A BLOG FOR EDITORS, PROOFREADERS AND WRITERS

If you're a new proofreader or editor, having a global mindset in regard to choosing reference resources is essential for maximizing editorial business opportunities.

Like many of my fellow editorial business owners, I’m often approached by potential new entrants to the field who want advice about getting started. One of the most oft-asked questions ​is: ‘Which reference resources – style guides, dictionaries and the like – do I need?'

Bear in mind that anyone you seek guidance from in regard to best-fit resources must respect the fact that you might not be from the same place as them, speak like them, have the same potential clients as them, and spell colour/color like they do, or as a client brief asks them to.
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Centrism, whether from the United Kingdom, the United States, or elsewhere in the world, is useless to you as a new entrant because it’s based on false assumptions about you and your potential clients.

Social science ‘styles’ from an international perspective
Here’s a wee case fictive case study. Imagine a new entrant to the editing profession tells me the following:

• They're from California.
• They have a degree in public administration.
• They have work experience in the field of policy research and implementation for a public-services organization.
• They're prepared to use their educational qualifications and work experience as an editing specialism.

Based on this, I suggest that social science publishers and academics would be good initial target markets.

Does my new starter’s location affect their choice of potential publishers clients? It’s not clear cut.

The online world has knocked down those geographical boundaries; you don’t have to spend a fortune to send page proofs to someone hundreds of miles away; you can email them to someone thousands of miles away for the price of an Internet connection.

And how does my new starter’s location in the United States more broadly affect what they need to learn in terms of styles and language preferences? Again, it’s not clear cut.

I see The Chicago Manual of Style (CMOS) recommended as the sole must-have resource so often in online discussions about editorial work that I worry that new entrants may fall into the trap of thinking that this ‘bible’ alone will tell them everything they need to know.

Super though it is (I love chunks of it for fiction editing), CMOS is not the be all and end all of style guides, because it depends on what a client wants, the subject matter and country-specific language preferences.

The California-based publisher SAGE Publications asks that its copyeditors have a thorough knowledge of both the CMOS and the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association (APA).

But note that these are core requirements for SAGE’s US book division. If you want to freelance for the US journal division, you’ll need to add the AMA Manual of Style and The CSE Manual for Authors, Editors, and Publishers to your reading list. (Bear in mind, too, that not all publishers want us to use the most current version of these manuals.)

But why stop there? If my new starter can get work with SAGE in California, might it not be sensible to tap its sister office in London? But in that case, our newbie will also need familiarity with New Hart’s Rules, The Oxford Dictionary for Writers and Editors, and Butcher’s Copyediting.

Or what if our new starter decides to target social science academics who are based in the US? They'll need to ask:
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• Will those academics all be writing books for US publishers?
• Will they submit articles only to American journals?

Actually, it’s just as likely that an eminent Boston-based scholar will submit to the European Journal of Political Research as to the American Political Science Review, Scandinavian Political Studies, or the Canadian Journal of Political Science.
This will impact on what our newbie needs to know. For example:
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• Will it be ‘behavior’ or ‘behaviour’?
• Will a comma in a sentence come before a closing quotation, or after?
• Will ‘decision-making’ lose its hyphen?
• ‘Organize’ or ‘organise’?
• Spaced parenthetical en dashes or closed-up em dashes?

Location doesn’t determine readership
Where our clients live doesn’t determine where they publish or the location of their intended readership.

Given that the editorial freelancing market is competitive, it makes sense to exploit the most obvious opportunities.

In the Internet Age, the physical barriers are gone. The only barrier to exploring an international work stream is an inability to appreciate that language conventions and preferences differ according to client (whether that be a particular publisher, a particular independent author, a particular journal), not according to one, and only one, globally recognized set of rules.

Honestly – such a thing doesn’t exist; it doesn’t even exist within many countries.

Diversity of geography, language, and preferences
It’s not so much about where we live, but where our clients live and what preferences they have.

• I live in the UK. I’ve worked with a Swedish fantasy author who wanted to use American terminology but UK spelling with –ize suffixes.
• I've copyedited indie fiction for UK-based authors who wanted to use American spelling.
• I’ve proofread for academic publishers who asked me for US spelling and ‘style’ for one project, and then, two weeks later, sent a brief for a new project that asked for something completely different.
• I’ve proofread law books that used Oxford Standard for Citation of Legal Authorities (OSCOLA), sociology books that used Harvard, and industrial relations journals that used Vancouver.
• I’ve worked on research-methods books that were styled according to CMOS, linguistics books that asked for APA, and politics reports that used The Economist style guide.
• I’ve proofread philosophy books where the style was … let’s just call it ‘go with the flow’.
• Many of the publishers I've worked for have a ‘house’ style.

