Want to write great editorial reports, demonstrate excellence, and make your authors happy? How to Write the Perfect Fiction Editorial Report is for you.

Fiction editing isn't just about amending a book file or suggesting changes in comments boxes. It's also about communicating the why of our editing practice.

A high-quality, accessible report is as important as the book edit itself. Join me to find out how to do it.

And if you're already a member of my Facebook group, check out the notification there for your exclusive group-member discount.

Every professional editor is a business owner, and that role requires us to track the health of our businesses from one year to the next. Managing and analysing all that data can be a burden, especially if you’re more interested in words than numbers!

Fellow editor and Excel authority Maya Berger has created a tool that will make life easy. It’s called The Editor's Affairs (TEA).

All the data in one place
When it comes to keeping an eye on the health of my business, simple has always been my goal. I’m an editor, not an accountant.

Essentially, I want as much as possible in one place:

• Project schedule
• Project data
• Business income
• Business expenses

And when it’s time to submit a tax return to (in my case) HMRC and evaluate how things are going, I don’t want to be faffing around with several different apps and spreadsheets.

Instead, I want to see the core data at a glance … data that will tell me the following:

On a project basis:

• Hourly rate
• Start and end dates
• Fees – quotes, paid, pending and overdue
• Baselines data – word count, hours worked
• Client name, project title, how they found me

On a business-health basis:

• Which clients I earn the most money from
• The worth of each client as a percentage of my total income
• Which months are the most lucrative
• Average hourly rates
• Average speeds
• Comparison of data with the previous year
• Income to declare
• Allowable expenses to offset

I don’t want to spend ages collecting and collating this data so it’s easy to access. I want summaries that give me a number – automatically generated by the data I’ve inputted throughout the financial year.

Then, when it’s time to review my business and submit my return to the tax authorities, the numbers are ready and waiting for me.

I’ve been tracking my data for years, and while I’m fairly proficient with Excel, I’ve been aware that there’s more I could do to fine-tune my process. However, like many editors, I have neither the time nor the will. So when Maya asked me to take a look at TEA, I jumped at the chance.

The Editor's Affairs (TEA)
So what is TEA? It’s a one-stop-shop Excel spreadsheet with lots of built-in jiggery-pokery that does all the tricky formula work for you. All you need to do is input the project (and expenses) data as it comes in.

Below are examples of some of the project data an editor can input, and the received data from TEA.

Examples of data the editor can input

• Invoice number
• Start date
• Finish date
• Date of completion
• Payment due
• Payment date
• Client name
• Notes about the job
• How the client found me
• Total word count
• Estimated words per hour
• Desired hourly rate
• Actual number of hours worked
• Amount invoiced
• Amount received

Examples of received data from TEA

• A status alert if the invoice is overdue
• An estimate of actual words/hr
• An estimate of how many hours I’d have to work to achieve my desired hourly rate
• My actual rate per hour
• My actual speed
• My actual rate per 1,000 words
• The amount I need to quote to achieve my desired hourly rate

5 reasons why TEA is worth it
So why is it worth investing in TEA? I identified 5 standout features that I believe make this a must-have tool.

NOTE: The numbers and client information below are for the purposes of illustration only. I made them up because my business affairs are of no concern to anyone but me!

1. Making informed decisions when quoting
TEA allows you to see the impact of the data you’re inputting on your business, and make informed decisions about how you should quote. Let’s take an example:

John Smith asks me to line edit a 100K-word novel. I estimate I can edit at a speed of 1,750 words per hour, so I input that information along with the word count.

• TEA tells me I’ll need to set aside just over 57 hours for the project.

I decide I want to earn £40 per hour. I add that data to the row.

• TEA tells me my estimated rate per 1,000 words will be £22.86.

Now I can build my quote. I type 57 into the hours-worked cell.

• TEA tells me I need to quote £2,285.71.

For argument’s sake, let’s say I know that my client’s budget is £2,000. I can temporarily add this to the amount-received cell.

• TEA tells me my rate per hour would be £35.09.

If I’m happy to work for £35.09 rather than £40 per hour, I’m good to go. If I don’t, I can negotiate with the client. The point is, I can play with the data I’m inputting and see the impact. And that means there are no surprises. I’m making informed decisions.

2. Collecting data for the future
Less experienced editors might not yet have enough older data to know how long a particular type of editing will take, or whether Client A’s work tends to be speedier to complete than Client B’s. TEA helps us build that knowledge via accrued data that we can use later on. Another example …

In April 2019, Jackie Jones asks me to proofread her 30,000-word novella. I have no clue how long it will take so I estimate a speed of 5,000 words an hour. I’m grateful for the opportunity because my business is new. I decide I’ll be happy earning anything over £20 per hour.

TEA tells me my rate per 1,000 words will be £4 and it’ll take 6 hours, so I bill for £120. I get the gig and do the work. In fact, it takes me 10 hours. I input the new data.

• TEA tells me I’ve actually achieved only 3,000 words per hour and that my hourly rate was £12, not £20.

But I’ve learned something. And when Jackie comes back to me three months later with another job with the same word count, this time I can input more accurate data, meaning I’ll earn my desired rate of £20 per 1,000 words.

3. Saving time and protecting the data
At no time am I messing around with a calculator. All I do is input the raw data and review what TEA’s analysis cells tell me.

That saves me time because TEA’s doing the maths for me.

Plus, I can’t break the spreadsheet! TEA’s analysis cells are locked so I won’t inadvertently alter the complex formulae within.

4. Client analysis
Some editors work for repeat clients – an agency or publisher, for example. In those cases, we’re not always in control of the price, and yet those clients can still be valuable because of the amount of repeat work they send us and the percentage of our overall income their business accounts for.

Knowing who our most valuable clients are is essential if we’re to avoid knee-jerk reactions to rates of pay.

If Publisher A pays me an hourly rate half that of Agency A but gives me five times as much work, I’ll want to think very carefully before canning that client because I don’t like their pricing structure.

TEA’s Client Summaries Table does what is says on the tin. It’s here that we can see a list of our clients, the percentage their business contributes to our overall income, the number of hours’ work we’ve done for them and the total income received.

Time for another example …

Let’s say I’m scowling at the row on the Income sheet because I’ve yet to crack £15 per hour from Romance Fiction Press. Just above is an entry for John Smith, the indie author from whom I earned £40 per hour.

Terrible rates, I think. Exploitative, disrespectful, unfair. I’m about to head off to a Facebook group with 10,000 editor members and have a bit of a rant. Then I’m going to tell that press where to stick it.

But hang on a mo! What does TEA have to say?

I nip onto the Summaries sheet and take a look at the Client Summaries Table.

• TEA tells me that work from Romance Fiction Press earned me £11,000, which accounts for 54% of my annual income.
• John Smith is responsible for £2,285.71, or 11% of my annual income.

Yes, John Smith is a more valuable client on a project-by-project basis but he’s not giving me anywhere near the same volume of work as Romance Fiction Press.

Instead of ranting on Facebook, I need to use that time to plan a strategy that will bring in more John Smiths or better-paying publishers and agencies. Once done, I can phase out Romance Fiction Press. That might take a couple of years of intensive marketing. Until then, the press will stay.

