Author’s note: Today my husband sent me a link to an article from Salon called “Let us now praise editors,” which supports many of the points I made here! Check it out!
Reading Sheryl’s blog often has me reaching for my pen these days to jot down responses. I actually have another response to another one of her posts drafted, but this one is more immediate, so I’m doing this one first. In a post she did last week, she wrote about having to make revisions to designs that her clients have commissioned from her. (She is a graphic designer). She wrote about how sometimes the revisions the clients want are not necessarily the artistic choices that she would make– but she is in business to make the client happy, so off she goes and makes the revisions. And then, there is always the situation everybody loves: You do something exactly to client specifications, and then they hate it, and then they blame you.
I have a slightly different situation, as an editor. Editing someone’s work is actually a very personal, intimate act. Even if it is an article for a medical journal. I am still editing someone’s words, something someone thought. Last fall, I recruited a team of women to work with me, and the most common question I got was: How much editing can we do? They were worried about sparing the clients’ feelings. I ordered them not to worry about the clients’ feelings and to do the editing that needed to be done.
As it would happen, it was at this time that for the first time, I had a client who received quite a shock at the document we returned to him. He had thought the document was nearly ready for submission, and he got back, instead, a manuscript that was barely recognizable as his own. He emailed me and asked if we could set up a time to chat the next day so I could explain to him some of my thought processes. I wrote back immediately and said that he was the author and that if he did not agree with the changes, we could change things. And that is absolutely the truth. But what I didn’t tell him was that if he tried to reject any of my changes, I would argue with him.
We spoke the next day. He explained that he hadn’t been angry with me. He had been embarrassed at sending a document that he had thought was in better shape, and he wanted to understand how to give me a better document the next time. We spoke for over an hour, going over the manuscript paragraph by paragraph. And I explained to him that I knew it was harsh to see a manuscript with so many changes, especially with the track changes feature on. However, I told him, I would rather have a reputation for being tough and for getting him published than for him to tell people, “Gosh, she was really nice and spared my feelings in the editorial process. We haven’t gotten anything published yet, but she was really nice.”
The client ego is a fact of life. And I have found that not only do I have to be aware of it, but it is also providential that I work remotely, so people don’t have to look me in the eye the day after I edit their stuff– and vice versa. I wonder if I could do my job so effectively if I knew I would run into people on the way to the bathroom.
Another time, I was visiting a client site after I had made some edits to a manuscript. As I was setting up my laptop, an author said to me, “Those edits were rather harsh, Creer.” I started blushing and hemming and hawing, but she lifted a hand to stop me. “And you were absolutely right,” she told me. “Thank you.”
Sometimes you have to bend to what the client wants you to do. Or, in my case, you have to do what is in the client’s best interest even though it might not make you very popular. I think the key is understanding, which only comes with experience, when to do what.