If you're a new entrant to the field and are wondering what you need to know, instead of listening to my preferences, familiarize yourself with a number of appropriate resources depending on what your clients want.

Perhaps it’s CMOS; perhaps it’s not. And even if it is, ONLY knowing this could mean you're seriously restricting the base of clients for whom you can work, the types of material you can work on, and the geographical locations you can explore.

So try the following:

• Think about which particular client groups you’re most suited to.
• Do some research that will tell you what those clients require.
• Use that information to inform the decision about which resources to invest in.

If your world revolves around CMOS, it’s possibly a smaller world than it needs to be. And if your world is smaller than it needs to be, so are the opportunities you're exploring in a market that’s already very competitive.

One other item to note. CMOS, CSE, APA, AMA, and the like are style guides; they give you guidance on whether, for example, to close up or hyphenate a compound adjective. They won't necessarily give you extensive guidance on how a word is being used, and whether that usage is considered standard, and in which community.
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Usage manuals, which give that kind of information, are as important as style guides. Using a style guide or a usage manual alone is an invitation to disaster.

Out with borders and in with flexibility
When you’re the owner of an editorial business you need to learn what your clients want you to learn, whether it’s a manual published by Chicago or Oxford, a house brief designed by a team of publisher project managers, a detailed set of guidelines issued by a European NGO, or a short brief issued by an independent author of fiction.

I encourage you to think broadly, globally, and flexibly. If someone tries to guide to towards only one set of ‘rules’, at best their advice will restrict you; at worst it will be just plain wrong or inappropriate.

There is, alas, no simple answer to the question of which resources are best. Instead, careful thought and planning centred around client- and skill-focused research is a good first step. That way, you’ll learn for yourself what resources, tools, and knowledge bases are suitable for you, your potential market, and your particular business model.
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Language usage, styles, and preferences differ – and that’s okay. Don’t let anyone tell you that’s not the case!

This article offers guidance on how to self-edit your fiction writing so that accents don’t become the primary story.

Do your characters speak with an accent? All of us speak in ways that are distinctive; we just don’t notice our own accents because they’re ours and we’re used to them.

Oxford Dictionaries defines accent as ‘A distinctive way of pronouncing a language, especially one associated with a particular country, area, or social class.’
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Authors who are inexperienced at writing accented language can be tempted to use phonetic spelling. But writing accents is difficult; so is reading them. Most experienced authors and editors will therefore caution against this approach.
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Furthermore, spelling and pronunciation are two different things. Says Beth Hill in The Magic of Fiction (pp. 409, 394):

Avoiding the inexperienced-ear trap
My husband was born in Belgium. He speaks fluent French. My friend Alain was born in southern France. He also speaks fluent French. They can hear strong differences in their pronunciation. Alain knows that Johnny’s accent is Belgian though he can’t tell what part of Belgium Johnny was born in. Johnny can tell that Alain is from France, and can even identify that he’s from the south, but not where in the south.

I have enough French to get by, but it’s limited. When I hear Johnny and Alain speaking French to each other, I can’t hear the difference in their accents because my ear isn’t experienced enough.

I also have friends and family from Yorkshire, England. To me, their accents sound the same, but I know they’re not. Nor are the turns of phrase they use. That’s because people in Yorkshire don’t all speak the same, even if those of us with inexperienced ears think they do. And I don’t speak identically to every other person born in Buckinghamshire, or use the same turns of phrase.

And there’s the first problem. The ways accents are rendered by a writer will be influenced by their experience of that accent. If their experience is limited, any attempt to mimic it in writing could seem absurd to a reader with a more experienced ear. It could even turn into parody, and a bad one at that.

Consider how much we’re influenced by others. Many of us talk to and listen to voices from all over the world. Speech is elastic and we often borrow from each other – not just words and phrases but pronunciation too. What each of us defines as accented, or not accented, will depend on where we’ve been, who we know, and what we’ve heard.

When phonetic spelling trumps story
Conveying accents through phonetic spelling can lead to phonemes trumping action.
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Here’s a mangled example of a French person speaking English. The spelling is phonetic:

If the protagonist detective is French, and every time she opens her mouth this is what we have to read, our focus won’t be on the plot.

The most important thing about the sentence above is what it tells us: a corpse was found in a section of the woods that had been given the all-clear. Which means either the area wasn’t cordoned off and guarded, or the team didn’t check the area properly.

​That’s not what the reader will be focusing on. Instead they’ll be digging their way through a multitude of zeds. It’s a distraction that pulls the reader out of the story.