Perhaps I can negotiate a raise with them. Maybe there are efficiency tools I can introduce to increase my speed when I’m editing for them. And they pay on time, are pleasant to work with, and have given me loads of fodder for my portfolio that I can leverage on my website and in future marketing.

The work is regular, too, and lands on my lap without my having to promote myself to get it. And that time saved is worth something.

5. Making tracking and tax less taxing
There are two additional and extremely useful summary tables in TEA:

• The Monthly Summaries Table shows income, hours worked, expenses and charitable donations compiled from basic data the editor places in the onboard income and expenses sheets. You can see which months are most lucrative. TEA gives you a sense of the degree to which your work is seasonal, and that helps you to plan ahead and promote your business appropriately if you want to fill some gaps.
• The Allowable Expenses Table has an itemized breakdown of what you can offset against your income.

The totals are the figures you’ll report to the tax office. They’re right there in front of you – no hunting around in different apps and other spreadsheets. All the data filters through from easy-to-fill-in Income and Expenses sheets accessible via TEA’s tabs.

How do I find out more about TEA?
Isn’t the name adorable? Using TEA is like having a cuppa! And it’s all about the editor’s affairs – our business affairs.

The data the editor has to input is basic stuff that all of us have access to or can estimate with every new job or expense that comes in.

The data TEA gives takes the stress out of scheduling, accounting and analysis. 

Every editor needs to understand the health of their business so that they can make informed decisions about who they work with, how much they charge and where the value lies. 

When accessing that data becomes burdensome, the temptation is to wing it. TEA means you don’t have to.

Maya will be making TEA available for purchase in May 2020. For introductory rates or to learn more about customized versions for more complex accounting and analysis, check out whatimeantosay.com/tea.

***
NOTE: I have no commercial stake in TEA, though I was given a free copy to experiment with in return for feeding back my experience of using it.

Every editorial report we write for our authors should achieve 7 goals. Some benefit us, some benefit our clients, but they’re all connected. If you feel your report-writing skills could do with a boost, use this goal-based framework to pep things up.

Let's look at the goals in brief; then we'll dig deeper.

Goals that benefit the editor

• Create the report efficiently
• Demonstrate editorial excellence
• Build trust
• Compel future commissions and recommendations

Goals that benefit the client

• Offer a comprehensive learning tool
• Take a mindful approach
• Provide a solution-based critical review

Efficiency means achieving the three goals that benefit the client without compromising on one iota of quality and without damaging our productivity. We are in business, after all.
​
Creating detailed editorial reports can eat into an editor’s hourly rate. It’s easy – even for experienced sentence-level editors – to omit the time for report-writing when creating a quote; I’ve done it myself. We focus on the number of words per hour we edit, based perhaps on a sample.
​
Or perhaps we have included the report-writing component in our calculations but the author wants to negotiate on price. Every efficiency we incorporate allows us greater choice about whether to accept or reject a client’s proposal.

Our second goal is to demonstrate editorial excellence. Those of you who are members of a national editorial society might well be bound by a code of practice that demands this.

That’s the case for members of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP), which says in its CoP: ‘Good communication between client/employer and freelance/employee is essential.’

Editorial excellence isn’t just about being an expert in typo hunting, grammar correction and stylistic revision. 

Neither does it end with clarity on the project brief or issues of privacy, confidentiality and security. ​

​It’s also about communicating the why of our edits. Comprehensive editorial reports are the perfect communication tool, and the reason why we shouldn’t skimp.

When we communicate the why of our decisions, we build trust.

If a client is anxious about how we’ve edited their work because they don’t understand the changes we’ve made and/or because we’re new to them, trust is low.
​
Part of our job is to earn it. A comprehensive editorial report that demonstrates a deep knowledge of our craft creates author confidence. And that’s the key to a healthy business relationship.

​A client with a detailed editorial report that demonstrates excellence and builds confidence in your ability is more likely to do the following:
​

• Come back to you with their next project
• Wait for you if your schedule is full
• Accept your price
• Recommended you to their friends, family and colleagues

Now let's look at the benefits for the author. 

​Our fifth goal is to provide our authors with an outstanding learning tool, rich in problem/solution-focused detail, which they can use to hone their writing craft. 

The independent-author market is huge, and many in the community lack experience – they’re right at the beginning of their writing journey. They might well have talent by the bucket load but the line work we do is nevertheless extensive.

An editorial report gives us the chance to offer our guidance in a format that’s accessible and clear. And because it’s separate from their book file, they can refer to it time and again.

A comprehensive learning tool includes strengths, too. Writers can learn as much from knowing what they’re doing well – and should continue doing – ​as from knowing how they can up their game.

Our penultimate goal is to show mindfulness. As editors, we can never forget that every one of our author clients has a choice – and they chose us. They also have a passion – their book. 

It takes commitment to write a story, and sometimes not a little courage to place it in the hands of a professional editor, particularly one they haven't worked with before. That decision comes with risk.

For the editor, being selected is a privilege rather than an entitlement. We must respect that choice, the risk taken, and their investment (time and money).

Yes, we should report on weaknesses; that’s how they’ll improve their sentence-level craft. But we must do so gently and respectfully, and complement that analysis with reflection on their strengths.

Many indie-author book files end up in our editing studios without having been evaluated by a developmental editor, a critiquing editor, an experienced beta reader or even a colleague or friend in a writing group.

Our reports need to offer a critical review that explores the book’s sentence-level strengths and weaknesses.

What’s essential is that we offer solutions to any weaknesses we identify. Without those, we risk creating a shopping list of what was good and what wasn’t. That kind of analysis won’t help the author grow as a writer. Neither will it reflect our editorial excellence.

Want to learn how to do it, and love it?
If you’re a sentence-level editor and think your reporting skills could do with a boost, or a new editor who wants to nail it from the start, take a look at my new course, How to Write the Perfect Fiction Editorial Report. The course will be available in April 2020. 

There are different types of novel editing: developmental editing, line editing, copyediting and proofreading. Revising in the right order is essential if you want your book to be in the best shape possible.

Developmental editing
Developmental editing comes first. This is big-picture work that involves looking at the story as a whole.

You’ll also hear it called structural editing, perhaps even content editing, and the base components always include plot, structure, characterization, pace, viewpoint, narrative style, and tense.

• Plot: This is the sequence of events that take the reader from the beginning to the end.
• Structure: This determines how the plot is organized. Even if B occurred after A, the reader might learn about B before the events of A are unveiled.
• Characterization: This is how characters are represented such that we can make sense of their behavior as we journey with them through the story.
• Pace: Pacing is about the speed at which the story unfolds. Effective pace ensures readers feel neither rushed nor bored. That doesn’t mean the pace remains steady; a story can include sections of fast-paced action and slower cool-downs.
• Viewpoint: In each chapter or section, readers should understand who the narrator is—whose eyes they are seeing through, whose emotions they have access to, whose voice dominates the narrative. It also means understanding the restrictions in play such that head-hopping doesn’t pull the reader out of the story.
• Narrative style: Is the narrative viewpoint conveyed in the first, second or third person? The choice determines a narrative’s style.
• Tense: Is the story told in the present or the past tense? Each has its benefits and limitations.

