FOR EDITORS, PROOFREADERS AND WRITERS

Story-level critiques focus on the big picture – plot, pace, characterization, voice. Line critiques evaluate a book at a micro level, focusing on sentence construction, word choice, and readability. Here’s an overview of what to expect.

Think of your book as a construction project.

First you lay the foundations and build the walls – writing and redrafting to ensure the structure of your storytelling is sound. It’s where you and your editor (if you have one) focus on the big-picture stuff such as:

• Plot
• Pace
• Characterization
• Voice
• Tense choices
• Viewpoint decisions

At this macro stage, you might end up adding, deleting or shifting sections of your prose.

Some authors do their own structural editing because they’re good at it and have studied story craft via writing courses, groups or books. Others seek professional help, either because they’re at an earlier stage of their authorial journey or because they feel they’re too close to the book to see the problems.

One thing’s for sure – there’s no right or wrong way. Every writer has to make their own choices.

If a full, done-for-you developmental (or structural) edit isn’t the path you take, you might still decide to work with a specialist editor who analyses your book and provides a detailed report on its strengths and weaknesses at story level, and offers suggestions about how to improve your writing.
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That’s where story-level critiques come into play. You might also hear them called manuscript evaluations and manuscript assessments.

Once the foundations and walls are in place, it’s plastering time – smoothing at sentence level to ensure that a reader’s journey through the pages is satisfying. In a sense, it’s still structural work but at a micro level. This is where you (and your editor if you have one) focus on nuances such as:

• Viewpoint
• Spelling, grammar, syntax and punctuation
• Dialogue
• Narrative readability
• Character description
• Thoughts
• Action beats
• Shown and told prose
• Tenses
• Formatting

Again, some authors do their own line editing because they’re good at it and have studied line craft via writing courses, groups or books. Others seek help.
If a full, done-for-you line- and copyedit isn’t an option, a line critique could be just the ticket.

A line critique, like its story-level sister, is an assessment or evaluation of your story but at sentence level. Your report will include examples from your novel that show what’s holding you back.

​You’ll also be offered suggestions on how you can fix any problems identified. Then you can implement what you learn throughout the rest of your book.

Some authors are nervous about critiques. Pro editors get it – it can be tough to put your book in the hands of another and ask them to tell you what’s working and what’s not, especially when you’ve put in so much hard work.

The thing to remember is that a critique (whether at sentence or story level) is not about criticism. It’s about identifying strengths and weaknesses, and offering solutions so that you can move forward to the next stage of your publishing journey with confidence.

And critiques are a long-term investment. They enable you to improve your self-editing skills. That’ll save you time and money further down the line because anyone else you commission will have less to do.

What follows is an overview of the way I handle line critiques. Every editor has their own process, but the basic principles will be similar.

1. The service: Mini line critique
Authors email a Word file comprising, say, 5K words of their novel. It’s in a writer’s best interest to include a section that includes both narrative and dialogue. That way we can assess whether both are working effectively.

Furthermore, if there are multiple viewpoint characters in the novel, and different viewpoint styles and tenses have been used, a sample that represents these choices will enable us to provide a report that evaluates the success of those decisions.

2. First readthrough
The first stage of the process is a complete readthrough of the 5K words. It’s not about micro-level reporting, not yet. Rather, we’re getting a sense of the author’s writing style, the characters’ voices, and the flow of the narrative.

 3. Second pass: Identification tagging
We go back to the beginning and start the analytical process, identifying the strengths and weaknesses of the author’s line craft.
 
We work through the sample, tagging sections of the text with Word’s commenting tool. The author won’t see these tags – they’re just a tool that allow us to locate the sections we’ll pull from the text and into the report for demonstration.
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The text in the image below has been blurred in order to respect confidentiality, but you can see the tagging process in the margins of just one page of one of my reports.

4. Writing the report
Now that we’ve tagged the sample, we can create a report. Line critiques are usually between 20 and 30 pages long, depending on the length of the text samples the editor is pulling in and offering recasts for. 