Plus, we need to ask whether that phonetic spelling renders the speech authentic. I’d argue it’s a horrible inauthentic caricature that has no place in any work of fiction that isn’t intended to mock.

My friend Alain mastered the th phoneme within a few weeks of living in the UK. Yes, his English was – and still is – accented (just as mine is to others), but if he was my detective, the most realistic way I could render this line in his mouth would be:

Which is just like I’d say and spell it in English. And so would my Scottish friend Denise, and my Canadian friend Janet, and my American friend Carrie, my German friend Nicole, my Yorkshire-born friend Helen ... you get the picture.

We all have different accents, but conveying them with phonetic spelling is distraction not enrichment.

Deliver what you promised and what’s interesting
If your reader thought they were buying a mystery, a thriller, a romance or sci-fi opera, they might be disappointed to find out they’re reading something else.
Lessons in how your Dutch, Indian, Welsh or British protagonist or transgressor pronounces words are not what they paid for.
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Furthermore, is your character’s accent really their most interesting trait? That they’re from a particular region or country might be enriching backstory. It might even play into the plot line. But is their accent key to the story? If it’s not – if it’s no more relevant than how they take their coffee – it needn’t go on the page, and if it does, it need only be in passing.

Respect your audience now, then and from wherever
​There’s more than one way of speaking English. Just because I speak in a certain way, doesn’t make it standard. It’s just my way of speaking.
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But there’s a bigger problem. Seeking to render pronunciation ‘authentically’ can reinforce discrimination:

Writers need to examine their own biases (however unintentional) when they convey accents, and other characters’ perceptions of them. Plus, at the very least, overworked or badly done written accents can sound like mockery. And even if you think your writing is amusing, your reader might not.

Years ago, I worked on a book in which the protagonist – for whom we were rooting – mocked his German arch-enemy for his ‘ridiculous’ pronunciation of a w as a v  when speaking English. Actually, it was the protagonist and the author who ended up looking ridiculous because there is no ‘correct’ way to pronounce a w that can be universally applied across the planet.

If one character’s mockery of another’s accent is central to the plot, that might be an opportunity to introduce phonetically spelled written accents briefly, but it will be a device that shows the mocker as ignorant and closed-minded. If that’s not your intention, and it doesn’t drive the novel forward, don’t include it.

Make things easy for your reader
The best novels make us forget we’re reading them. We’re so immersed in the story that we don’t notice we’re processing words on a page.

Every time a writer forces us to decipher how a word sounds, they risk dragging us out of their book. If a book is littered with accented narrative and dialogue, we might not even get to the immersion stage.

Say Mittelmark and Newman (p. 151):

‘Ah, but what about Irvine Welsh?’ you might say. This review on Goodreads reflects my own experience of Trainspotting:

Yes, he’s a great writer and it’s a great book, but I found it hard work. And I’m not always in the mood for hard work. I read for relaxation.

If you think your audience is like me and this reviewer, think twice about whether you want to go down this route.
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Plus, it’s unlikely that any writer will be able to pull off what Welsh does if they’re writing accents and dialect that aren’t their own.

Other ways to convey accent – light flavouring

So how might we gently nudge the reader to imagine a character’s accent in a way that avoids literally spelling it out? Here are 6 ideas:

1. Snippets of another language
If the character’s from another country, you could add in a few of their native-language words here and there.

​Agatha Christie peppered her Poirot novels with mais ouis and mon amis (and Sophie Hannah has followed that style in her Poirot continuation mysteries). Christie didn’t go over the top though, and nor does Hannah. In Closed Casket, Poirot speaks at length, sometimes over several pages, and there’s no hint of a non. Less really is more.

You could also introduce words from the character’s original language in moments of stress. Bear in mind, though, that lots of swear words (e.g. fuck) have an international appeal, so even a non-native English speaker might prefer this over their own language.

I confess to being a little bemused when I read Poirot’s French snippets. He speaks English fluently, as this short excerpt from The ABC Murders (p. 3) demonstrates:

​The French therefore seems a little out of place. Poirot is able to use metaphor artfully, yet reverts to his native language for a simpler phrase. To some readers it will look a little contrived and old-fashioned.
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Still, it’s Christie, and she published this book in 1936. Fair enough. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right for your contemporary novel.

2. Noticing another’s accent
Another character might notice someone’s accent – perhaps a Brit enters the scene in a novel set in the US, and the American protagonist notices the way they pronounce a hard t.

In this case, it’s an observation that tells us something about the Brit’s voice, and from then on the reader can imagine their idea of how that would sound. No more need be said about it. This approach is best done early on.

A character might frame another’s accent in terms of thoughts about how they themselves struggle to roll an r  with the ease that the Parisian they’re listening to does.

