by Maria Eydmans
Everyone’s journey to editing looks a little different, but we all may be more similar than we think. Great editors are often good writers, much like Editors Toronto’s January program guest, Michael Kenyon. An author and long-time freelance editor, Kenyon examined various aspects of his career, including his poetry-informed approach to editing fiction, differences between editing his own work and editing the work of others, and managing the author-editor relationship.
Becoming an editor
At 16, Kenyon made a big discovery: he could sit in a quiet place and write for himself in the safety of his four walls. Eureka!
Kenyon went through a series of jobs as a means of supporting his writing career. Twenty-five years of driving a cab helped him become a better listener – and a better writer. He could pay attention to diction, to emotion, and eavesdrop on intense dialogues; prose and poetry began to flow.
His study of editing started with writing and rewriting his own work and through the facilitation of writing workshops – having sit-down, face-to-face conversations with others over their work and making suggestions. He landed his first official editing gig in the 1980s as part of The Malahat Review’s editorial board, which involved writing kind rejection notes, recommending submissions to the managing editor, and, of course, doing actual pen-to-paper editing. From this introduction to the editing world, Kenyon transitioned to freelance editing 20 years ago, largely through Editors Canada.
The editing journey
Kenyon credits Editors Canada as the bridge that led him to much of his clientele; having his name on their list of editors helped him be seen. He was approached by the then-owners of Thistledown Press, who had published some of his fiction and asked if he wanted to edit fiction and poetry. To date, he has edited 35 books for Thistledown. As for freelancing, he’s lost track of how many books he’s edited, a position that is inspirational for editors that are just starting out.
Kenyon very candidly shared that these days he often has to ask people to wait. An experienced editor with a great rapport with his clients, he knows that after each project, there is usually another around the corner, already pencilled in. He works slowly and profoundly with the text – a pointer for both budding and mature editors alike.
The editing process
Kenyon pointed out that the editing process involves an incredibly intimate connection between two human beings, even though the work these days almost always begins and continues remotely. Occasionally, he still has the wonderful opportunity to work in-person with a client, going through the manuscript together page by page. Whatever the case, the editorial process – meeting in the editorial space – builds a close, one-on-one relationship between editor and client. Eventually, over time, a community is built.
Kenyon compared the writer-editor relationship to that of a patient and therapist. When working with poets and novelists, it is easy to get into the psychological – all fictional characters are psychological as well as physical beings; most authors write from the heart, and all write out of their own psychological reality. Kenyon was careful to point out that, as much as vulnerability (i.e. open communication at a profound level by both editor and client) is an asset in the editorial process, this can sometimes lead to misunderstandings and misreadings. It is up to the editor to ensure that the process remains professional. After all, it isn’t ourselves we’re working on – it’s the book!
If you’re an editor and haven’t seen Genius directed by Michael Grandage, you must. The movie shows all the things that can go right with this relationship, but, more importantly, all the things that can go wrong: boundaries are crossed, work and private life blend into each other. “Like the forest and the trees,” Kenyon said of writing and editing, “there’s always a point in an edit where one gets mired in one or the other. It’s so important to be aware when you are looking at individual trees and when you are looking at the whole forest.”
The creative process
Jokes and representations of unhealthy work-life balances aside, Kenyon relayed what his own editorial process looks like. Once he gets the manuscript, he reads it very quickly to get a sense of the terrain. Then he approaches the work as a very careful reader, going slowly through, picking up anything and everything, and challenging anything that seems off, grammatically, thematically, in terms of character, point of view, and plot. He always begins with pen and paper, editing longhand, then transcribes notes and suggestions onto the computer. He sends a section of chapters to the writer to reject or accept his edits, add further comments, or rewrite. He continues working with them on that section while simultaneously reading the rest.
Kenyon acknowledged that his technique doesn’t work for some writers – just as your approach may not work for everyone. The key thing is to adjust to the work at hand and to the feedback of the writer. Although the editor may have a preferred way of working, every job, every writer, and every relationship is different. Flexibility is essential in an editor’s toolbox. Kenyon encourages all editors to make a plan before their first reading and let the client in on the details: come up with a timeline, identify how you’ll work, how much it will cost, and at what point in the process you will send your comments to your client. These specifics are all crucial to establish before pulling out your red pen or turning on Track Changes.