Line editing
Line editing is the next step in the revision process and it is stylistic work. 

A strong sentence elevates story; a poorly crafted one can bury it. This level of editing revises for style, sense, and flow.

You might also hear line editing referred to as substantive editing or stylistic editing. Editors will be addressing the following:
​

• Authenticity of phrasing and word choice in relation to character voice
• Character-trait consistency and unveiling
• Clarity and consistency of viewpoint and narrative style
• Cliché and awkward metaphor
• Dialogue and how it conveys voice, mood, and intention
• Sentence pace and flow, with special attention to repetition and overwriting
• Tenses, and whether they’re effective and consistent
• Told versus shown prose

Copyediting
Copyediting is the technical side of sentence-level work. Editors will be addressing the following:
​

• Chapter sequencing
• Consistency of proper-noun spelling
• Dialogue tagging and punctuation
• Letter, word, line, and paragraph spacing
• Logic of timeline, environment, and character traits
• Spelling, grammar, syntax, punctuation, hyphenation, and capitalization
• Standard document formatting

Proofreading
Proofreading is the last stage of the editing process prior to publication. Every novel, whether it’s being delivered in print or digitally, requires a final quality-control check.
A proofreader looks for literal errors and layout problems that slipped through previous rounds of revision or were introduced at design stage.

Authors preparing for print can ask a proofreader to annotate page proofs. These are almost what a reader would see if they pulled the novel off the shelf. Others ask proofreaders to amend the raw text, either because they’re preparing for epublication or for audiobook narration.

Proofreaders are more than typo hunters. They check for consistency of spelling, punctuation and grammar, but also for layout problems such as (but not limited to) indentation, line spacing, inconsistent chapter drops, missing page numbers, and font and heading styles. The remit is extensive (download a free checklist).

The art of good proofreading lies in knowing when to change and when to leave well enough alone. A good proofreader should understand the impact of their revisions—not only in relation to the knock-on effect on other pages but also to the cost if a third-party designer/formatter is part of the team.

Which type of editing do you need?
Authors need to take their books through all the types of editing. That doesn’t mean hiring third party professionals for each stage. Writing groups, self-study courses, how-to books, and self-publishing organizations are all great sources of editorial support.

If you decide to work with a professional, invest in one who can help you where you’re weakest. You might be a great structural self-editor but prone to overwriting. Or you might have nailed line craft but need help with story development.

And pay attention to the order of play when it comes to revision. Fixing plot holes at proofreading stage might damage previous rounds of editing. That’s a waste of time and money that every writer wants to avoid!

Writing or editing in Microsoft Word on a PC? Save yourself time by learning these 27 keyboard shortcuts. If you don’t want to learn 27, learn just the first one: Save!

Been asked to quote for editing or proofreading services? There are steps you can take to maximize your chances of securing the work. In this booklet, you'll find out how to add value to quotations and move the conversation beyond price.

Want to hone your line craft so that the sentences in your novel elevate story rather than burying it? My latest book, Editing Fiction at Sentence Level, shows you how to do it. 

I'm a believer in learning by example. That's why every chapter is packed with studies that show you how to:

• diagnose the problem
• understand what's gone wrong
• implement a solution

It's true that fiction editing is subjective and nuanced, but there’s still plenty of room for practical analysis that unpicks a novel’s vulnerabilities and considers the range of literary tools available to improve what’s on the page.

​Who should read it?
​I wrote this book for beginner and developing authors, but professional editors who'd like to move from non-fiction to fiction will enjoy it too.

​There's a contents list available on the book's page here on my website for anyone who wants to see what's included.

How to get it
If you're happier with a searchable PDF, you can buy it direct from me. If you love a paperback, head to your local Amazon store or click on one of the buttons below. There's a Kindle version available too.

​How much does it cost?
It's £15.99 (though your Amazon store will publish a price in the local currency). PDF orders from me go through PayPal so there's nothing you need to do.

One of my readers told me she felt like a curtain had lifted after reading Editing Fiction at Sentence Level. I was thrilled because I don't think learning about writing craft should be onerous. Nor do I think the teaching of it should be impenetrable. My hope is that you'll find this book enjoyable and accessible, whatever stage of the writing and editing journey you're on.

Are your readers bouncing from one character’s head to another in the same scene? You might be head-hopping. This article shows you how to spot it in your fiction writing, understand its impact, and fix it.

Anaylsis: Tight third-person limited narration
Rebus is the viewpoint character. That means the internal experiences we access are limited to his. For example:

• We see through his eyes: the well-tended garden, the bins, Rawlston’s half-moon specs and intelligent eyes.
• We hear through his ears: the silent hinges on the garden gate.
• We think what he thinks: sizing up Rawlston as he makes tea.

We cannot get in Rawlston’s head. All we can do is consider his internal experiences via his observable and audible behaviour, and his dialogue. For example:

• His mood is gloomy – shown by the dialogue ‘Tea or something that bit stronger?’ and what Rebus can see: the sombre expression.
• He’s riled by Rebus’s question – shown by the dialogue ‘Of course I have’ and Rebus’s observation of the twitching mouth.
• He begrudges letting Rebus in – shown by the dialogue ‘You better come in then’ and what Rebus hears: the sigh.

​
What head-hopping would look like
Here’s what that excerpt might look like if there was head-hopping going on:

Analysis: Confused narration
Notice how we bounce between the heads of Rebus and Rawlston. Now we have access to the internal experiences of both.
​

• We’re in Rebus’s head as he pushes open the gates and reports on the silent hinges, the well-tended garden and the bins. Then we’re in Rawlston’s as he walks down the hall, identifies Rebus and reports on his appearance.
• We bounce back to Rebus’s head as he observes Rawlston’s trim figure and intelligent eyes.
• Rawlston speaks, and the action beat throws us back into his internal experience – the knot of anxiety in his stomach. The dialogue continues and we remain in Rawlston’s head, learning of his annoyance with Rebus’s question.
• Rebus asks for milk and we bounce back to his head – discovering that he has no intention of drinking the tea but has used the time to size up Rawlston.
• Finally, we hop over to Rawlston one more time, where we learn that he’s sized up Rebus too and is angry.

In that butchered version, the reader is forced to play a game of ping-pong on the page.

​Why head-hopping spoils fiction
Here are 4 reasons to hold viewpoint rather than head-hopping:

Head-hop check
Make a list of the characters in a chapter or scene. Identify the viewpoint character.

There can be more than one viewpoint character in a book but most commercial fiction authors separate them by chapters or sections.

​Here’s a quick way to check whether you’re holding viewpoint.

Viewpoint characters: What the reader can access

• Emotional responses

• Thoughts
• What they can see
• What they can smell
• What they can hear
• What they can touch
• What they can taste

​Non-viewpoint characters: What the reader can access

• Observable behaviour: their movements, expressions and gestures
• Audible behaviour: their speech, breathing noises (panting, rasping, retching, etc.) and vocal gestures and tics (sighs, gasps, grunts, etc.)