Each report is divided into sections that address the strengths and weaknesses of the following:

NARRATIVE

• Clarity of narrative viewpoint
• Tense choice
• Showing and telling
• Character description
• Filter words
• Action beats
• Sentence length, flow and rhythm
• Adverbs and adverbial phrases
• Tentative language in relation to a told narrative

DIALOGUE AND THOUGHTS

• Voice, mood and intention
• Dialogue layout
• Dialogue punctuation
• Effectiveness of dialogue tags
• How thoughts are styled

TECHNICAL ELEMENTS

• Spelling
• Punctuation
• Grammar
• Syntax

FORMATTING

• Pre-proof layout recommendations
• Using Word’s styles tool

The tags in the sample allow editors to search for and locate the text we want to use as examples of good practice and to highlight areas with improvement potential.

​5. Wrapping up and emailing the report
When the report is complete, we save it as a PDF and email it to the author. PDF is the tool of choice for many editors because it can’t be edited. If the client wishes to refer back to it during future writing projects, they can do so safe in the knowledge that nothing’s been accidentally removed.

​Here’s an example of one of those sections (I’ve disguised the identifying traits of the original in order to respect the author’s confidentiality):
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​CLARITY OF NARRATIVE VIEWPOINT
What worked
You held narrative viewpoint well and I commend your decision to separate the two viewpoint characters with chapters. This ensured the narrative voices remained distinct.
 
Using a present-tense second-person POV for your transgressor and a past-tense first-person POV for your protagonist worked extremely well. Have you read Complicity by Iain Banks? He does the same thing! It’s effective because it makes us wonder whether that first-person narrative is reliable, though you don’t give the game away until the denouement, which I loved.
 
The second-person POV also lent a rather creepy voyeurism to the transgressor chapters, and though these were demanding to read, you did give your readers plenty of breathing space with the contrasting protagonist chapters. Nicely done!
 
What could be improved
Your protagonist narrative was laboured at times because of the abundance of ‘I’. Overusing this pronoun can lead to an overly told narrative in which the reader is forced to experience everything via the character’s experience of it. This can be distancing. I’m not suggesting you remove every instance of ‘I’ plus the verb – not at all. Instead, consider toning it down and removing some of the filter words so that the reader can experience some of the doing with the character rather than through the character. Here are two examples and suggested fixes:

• ORIGINAL (p. 14): I looked up and saw a shooting star zipping through the night sky.
• SUGGESTED EDIT: I looked up. A shooting star zipped through the night sky.

 
Notice how I’ve suggested removing ‘I saw’, which feels redundant given that we already know that Marcus is looking up, and only tells us of more seeing being done. Instead, you can focus the reader’s attention on the immediacy of what’s seen once the looking up’s happened: the movement of the shooting star. That allows you to show readers what Marcus sees rather than telling them.

• ORIGINAL (p. 24): I scuttled towards the garage and hid behind a large oak tree. I heard the sound of Phil’s boots on the gravel underfoot and smelled the sharp aroma of his awful aftershave. I realized he was close, about two feet away from me.
• SUGGESTED EDIT: I scuttled towards the garage and hid behind a large oak. Gravel crunched. Rank aftershave tickled my nose. Phil was close, a couple of feet at most.

​Notice how in the original there’s a lot of telling of what ‘I’ did. I like your use of a strong verb to introduce tension – ‘scuttled’ – but that tension dissipates with the more distant told narrative that follows. There’s telling of sound, smell, and realization. I’ve suggested you tighten up the paragraph by retaining the original anchor in which Marcus hides; perhaps follow that with a shown narrative that, again, allows the reader to experience the sounds and smells at the same time as Marcus rather than through his ears, nose and brain’s doing hearing, smelling and realizing.
 
Recommendation
Bear in mind that a first-person narrative, by definition, puts the reader in the character’s head. If you keep that in mind, you’ll save yourself a lot of work because you’ll need fewer words on the page.
 