A background in poetry
Kenyon admitted that his background in poetry informs his professional work across genres. There is a “singing voice” that he’s noticed in fiction that allows him to find common ground between that and poetry: “Some people say you can’t edit poetry because it’s too personal and idiosyncratic. I disagree. There is always room for sensitive suggestions. In fiction, people play with grammar and form. Being alive to the precision and economy of poetry is very useful when approaching a prose line.” Both genres require profound listening, and the active, attentive reader/editor will “find the music in the line.”
“Editing poetry is often a question of slight adjustments and culling of words; what the poem is trying to be rather than what the poet is trying to do,” continued Kenyon.
He reiterated how important it is for him to divide long-form fiction into sections and get these back to the author one at a time for feedback, to get a sense of how they will respond. This way, it’s a real collaboration. Without it, you may make changes that are inauthentic to the writer – this may lead to misunderstandings, and a widening gulf in the process. “It’s a profound thing, one’s own voice.”
“Who does this poem, this story, this novel belong to? Does it belong to the reader? To the author? Certainly not to the editor. If the editor’s or the writer’s ego is significantly involved in the work, the edit will not go well.”
A question-and-answer period with attendees
At the end of Kenyon’s seminar, the floor opened to some burning questions:
How do you give estimates?
Read a short sample of the work and consider the word count. If the project is short, Kenyon charges hourly. The skill level at which the author writes, and thus the width and depth of the program of work, becomes clear in the first two to three pages. Taking into account his own experience with less-than-extravagant income, and bearing in mind that every project will navigate different issues, Kenyon’s rates vary and are sometimes on a sliding scale. This approach is personal to Kenyon. He cautioned that every project and every editor’s approach is different. For some substantive editors, for example, the rate can range from $2-3,000 to $9, 000, depending on various factors, such as the editor’s experience, the writer’s experience, and the nature of the project.
A wonderful resource for editors who need guidance in setting their prices is Editors Toronto’s article “What Editors Charge.” This web page breaks down how many pages different kinds of editors can expect to work on in an hour and how to set standard rates based on this information.
How did you find success as a freelance editor?
Kenyon attributes his success to repeat business, initially acquired through Editors Canada’s large network, as well as through referral and from just being around for a few years. During this discussion, another editor offered advice to those not featured on Editors Canada’s list:
“I spoke with someone from a scholarly press in Vancouver, and she said she picks her frequent freelancers from people who have cold emailed and nowhere else! She urged editors to put all their cards on the table. She is unlikely to ask for a résumé or something if it’s not already provided and easy to access.”
What are the differences between editing yourself versus editing others?
There isn’t a big difference. Except there is a very specific psychological identification with one’s own work, which must be bracketed when editing your own writing. Generally, when you are writing, you are not in that so-called passive place of just reading. You are striding through a place you don’t really understand, discovering, discovering. Editing is close to reading, very attentive reading, although there’s an active process at work that is akin to writing, which is why editing is a terrible distraction if you want to write books. Often, your writing output will go way down when you take up editing full-time. Kenyon, in fact, cautioned the writer-editor: “Be careful of your time.”
As the editor or reader of his own work, Kenyon himself must balance the study of trees with the study of the forest: “Sometimes you have to struggle through the trees and sometimes you must leave the trees behind, get the drone out and start mapping the territory.” Ultimately, the difference, for him, between editing yourself versus editing others lies in “a studied non-attachment to the familiar; alternate between looking at the work through the drone shot and getting lost in the undergrowth.”
Kenyon left the editors with this thought: “Trust that the writer knows what they’re doing, even though they’re leaving room for the unconscious. There has to be a level of certainty that the writer is onto something. If, as the editor, you sincerely engage with the work at hand, it instills confidence in the process.” And in you.
Maria Eydmans is a writer, editor, and illustrator based in Toronto. She has an undergraduate degree in English and French studies and is on track to acquire a master of publishing from Simon Fraser University. She currently works for EXILE/Exile Editions and also volunteers for the Editors Canada student relations committee. You can check out her work at www.mariaeydmans.com or reach out to her directly at [email protected].
This article was copy edited by Margaux Yiu (https://www.linkedin.com/in/margauxyiu/), a freelance editor living in Toronto. She is a structural editor, visual media designer, and photography coach.
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