Some examples to show you the way

1. The narrative can tell readers that the milk tasted sour on the viewpoint character’s tongue. A likely response to that sourness must be shown for a non-viewpoint character. E.g. they retch and spit out the milk, or report the sourness via dialogue.
2. The narrative can tell readers that the viewpoint character has a bellyache or feels a roiling in their stomach. A likely response to the pain must be shown for a non-viewpoint character. E.g. they groan or hold their abdomen, or report the pain via dialogue.
3. The narrative can tell readers that the viewpoint character feels excited. A non-viewpoint character’s excitement must be shown. E.g. their neck and cheeks flush.
4. The narrative can tell readers that a viewpoint character doesn’t believe in the tooth fairy. A non-viewpoint character’s disbelief must be shown. E.g. they scoff, laugh, sneer, or report their scepticism via dialogue.
5. The narrative can tell readers that a viewpoint character thinks they’re going to be sick or feels nauseous. The non-viewpoint character’s symptoms of nausea must be shown. E.g. their skin changes colour, they grab a bowl, they bend over the toilet, or report the nausea via dialogue.

 
Summing up
​Even if your readers don’t know what head-hopping is, by removing it from your novel you’ll give them a more immersive, suspenseful and authentic journey through the world you’ve built.

Plus, you’ll ensure they’re reading your story, not trying to work out who’s telling it.

When the order of characters’ movements is told with the words ‘before’ and ‘after’, there’s a risk that readers will focus on timeline rather than story. That distraction can reduce engagement and dumb down the writing.

​Here’s what to look out for and how to fix the problem.

In this article, we’ll look at tacit and explicit chronologies of action, and assess which style of writing is more immersive and why.

Why writers include ‘before’ and ‘after’
The inclusion of ‘before’ and ‘after’ to tell the order of play is not an indication of poor grammar – not at all. There’s nothing grammatically wrong with these constructions.

More usually, it’s an indication of insecurity. The author hasn’t learned to trust the power of their words on the page, or the ability of their readers to perceive the meaning behind those words.

It’s also why writers sometimes use several adjectives with similar meanings rather than one strong one, or an adverbial phrase to fortify a weak verb.

Some authors also fear that their writing will come across as too ‘plain’ or ‘simple’. Chronological nudges are an attempt to ornament the prose.

Tacit chronology of action
The things that we do occur in a sequence; they have a chronology. This is as much the case in real life as it is on the screen, in an audiobook and in the pages of a novel. That chronology is tacit – we don’t need to explain it because it’s understood.

Take a look at this excerpt from The Devil’s Dice by Roz Watkins (p. 79, HQ, 2019):

Watkins doesn’t tell us explicitly that the shuddering occurred before the laptop was put down, or that the laptop was moved before the character shifted the cat onto their knee. And yet we know. The sequence of events is implied by the order in which she places each clause. It’s tacit.

• First thing that happens: shudders
• Next thing that happens: moves laptop
• Next thing that happens: manoeuvres cat
• Next thing that happens: leans
• Next thing that happens: inhales cat odour

 
And that’s the thing with strong line craft – it allows the reader to immerse themselves in the chronology of action by showing us, clause by clause, what’s transpiring, instead of tapping us on the shoulder and telling us.

Explicit chronology of action
Let’s recast the Watkins excerpt with some explicit taps on the shoulder:

I see this use of timeline nudges frequently in the fiction writing of less experienced authors, and it’s problematic when overused. Here’s why.

1. Some readers might feel patronized
Not every reader will notice the use of chronology nudges. But some will, and since no author wants to alienate a chunk of their readership, why push the story over a cliff when we can work out the sequence of events from the order of the words?

Telling readers that X was done before doing Y, or after doing Z, is akin to saying: ‘Hey, just in case you’re not clever enough, let me spell it out for you.’

​It’s a dumbing-down that readers in the know won’t appreciate.

2. The inclusion is unnecessary
If you’re still not convinced, ask yourself whether the inclusion of ‘before’ or ‘after’ as timeline nudges is necessary. It often isn’t.

If a character’s shuddering occurs at the beginning of a sentence, the reader will assume that shuddering is what’s happening right now. If a new action follows that shuddering, the reader will assume that – just like in real life – the moment has passed and something else is happening in the new now of the novel.

3. The reader is focused on the wrong thing
When writers create immersive fiction, the reader feels as if they are in the moment – this is happening, now that, now the other.

‘Before’ and ‘after’ are distractions that focus the reader on when rather than what’s happening. The former is telling; the latter is showing.

4. There are more words than are necessary
Not enough words leaves readers hungry for clarity. Too many gives them indigestion. The artistry comes in the form of balance.

​As long as the sequence of events can be understood by the reader, consider whether timeline nudges such as ‘before’ and ‘after’ are cluttering your prose.

The power of tacit chronology – more examples
Take a look at these pairs of narrative text, each of which has a shown tacit chronology and an alternative told explicit sequence. Which versions are more suspenseful? Which are most immediate? Which flow better when you read them out loud?
​
I’ve used examples from published fiction for the tacit versions, and taken a little artistic licence – altering them in ways their authors never intended – for the explicit chronologies.

In the original version, the ‘and’ between the initial breath and the walk into the kitchen is a fine example of the power of a conjunction. It’s almost invisible, which gives us the space to take that breath with the viewpoint character. And having taken it, we’re ready to go into the kitchen with them.

In the edited version, ‘before’ pulls us away from that moment. The tension has fallen out of the sentence.

In the original version, it’s as if we’re in the room, watching the man as he smiles and leans back. There is space for that action to have its moment. Then he blows the smoke – that’s the new moment; we’ve left the other behind.

In the edited version, ‘after’ shoves us past the leaning back and smiling before we’ve had a chance to savour it. It’s already gone, even though we’re still reading about it.

​In the original version, Crichton shows us the action. Perhaps, like me, you can hear the chunter of the helicopter blades in the air. Who’s in this helicopter? Men in uniform. They jump out. What will happen next? We’re shown: they fling open the door. There’s a sense of order, of clandestine and militaristic precision.

In the edited version, ‘before’ saps the suspense from the final sentence. We’re focused on the timeline rather than the action.

Summing up
The table below summarizes the impact of tacit and explicit chronology on prose.

Take a look at your narrative. If ‘before’ and ‘after’ are telling rather than showing, recast gently and reread out loud. Is the order of play still clear? Is the prose more immersive? If so, there’ll be fewer words but what’s there will be all the richer.
​
And if you’re worried that your prose will be too plain, think again. Immersive writing allows the reader to decorate the story with their own imagination.

Flat chapter finales are a fast track to reader disappointment. Here’s how to nail those last few lines so that readers can’t wait to turn the page.

Readers turn the page to find answers to questions. Why did that happen? Who’s responsible? What will happen next?

Unanswered questions at the end of chapters place us in a state of suspense. We’ll try to predict the answers based on the information we’ve been given.
​
We might be proved right. I thought so!

We might be proved wrong. I didn’t see that coming!

Either way, as long as there’s suspense, we’ll turn the page. Here are some ideas, with examples from published fiction, about how to do it, so that even predictable outcomes are structured line by line such that readers are itching with anticipation.

