THERE’S A BOOK IN YOU!

WEEK SEVEN: THE EDITORIAL PROCESS

Now that you’ve got the deal, you should be able to relax and just wait to see your book in the book stores! Unfortunately, not quite. This is where the second part of the major re-writing begins, the editorial process. This is when your publisher takes what you are convinced is a completed manuscript and starts shaping it according to their vision of what will make it more marketable for their readers.

Editors usually have very specific ideas of the types of books that will sell to their readership. Clearly they believe that your book is one of those, otherwise they wouldn’t have given you a book deal. But often much to the chagrin of the author, this doesn’t preclude often extensive editorial changes. In many cases this is helpful and in fact does make the book better, in other cases, the author feels as if their work is being compromised by an overly aggressive “red pen.” My feelings on the editorial process are to assume that the comments are given with the desire to make the manuscript as good as it can be, but by the same token, to decide what you will agree to and what you cannot. It’s usually a balancing process where you have to compromise but where you also must determine which comments, if any, go to the heart of your book, and if accepted could severely compromise your vision.

Usually you will go through several rounds of editorial comments before your book is completed and ready for the copy editors. Copy editing is a critical part of the editorial process and ensures that your book has all of the proper grammatical and other editing and stylistic changes. Often, with a smaller press the author does essentially a lot of the copy editing, but it is preferable to have it professionally done. It’s very difficult to copy edit your own work because you are so close to it. Overall the editorial process can be gratifying as you see your book shaped into something even greater than you had imagined or frustrating as you see your vision chipped away, but either way it is a critical part of getting your book out there.

Next week we’ll talk about marketing your book and some of the things that authors can do to get the widest possible audience. For more information on my book A DEAD MAN SPEAKS, check out my website www.adeadmanspeaks.com, or you can email me at adeadmanspeaks@yahoo.com.

Hello, All,
Letting you know I’m b-a-a-ack! Where have I been? In book hell, trying to finish up my suspense thriller. Well, I did it, I’m done. I titled it Dead Stop--found out there’s a film with that same title. Boo. Which just means there’s nothing new in the universe, especially titles.

FYI I’ll be blogging on Sundays and will be slinging tidbits around relating to all things theatrical, ‘cuz that’s my special interest. Will be doing film reviews, interviews, and keeping an eye out on the book option market, and noting who's selling what. Would welcome additional tidbits!

In the meantime, read below and laugh. This compilation of Worst Analogies appeared on the yahoo listserv of fellow writers, all graduates of my alma mater, Seton Hill University and its graduate Writing Popular Fiction Program.



WORST ANALOGIES...EVER

~ He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the
East River.

~ Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap, only
one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

~ The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.

~ The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating
for a while.

~ He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but
a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or
something.

~ McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled
with vegetable soup.

~ Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides
gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

~ She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.

~ She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just before it throws up.

~ The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

~ He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as
if she were a garbage truck backing up.

~ She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

~ It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to
the wall.

~ The brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.

~ I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long German name
for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don't speak German.
Anyway, it's a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little
square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don't know the name for
those either.

~ He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

~ The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you
fry them in hot grease.

~ The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr.
on a Dr Pepper can.

~ He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those
boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high
schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those
boxes with a pinhole in it.

~ The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn't.

~ From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie,
surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy"
comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.

~ Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

~ Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the
center.

~ Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a
movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall
Man."

~ Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the
grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left
Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19
p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

~ John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
also never met.


Hope your holidays are happy.

Blessings,
Gammy L. Singer