Have a read through all the protagonist chapters and consider where you can tighten up the prose in order to limit some of the telling of doing being done. You can still anchor the first-person viewpoint with ‘I’ in places, of course, but you might recast some of writing that follows with shown action. ​

If you want to hone your line craft and polish your book at sentence level, but a full line- and copyedit is beyond your budget, consider a more affordable alternative: the line critique.

Think of a critique as another form of authorial development, of book-craft study. And what you learn from your critique won’t be something you can apply just to the current book. It’s a tool you can use with every story you write thereafter.
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And here’s a free booklet that outlines the various levels of editing.

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
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She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors

It doesn’t matter a jot to me which kind of English an author wants to write in. What does matter is their readers' expectations and perceptions, and being consistent.

​This free booklet shows you how to stay on track. To get it, head over to the Grammar and Spelling section of my Resource Centre.

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.

She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors​

If your characters seem or appear to be doing or feeling something – probably, maybe, perhaps – then you might be using half measures to express a good chunk of that action or emotion. Uncertainty can drag a story down. Here’s how to edit for it at line level.

In fiction, tentative language can lead to the following:

• Flatness: Tension and dynamism are reduced
• Woolliness: The narrative voice can’t make its mind up
• Distance: The reader is pulled away from the story

Authors sometimes introduce tentative language into a novel because:
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• They’re afraid of dropping viewpoint

• Their narrative voice lacks confidence
• They think it’s appropriate

I’m not suggesting you remove every tentative word; some might be deliberate and necessary. More likely, you’ll be checking that your prose isn’t rife with them.
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Still, these little blighters can slip in accidentally and it’s worth taking the time to root them out and decide whether to give them space on your page or remove them.

Here are some of the words (or word groups) to watch out for:

• as if to
• almost as if
• appeared to
• considered
• could
• hoped
• looked as if/looked like
• maybe
• might
• perhaps
• presumably
• probably
• seemed
• thought
• wondered

When there’s a problem, it can sometimes be fixed with a simple deletion, or a stronger verb.

When viewpoint, tension and reader immersion are at stake, more intervention might be required.

I see the likes of seemed, appeared, and looked as if creeping frequently into line editing projects for less experienced authors because they want to hold viewpoint.

Hats off to them – I’ll take a seemed over a head-hop any day of the week! Still, there might be a better fix.

Here’s a framework you can use to recast in a way that removes the uncertainty but keeps the narrative alive.

Fixing framework that holds viewpoint

• Identify the observed character’s emotion or behaviour (e.g. frustration).
• Imagine the environment around that character.
• How does the emotion/behaviour manifest in the character’s movements?
• Does this impact on the surrounding environment?
• Does it affect the viewpoint character?

In the examples below, I’ve used this framework to craft a shown narrative rather than an assumed one. The original text is based on real examples that have been adapted to respect confidentiality.

EXAMPLE 1

Luke can’t know for sure how the other character is feeling, and the author covers this with seemed. That’s all well and good; removing it would flip the reader from Luke’s internal experience to the hooded man’s.

The sentence is flat though. Yes, we readers are still in Luke’s head but it’s not a particularly interesting space. There’s no tension in our observations from his hiding place.

Here’s how the fixing framework helped me recast in a way that shows readers the hooded man’s assumed frustration, as seen by Luke:

In the revised version, we see the hooded man’s emotion through his action. That helps with the flatness but also with narrative distance; we stay close to Luke because we experience not only what he sees but also what he smells. It’s more immersive.

EXAMPLE 2

Thom is the viewpoint character so we can’t know what’s going on in Mikey’s head. And that means we can’t just remove the tentative words and change the verb to picked.

But there’s a problem. If Mikey were the viewpoint character, his imagining Thom’s face would make for an interesting narrative. However, it’s Thom’s head we’re in. In this case, the assumption seems off, too big to believe.