1. Wrap up the chapter in the middle of something interesting
There are two people in a bedroom. They’ve survived a harrowing encounter. And there’s oodles of sexual tension between them.
​
A less confident writer might wrap up the chapter as follows:

The problem here is that the suspense dissipates. Mark begins to undress but we don’t bother to wonder what will happen next – whether he and the woman will have sex, or try to but be interrupted, or do the deed and grab some food. We don’t need to – we’re told.

​Fear not! This is actually a tweaked version of an excerpt from Solo by William Boyd, Vintage, 2014 (pp. 259–60). Boyd is cannier. This is what it really looks like:

In the real version, we do ask those questions. The artistry lies in the fact that we have to turn the page to find the answers and relieve our suspense.

They’re given in the next chapter. A sex scene follows. It’s an interlude – a chance to breathe, for them and us – before Bond leaves and sets up a diversion that will confuse the CIA’s surveillance of him.

2. Wrap up the chapter with foreshadowing
Chapter endings that tell of incoming storms are powerful. When they’re short and taut, even better! Take a look at this super example from p. 210 of Clare Mackintosh’s Let Me Lie (Sphere, 2019):

That final line is like a punch in the gut. It begs us to ask: When will he come? What will he do? And how will she protect herself? It’s six words of masterful suspense.

3. Wrap up the chapter with emotional reflection
In the The Man with No Face by Peter May (Riverrun, 1981), the protagonist, a journalist called Neil Bannerman, walks into a restaurant and alerts a minister that he has evidence about a government cover-up. That’s the juicy bit.

Bannerman then exits, leaving the minister to mull over the revelation. That’s the mundane bit and May needs a way to close the chapter with a pop. Emotional reflection is the tool of choice.

Here’s the excerpt from p. 233:

The journos and minister won’t be enjoying their meal but this isn’t an exercise in gastronomy. The end-of-chapter suspense comes in the form of questions: Will there be consequences for Bannerman? How will those play out? Will the minister get his just deserts?

​4. Wrap up the chapter with a surprise interruption
Another way of wrapping up a chapter when the big stuff has already played out is to introduce some sort of surprise interruption. Perhaps there’s a knock on the door from an unexpected visitor, or an odour that forces the viewpoint character to direct their attention elsewhere.

Here’s another excerpt from Let Me Lie (p. 226). Murray, the viewpoint character, has just had a telephone call with Anna, during which he told her that her parents had indeed been murdered. She becomes emotional and commands him to drop the investigation, despite her bringing the case to him in the first place.

What would ordinarily be a domestic mundanity serves to show his mood; his shock is so immersive that he’s forgotten everything around him until the alarm goes off.

We leave the chapter imagining the shrill noise, the odour of burnt food, the smoke in the kitchen, and wondering what on earth has happened to make Anna change her mind.

5. Wrap up the chapter with a shocking last line
There’s nothing better than a final line that the reader doesn’t see coming. Here’s a magnificent example from David Baldacci’s True Blue (Kindle edition, Macmillan, 2009).

In Chapter 4, we meet Roy, a young lawyer. He finishes a game of basketball and slopes back to the office where, we learn, he earns a healthy pay cheque by plea-bargaining on behalf of mostly guilty defendants.

Baldacci sets up the whole chapter as just another day at the office. We should know better than to be lulled into this false sense of security, but Baldacci’s narrative is strong enough from the start to convince us this might go in another direction.

Maybe Roy is crooked. Perhaps he’s about to be fired. Maybe he’s going to get a phone call telling him he has to go to court and represent someone he’d rather not. What we don’t expect is the wallop when a body falls out of the fridge.

And now we have a ton of suspenseful questions. Who is she? How did she get in the fridge? Why was she killed? To find out, we’ll have to turn the page.

6. Wrap up the chapter with dialogue that demands answers
One great line of dialogue can close a chapter beautifully. No action beats, no narrative, no response – just the spoken word. It works as an outro when the speech leaves us with questions, and therefore in suspense.

Here's an example from New Tricks by David Rosenfelt (2009, Grand Central Publishing, pp. 215–16):

The dialogue forces us to wonder: Why has Richard not carried out the redirect? Has some new evidence come to light? How will this affect the case?

​Rosenfelt doesn’t dampen the suspense by cluttering his prose with the detail of what came next – maybe people in the courtroom looked surprised or confused; perhaps there was an objection, and the judge banged their gavel and announced a recess.

Instead, all that stuff is left unwritten – we just imagine it. It’s one line of dialogue and the chapter’s done.

7. Wrap up the chapter in the middle of one character’s speech
Here’s Rosenfelt again in Dog Tags (Grand Central Publishing, 2010, pp. 28–9). Unlike in the example above where there’s a natural chapter break because of a shift from the courtroom to the chambers, this time he inserts the chapter break in the middle of one person’s speech.

Less experienced authors might shy away from this, but it can work – if it’s an appropriate suspense point that leaves the reader reeling with questions.

That final line is a shock, for lawyer Andy Carpenter and us. Why would a dog need a lawyer? How can such an absurd conversation be happening? We learn the answers to these questions in the next chapter, and that’s exactly where they should be because ‘The government’ is the suspense point that grabs us by the scruff of the neck and demands we keep reading.

Do you know when it’s closing time?
Like artists who can’t put down a paintbrush, less confident writers sometimes lack the courage to end with one line that evokes questions rather than solutions.

Yet that’s what the authors in all the examples above have done, and that’s why their outros are suspenseful and page-turning.

If your chapters have a saggy bottom, maybe you haven’t identified closing time. I line edit for an author who writes knockout chapter endings … he just places them 10 lines further up the page than they should be to create a suspenseful finale!

When you find yourself stuck, look up the page to find the point that will make the reader think How’s that going to play out? or Why did she do that? or That was a surprise! or Ha! You deserved that. … those few lines that will kick them up the backside and push them forward.

If those lines are already there, think about whether they should be moved to the end of the chapter, or whether the prose after them should be shifted (or even deleted).

If they’re not there, write them.

Think about the very last sentence in your chapter too. How long is it? Your writing style and genre might dictate the style of your final lines but notice how lean the word count is in most of the examples above. The brevity acts like a command: Read me. Pay attention. Turn the page.

Summing up
Every chapter should end with a pop, regardless of genre. Those last few lines are what the reader remembers before they pause. An otherwise beautifully crafted chapter can be ruined if it flops at the finishing line.

Find the suspense point – the lines that make readers ask questions – and use them to wrap up your chapter. And pay attention to the very last sentence. Sometimes less is more.

Editorial training is critical. However, when it comes to attracting the attention of indie authors, we need to add value beyond the baseline. This free booklet shows you why it's worth investing time in standing out.

Are you storytelling-telling? Too much told narrative can force the reader to experience a story through extraneous layers that add clutter rather than clarity. Here’s how to identify one type of told prose and write with more immediacy.

Narrative distance and the layers of reader experience
There’s a story ... stuff that happens to people and things. We experience it on the page via a narrative voice – this could be a first-, second- or third-person viewpoint.

The closer the reader feels to what’s being narrated, the more immersive the experience.

It can help to think in terms of how many layers readers must travel through to experience the story through a viewpoint character’s lens.

