my hands, at Write it, Shoot it, Show it. I was praised for its content by teachers, peers and strangers alike: truly wonderful.
“This is our book.” Chelsea held up the copy and waved it around.
“No.” I placed my hand on her shoulder, “It’s your book.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been as good without you.” Chelsea smiled.
Okay, I’ll accept that.