When I listen to someone speaking, I tend to use my eyes to focus on their mouths; my friend with restricted vision tends to move his head so that his ears are more in play. Sighted people in his company need to be aware that his eyes don’t focus directly on a speaker even though he’s fully engaged.
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If we place this experience within the fixing framework, we can imagine Mikey’s physicality and the effect on Thom, the viewpoint character.

In the revised version, the assumption is gone. Instead, readers are shown what Mikey does and what Thom experiences. Viewpoint is intact, and the clunk has gone.

In the examples below, the tentative words have crept in because the authors are still developing the confidence to make every word count.

Useful tools of the trade include deletion, stronger verbs, smoother recasts, and free indirect style. 

The fixes below are suggestions only, offered so you have an idea of what to look out for and how you might tackle the solution. The approach you use will depend on your writing style and the mood of the scene.

When tentative language creates a flat sentence
In these examples, the tentative mood is justified but the sentences are rather flat. We need to inject tension.

Example 1

• Original: Tamsin Johns came to mind. He wondered what her story was.
• Free indirect style: Tamsin Johns came to mind. What the hell was her story?

Example 2

• Original: Confused, Ava wondered if he’d thought she was going to rob him.
• Recast: Ava shook her head. It was odd, like the guy had thought she was going to rob him.

​Example 3

• Original​: Arty thought the new door seemed not to fit the others in the old house.
• ​Recast​: Arty touched the cherrywood door. It was different to the others, the grain fine and straight, the lacquer smooth under his fingertips.

​When tentative language creates a woolly sentence
In these examples, the tentative words relate to viewpoint characters’ experiences. The uncertainty introduces distance because it pulls the reader out of their experience. It makes us say, ‘Why the lack of commitment? Doesn’t the viewpoint character know?’
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Once more, I’ve used real examples and adapted them to disguise the originals.

Example 1

• ​Original: Her body appeared to hum with fear.
• Deletion: Her body hummed with fear.

Example 2

• Original: Eleanor gasped as the craft shot into the air and was gone in what seemed like an instant.
• Deletion: Eleanor gasped as the craft shot into the air and was gone in an instant.
• Stronger verb: Eleanor gasped as the craft shot into the air and vanished.

Example 3

• ​Original: Debs scrolled through her contacts, found his name and hit DELETE. Hilary probably thought she could do better, and Debs agreed.
• Deletion: Debs scrolled through her contacts, found his name and hit DELETE. Hilary had said she could do better, and Debs agreed.

In these examples, the tentative words work. They show the reader that the viewpoint character is guessing.

• She glowered as if to say, You really think there’s enough meat on that plate? Mark glanced at the blue car. There were two people inside, neither familiar. Might be undercover cops, but he legged it anyway … just in case.

• Mark glanced at the blue car. There were two people inside, neither familiar. Might be undercover cops, but he legged it anyway … just in case.

• ​A haze hung in the air – maybe brick dust from the fallen building or ash from the fire. It stung his eyes and irritated his throat.

• The news knocked the breath out of her. Jamie had seemed happy the last time they’d met. Ecstatic even, what with the new job, the kayaking holiday, that girl he’d met the week before.

• She combed the beach for Ben’s blue sun hat, pushing the unthinkable to the back of her mind. Thought it through. Probably with Mark at the rockpool. The café maybe. Or the groyne or the dunes. Her head spun left, right, left again.

As soon as a writer or editor begins line editing fiction, subjectivity comes into play. It’s rare that there’s a right or a wrong way.
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With that in mind, don’t ban tentative language in your prose; just watch out for it. It may well have the right to be there, though it shouldn’t trump tension or add clunk. 
If removing it messes with viewpoint, use the fixing framework to craft an alternative shown narrative.

Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
​
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.

• Get in touch: Louise Harnby | Crime Fiction & Thriller Editor
• Connect: X @LouiseHarnby, Facebook and LinkedIn
• Learn: Books and courses
• Discover: Resources for authors and editors