Let’s imagine Joe, a young teen. His journey is unveiled via a third-person past-tense narrator.

The viewpoint style is limited, or close – we can access what Joe can hear, see, smell, touch, feel (his emotions) and think. That accessible information can be either be shown or told.
​
With each approach, the reader pushes through various layers of the story as they are experienced by Joe.

Gridding the layers
If we place each unfolding layer of our story in a grid, we can see how much harder the reader has to work to get from start to finish with the told narrative – 23 layers as opposed to 10 with the shown alternative.

Layers of doing being done: Putting the reader on pause
In the Told column of the grid, notice how much doing being done there is: heard, felt, wondered, saw, thought. Each of those words adds a new layer that puts the reader on pause.

Instead of seeing a bed (and doing it with Joe because he’s the viewpoint character), we see Joe seeing a bed. We’re not focused first and foremost on the bed, but on Joe doing seeing.

That extra layer increases narrative distance, unless that’s the effect you want to achieve, because it’s like a tap on the shoulder, telling us what to do. It screams: Reader, you’re not in this world; you’re just holding a book.

Limited narrative viewpoint and the reader
When writers choose a limited viewpoint, the reader’s already in the perfect position to know ...

• that when there’s an odour, it’s being smelled
• that when there’s an object in front of a sighted character’s eyes, it’s being seen
• that when they’re processing internal questions and ideas, there’s thinking being done
• and that when emotion is in play, our character is feeling it.

Shown narratives respect this – it’s storytelling. Told narratives overplay it – it’s storytelling-telling!
​
If you think you might be storytelling-telling, try gridding a section of narrative to identify each layer. Then recast to tighten up the prose. Chances are, it’ll be more immediate and immersive.

If your characters’ intention to act is trumping their action, a small recast could be in order. This article shows you how ‘to’ can affect immediacy and plausibility in certain circumstances.

The intention to act
Take a look at these sentences:
​

1. Jan reached up to switch on the light. The attic was empty. Almost.
2. Andrew picked up the phone to call Carla. She answered on the third ring.
3. I get out of the car to walk towards the caravan. The curtains are open so I peek through the plastic window. No one’s home.

What’s noticeable in these examples is that the character does X in order to achieve Y. Let’s be clear – there’s nothing wrong with any of the sentences in terms of either grammar or syntax. A proofreader wouldn’t touch them. A line editor, however, would take a closer look.
​
In all three cases the narrator is describing the intention to act, rather than the act itself. And that can be problematic for a couple of reasons.
​

• The action is where our attention is supposed to be. That’s how we move through the story at the same pace as the viewpoint character. When intention creeps in instead, the narrative distance – how close the reader feels to the story and the viewpoint character’s place within it at a given moment – widens. The narrative is less immediate.
• We need the action if the prose is to retain its plausibility. It’s essentially a question of logic and whether the infinitive form of the verb allows us to move from A to B.

Removing ‘to’
Now look at what happens when we remove the ‘to’, introduce a conjunction and tweak the conjugation.
​

1. Jan reached up and switched on the light. The attic was empty. Almost.
2. Andrew picked up the phone and called Carla. She answered on the third ring.
3. I get out of the car and walk over to the caravan. The curtains are open so I peek through the plastic window. No one’s home.

In (1), now we’re moving through the story with Jan. She acts and we go with her. We feel closer to her, as if we are her. In the unedited example, she discovers the empty attic and yet the light never got switched on – all we had was her intention to do it. The ‘and’ fixes that problem.

In (2), Andrew picked up a phone and made a call. We’re doing those things with him. And Carla can now answer on the third ring because Andrew made a call, rather than just picking up the phone with the intention of getting in touch with her.

In (3), readers are focused on my journey to the caravan, not the reason why I get out of the car (to walk over to the caravan). And now that I do walking rather than just car-exiting, I can get to that caravan and peek through the window.

Shown prose versus told prose – which to choose
This problematic use of infinitives can be framed in terms of showing and telling. There’s room for both in any story, but, as always, context is everything.

Here are three points to bear in mind when deciding whether to ditch your ‘to’ and recast.

• An infinitive tells us why. A conjunction + verb shows us how.
• An infinitive holds us still – it’s motivation-based. A conjunction + verb shows us movement – it’s action-based.
• An infinitive tells us about what’s impending. A conjunction + verb shows us what’s happening in the now.

Conjunctions aren’t the only option. There are other ways of fixing told motivation-based prose where action is what the author really wants to convey. Let’s revisit one of our earlier examples. Each recast has a slightly different mood, but the ‘to’ has been ditched.
​

• I get out of the car and walk over to the caravan. The curtains are open so I peek through the plastic window. No one’s home.
• I get out of the car, walk over to the caravan, peek through the plastic window. The curtains are open. No one’s home.
• I get out of the car. Walk over to the caravan. The curtains are open so I peek through the plastic window. No one’s home.

Red flags – words and phrases to watch out for
What we mustn’t do is hunt out every example of an infinitive verb form and hit the DELETE button. That would be catastrophic. Instead, during the revision process, check what the following words and phrases are doing to your prose.
​

• in an attempt to [verb]
• in order to [verb]
• so as to [verb]
• to [verb]

Are they showing motivation or impending action? Is that what you want? And will the logic hold up?

‘To’ and viewpoint drops
Infinitives can also interfere with point of view. In this case, it’s not immediacy at stake but what it’s possible for the viewpoint character to know.

Take a look at these examples:

1. I jump over the wall and land on the soft verge. Dan’s German shepherd greets me. The dog bares its teeth, preparing to bite.
2. Matty. The guy was a pain, had done nothing but hold her back all day. Denise shoved him hard in the back. He grabbed the side of the boat to steady himself.

​In (1), I’m the viewpoint character. All is well until I meet the dog. It bares its teeth. We’re still good. But then the infinitive slips in, and with it I’m now privy to the dog’s intention – to bite. It’s a step too far. Perhaps the dog’s been trained to snarl. Maybe it’s more a warning than an impending attack.

The scene could demand I get bitten or escape intact. Either way, what matters is that we’re not in the dog’s head so we can’t know its intention. A recast that shows what happens, rather than telling what might, is in order.

• The painful version: The dog bares its teeth, leaps forward and clamps its jaw around my arm, puncturing the skin.
• The injury-free version: I jump over the wall and land on the soft verge. Dan’s German shepherd greets me. The dog bares its teeth and I freeze. It backs off, so I give it a wide berth and trot down the road.

In (2), Denise is the viewpoint character. We have access to her thoughts via the free indirect discourse: The guy was a pain ... That Matty grabbed the side of the boat is fine. In fact, it’s a solid example of shown prose because although we don’t have access to his intentions or motivations (because we’re not in his head) we can make a good guess at what they are from his observable action – grabbing the side of the boat.

The infinitive tells us why he grabbed the side of the boat. And that’s a problem because we can’t know; we’re not in his head. All we can do is see through Denise’s eyes. Yes, it’s likely that he’s steadying himself, but why not let the reader do the work? His actions are enough to show them.

A recast might go like this:

• Matty. The guy was a pain, had done nothing but hold her back all day. Denise shoved him hard in the back and he grabbed the side of the boat.

Or this more staccato version:
​

• Matty. The guy was a pain, had done nothing but hold her back all day. Denise shoved him hard in the back. He grabbed the side of the boat.

​When intention is the intention!
There are times when the infinitive form of a verb is a good choice because intention, purpose or desire is exactly what the author wants to convey, not the action itself.

Here’s an excerpt from Nuala Ellwood’s Day of the Accident (Penguin, 2019, p. 94). The viewpoint character intends to talk but the action never happens. We’re supposed to focus on the intention, so the infinitives – to speak, to defend myself – work.

​Here are some additional (made-up) examples of where motivation is the order of the day. The character does X for the purpose of achieving Y, and the infinitive is effective.
​

• I take deep breaths to calm myself.
• He’d worked his backside off with this parole officer to stay out of trouble.
• Arthur went to pull Excalibur from the stone but Merlin’s scream stopped him in his tracks.
• I’ve made a decision. I’ll fill up her petrol tank with diesel to trash the engine. That’ll teach her.

​Summing up
If you want your characters to act, show those actions in your prose rather than telling readers about intention. Replace the infinitives with a conjunction and modify how the verb’s conjugated. Or, for a more staccato feel, try commas, or closing the sentence with a full point and starting a new one.

If it’s motivation you want, a ‘to’ plus a verb has the right to stand.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, ​Denise and Louise talk with guest Sea Chapman about constructed languages, or conlangs.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 10

• RATE AND REVIEW

Listen to find out more about:

• What is a constructed language, or conlang?
• The different types of conlang
• Tips for writers who want to include conlangs in fiction
• The rules of play
• Base languages sometimes and conlang creation

Resources mentioned in the show

• Email Sea Chapman (sea@seachapman.com) for handouts from her ACES 2018 presentation, ‘Conlangs: Languages with Stories to Tell’ or to request additional resources
• Language Creation Society
• Conlangs on reddit
• Constructed Languages on Facebook
• ConWorkShop forum
• Conlangery podcast
• Iain Banks talks writing, world events and Mastermind (video)
• ‘A few notes on Marain by Iain M. Banks’
• Fabulosa!: The Story of Polari, Britain's Secret Gay Language
• ‘What’s Polari?’

Ask us a question
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Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise discuss em dashes, or em rules, and how to use them in fiction and non-fiction writing.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 9

• RATE AND REVIEW
• DOWNLOAD TRANSCRIPT

Listen To Find Out More About:

• Parenthetical use
• Indicating a new speaker
• Indicating omission
• Profanity
• Showing faltering speech
• Conveying end-of-line interruptions

Editing Bites

• The Magic of Fiction, Beth Hill
• ‘Start here: How to self-publish your book’, Jane Friedman

Ask us a question
The easiest way to ping us a question is via Facebook Messenger: Visit the podcast's Facebook page and click on the SEND MESSAGE button.

Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise explain what a comma splice is, why you should usually avoid it, and how it can add clarity.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 8

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Don't fancy listening? Here are the nuts and bolts of our podcast chat, based on a transcript from the show.

What is a comma splice?
When two independent clauses – which could stand on their own as sentences and make perfect sense – are separated by a comma. For example:

• I love tomatoes.
• Red and yellow ones are my favourites.

Those two sentence above could be separated by a semi-colon, a dash, or a full stop and no one would be breathing grammar rules down your neck:

Standard punctuation 

• I love tomatoes; red and yellow ones are my favourites.
• I love tomatoes – red and yellow ones are my favourites.
• I love tomatoes—red and yellow ones are my favourites.
• I love tomatoes. Red and yellow ones are my favourites.

However, if you use a comma to separate them, that heavy breathing will come from some quarters:

Non-standard: comma splice

• I love tomatoes, red and yellow ones are my favourites.

Why comma splices trip up readers
Some people don’t know what a comma splice is and don’t care. But plenty do, and even if they don’t know what’s it called, they trip up. For those in the know, comma spliced sentences (sometimes) scream off the page for precisely that reason.

That's because when readers see a comma they're inclined to think, This is the start of a list.

A standard method for showing a reader that they’re coming to the end of a list is to incorporate a coordinating conjunction such as ‘and’, ‘but’, ‘though’ and ‘or’. It acts as  shorthand for One more item’s coming. Then there’ll be a full stop.

And so when only two items are separated by a comma, the reader’s expecting at least one more item in that list. When that third item doesn’t appear and the sentence finishes, the reader is jolted because they've placed the emphasis in the wrong place. Try reading these examples out loud:

• Let me tell you about fruit: I like apples, I hate pears but I think oranges are okay. Are we clear now?
• Let me tell you about fruit: I like apples, I hate pears. Are we clear now?

Your intonation likely changed as you read the words 'but I think oranges are okay' because you knew you were finishing a sentence. In the second example, you were left hanging after 'hate pears' and likely hadn't placed the stress correctly.

These kinds of stumbles are a distraction that, even if only for a split second, pulls the reader out of the writing. Now they’re thinking about where they placed the emphasis, not about our fabulous learning tool, enthralling plot line or groundbreaking academic research.

When comma splices can work: fiction
Comma splices are probably more prevalent in published fiction, and more acceptable. Sometimes, and with good reason. The comma doesn't always trip up readers.

The key is to allow splices to stand when they serve a purpose.

Narrative and rhythm
Take this example from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens: ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity’ and so on.

This prose is an experiment in rhythm. The splices work. But something else is going on too – the anaphora.

Anaphora is a literary device that uses repetition for rhythmic effect. In the Dickens example, the repetition of 'it was' pulls us along on a beautiful booky wave. Editing in semi-colons or full points would destroy the rhythm and would qualify as an example of editorial hypercorrection.

For a more detailed examination of anaphora, read: What is anaphora and how can you use it in fiction writing?​

Dialogue and mood
While a comma splice will stick out like a sore thumb in a piece of academic research or an education textbook, that’s not always the case in dialogue. 

If the speech is truncated, or there's anaphora in play, a comma might well work. Imagine this scenario in a novel: two characters are having an argument. One says, ‘It’s not me, it’s you’.

Strictly speaking, that's a comma splice. There are two independent clauses with a comma. Would it bother you? Probably not. The speech looks and sounds natural to the mind's ear. Changing the comma to a full stop would slow down the rhythm of the character’s speech and affect the emotionality in the dialogue.

But most important, readers won't trip up; they'll place the emphasis correctly. And so while emotion and mood have been respected, this hasn't been at the expense of clarity. 

Summing up

• Understand what a comma splice is. Only then can you make an informed decision about whether to let it stand or fix it.
• Read the sentence aloud, tor ask someone else to. If you or they stumble over what you’ve written, so might your reader.
• Just because Woolf, McCarthy and Dickens use comma splices doesn't mean every writer should. There may be other literary devices in play or narrative motivations affecting their choices.
• There is a grammatical standard for how commas are handled between two independent clauses, but even so, we can’t prescribe for always right or always wrong. Sometimes it’s about style, rhythm and flow.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise discuss en dashes, or en rules, and how to use them in fiction and non-fiction writing.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 7

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​Other ways to listen
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Listen to find out more about ...

• Parenthetical use
• Indicating number spans
• Placement in dialogue interrupted by narrative description
• Linking in adjectival compounds
• Showing faltering speech
• Indicating a relationship/alternative
• Profanity

Editing bites

• Masterclass
• The Conscious Style Guide

​Ask us a question
The easiest way to ping us a question is via Facebook Messenger: Visit the podcast's Facebook page and click on the SEND MESSAGE button.

Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise chat with editor Sophie Playle about developmental editing and critiques for fiction authors.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 6

• RATE AND REVIEW

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Listen to find out more about ...

• An overview of what developmental editing includes
• Critiques as big-picture evaluation
• Who benefits from developmental editing and critiques
• Where developmental editing and critiques fit into the editing process
• Whether an author needs to hire a specialist editor for developmental editing
• Writing coaching versus developmental editing
• The difference between story and plot
• Story structure – planning versus revision
• Story structure – conscious deviation from traditional three-act structure
• Story structure – momentum
• Narrative style
• Subplots – when they work and
• How theme can hold a story together

More about Sophie

• Sophie Playle, Liminal Pages
• Sophie’s editing courses
• Email: sophie@liminalpages.com
• Twitter: @sophieplayle
• Facebook: facebook.com/liminalpages
• LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/sophieplayle

Resources mentioned in the show

• How to Write a Query Letter – Everything You Need to Know’, Sophie Playle
• ‘How to Write a Synopsis – Everything You Need to Know’, Sophie Playle
• Write a Great Synopsis: Nicola Morgan
• Developmental Editing: A Handbook for Freelancers, Authors and Publishers: Scott Norton
• Poetics, Aristotle
• Masterclass: David Mamet Teaches Dramatic Writing

​Ask us a question
The easiest way to ping us a question is via Facebook Messenger: Visit the podcast's Facebook page and click on the SEND MESSAGE button.

Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

​​In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Louise and Denise demystify (and stand up for) one of the most misunderstood pieces of punctuation – the semi-colon.

Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 5

• RATE AND REVIEW
• ​DOWNLOAD TRANSCRIPT

Other ways to listen
STITCHER | APPLE PODCASTS | SPOTIFY | CAPTIVATE
Or check out the show via your favourite podcast platform.

Listen to find out more about ...

• What the semi-colon looks like
• Separating two independent clauses
• Subjects and predicates
• Weighting and parallelism
• Comma splices
• Separating items in a list
• Emojis
• Objections to the semi-colon

Resources

• National Centre for Writing’s podcast
• Semicolon: How a misunderstood punctuation mark can improve your writing, enrich your reading and even change your life, by Cecilia Watson
• How to use semi-colons in fiction writing

Ask us a question
The easiest way to ping us a question is via Facebook Messenger: Visit the podcast's Facebook page and click on the SEND MESSAGE button.

Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise chat with Tim Storm about the concept of unearned writing, and how to craft prose that's authentic and plausible.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 4

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Listen to find out more about ...

• The writer’s responsibility to the reader and the story
• Story events and character reactions in relation to plausibility and authenticity
• Salvation events
• Unnatural character realizations
• Contrived plot turns
• Thematic insertions or digressions
• Turning unearned writing into earned prose
• Idea flow in non-fiction

Resources related to the show

• Title Case Converter
• The Allusionist podcast
• Storm Writing School
• Free course from Tim: The Gold Standard Scene: Analyses of Near-Perfect Scenes in Prose Fiction
• Storm Writing School on Twitter
• Storm Writing School on Facebook
• Storm Writing School on Pinterest
• Writing resources from Louise

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Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise chat about 4 features of written language that are often thought to be Americanisms but aren’t!

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 3

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• DOWNLOAD TRANSCRIPT

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Listen to find out more about ...

• -iz- spellings
• serial commas
• em dashes
• which/that in restrictive relative clauses

Mentioned in the show

• Lexico/Oxford: ‘The Differences Between British and American Terms’
• Lynne Murphy on British and American English (video)
• Free PDF booklet

​Ask us a question
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Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

In this episode of The Editing Podcast, Denise and Louise talk with linguist Rob Drummond about grammar pedantry, peevery, youth language, and non-standard language in context.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 2

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• Correct or conventional – a linguist’s perspective
• Better versus standard
• Zombie rules, and what we can ditch
• Youth language – dumbing down English or enriching it?
• Young people's language in relation to identity and language change
• Varieties of English in written communication: globalization, national and cultural identities
• The internet’s impact on pedantry and peevery
• The relationship between knowledge and pedantry
• The difference between preferences and judgements
• Recognizing our own pedantry and respecting contextually appropriate style
• Stepping outside our linguistic comfort zones

Mentioned in the show

• Radical Copyeditor blog
• ‘The Business of Being a Writer, with Jane Friedman’
• Rob Drummond Linguistics
• TED Talk: 'John McWhorter: Txtng is killing language. JK!!!'
• Rob's graph: Linguistic knowledge versus linguistic pedantry

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Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

Denise and Louise talk about how to use question marks in fiction and non-fiction according to convention.

​Click to listen to Season 3, Episode 1

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• DOWNLOAD TRANSCRIPT

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Listen to find out more about

• Direct questions
• Indirect questions
• How-to statements
• Idiomatic phrases and question marks
• Double punctuation
• Uncertain dates and date ranges
• Indicating uncertainty

Mentioned in the show

• But Can I Start A Sentence With “But”? by Carol Saller
• Making a Point: The Pernickety Story of English Punctuation by David Crystal

Ask us a question
The easiest way to ping us a question is via Facebook Messenger: Visit the podcast's Facebook page and click on the SEND MESSAGE button.

Music credit
‘Vivacity’ Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com). Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License.

Here's how to use quote marks (or speech marks) according to publishing convention in your fiction writing. The guidance covers both US English and UK English conventions.

In this post, I cover the following:

• What quote marks are used for
• Omitting a closing quote mark in dialogue
• Whether to use single or double quote marks
• Whether to use straight or curly quote marks
• Where the closing quote mark goes in relation to other punctuation​
• When not to use quote marks​

What quote marks are used for
Quote marks are used in 3 ways in fiction:

• Character dialogue
• To distance the narrator from what's being reported 
• ​To denote song titles and other works

Character dialogue
Quote marks show that we’re reporting what someone else is saying or said. 

​Each new speaker's dialogue should appear on a new line and include opening and closing quote marks.

To distance the narrator from what's being reported 
The tone of the distancing rendered by the quote marks will depend on narrative intent. Perhaps the voice is sarcastic. Or the author might want the reader to suspend belief by indicating that a character considers a word or phrase unreliable.

Imagine the character is saying so-called or supposed or allegedly before the word in quotes.

A word of caution: Don't be tempted to differentiate distancing terms in the narrative from dialogue by using an alternate style. If there are double speech marks around the dialogue, there should be double marks around the distancing words.

To denote song titles and other works
Quote marks are also used to identify certain published works such as song titles and book chapter titles.

So, for example, if a writer is referring to an album or book title, this is rendered in italic. However, when it comes to a song on an album, or a chapter in a book, it's conventional to use quote marks.