Or your character might convey another’s country of origin by pointing out how excellent their English is and how, for example, their Swedish or Russian accent is barely discernible.
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3. Idiom and localization
Localized or idiomatic words and phrases can also provide triggers for a reader that help them imagine accent. So perhaps your visiting Mancunian momentarily throws the people they’re hanging out with in Baltimore when they use the terms pissed or pants.

And a character could identify another’s accent in the narrative by way of appreciating it. Again, it gives readers just enough information to do their own imagining.

Check with people in the know if you use this approach. Say Mittelmark and Newman (p. 107):

However, this warning might be something you can use purposefully if it’s suitable for your plot.

4. Contractions and dropped consonants
You could sprinkle the dialogue with just a few dropped consonants or contractions to convey accent (’appen, innit, ain’t, nowt, t’other). Again, less is more. It shouldn’t stand out more than the story.

5. Grammatical structures that trip in translation
Learn about other regional and grammatical structures that you could introduce once in a while. Says Now Novel:

Still, take care not to overdo these to the point of caricature and cliché.

​6. Stories from other places
Bring in other details that characterize a person’s place of birth – a detail about the environment, culture or food preferences, for example.

Some years ago I was in Oslo in winter. I was cold and commented on the woeful weather to my friend. He replied: ‘Here in Norway, we say there’s no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing.’

Another half-Norwegian friend (I know quite a few Norwegians!) once told me about one of her favourite childhood snacks, Svolvær postei (it's a kind of fish paste). We scoffed our way through several tins of the stuff one delicious afternoon. That, not her pronunciation, is what sticks in my mind when I think of her Norwegianness.

For the novelist, those kinds of small details might be a more enriching way of conveying a person’s heritage than butchering the spelling of their dialogue.

Why focus on that accent?
One final thing to consider is why you would focus on one character’s accent and not every other’s. Remember, everyone speaks with an accent, whether our own ears recognize it as such or not.

So imagine you’re an American living in the US. You’re in a cafe. Most of the people around you are from the US and pronounce words the way Americans do – which is to say, differently but broadly with an American accent. You don’t notice this because these accents are familiar to you.

Then four Brits join your table and begin to speak. You notice their accents because they stand out for you. However, the four Brits think their accents are uninteresting because they’re familiar with their own pronunciation. Your American accent is the one that stands out.

Now imagine that cafe is your novel and the people are your readers. What’s interesting – what stands out – depends on who’s doing the listening.

The contemporary reader watches movies and TV, and listens to radio and podcasts. All of us are exposed to multiple voices and accents. We're used to noticing them, absorbing them and moving on.

When I’m reading Ian Rankin’s Rebus novels, which are set in Scotland, I’m not given frequent reminders that the primary characters speak with Scottish accents. When I’m reading Harlen Coben’s Myron Bolitar novels, which are set in the US, I’m not told that the characters speak with American accents. Why would the authors made a big deal of a Belgian, Indian, Swedish or British accent but not a Scottish or American accent?

That’s not to say it wouldn’t be interesting to know where those people come from if that’s relevant to the story, and it might serve to ground the viewpoint character’s perceptions of their own nationality and pronunciation, but it wouldn’t excuse phonetic renditions of people talking differently.

Consider, therefore, whether it’s necessary to make an issue of one of your character’s accents just because their pronunciation stands out to your ear when you’ve been happy to ignore the ‘home’-accented voices in your book. Any mention should be purposeful.
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Summing up
It isn’t necessary to write accents. There are other more interesting ways to show where someone’s from.

Focus on the story you’re telling and how you’re going to move it forward rather than worrying how the speakers pronounce their vowels and consonants. If you give the reader a little background and a light peppering, they can do all the imagining for themselves.

If you still feel compelled to convey accents in your fiction, do so purposefully and sparingly, especially if they’re accents that you’re not familiar with. And watch out for caricature, parody and bias.

Cited works and related resources

• 3 reasons to use free indirect speech. Louise Harnby
• Dialogue tags and how to use them in fiction writing. Louise Harnby
• How Not to Write a Novel. Howard Mittelmark and Sandra Newman. Penguin, 2009
• How to punctuate dialogue in a novel. Louise Harnby
• How to use apostrophes in fiction writing. Louise Harnby
• How to write accents and dialects: 6 tips. Now Novel
• How to write thoughts in fiction. Louise Harnby
  
• Playing with sentence length. Louise Harnby
• Playing with the rhythm of fiction: commas and conjunctions. Louise Harnby
• The ABC Murders. Agatha Christie. HarperCollins [Collins], 2013 [1936]
• The Magic of Fiction, 2nd edition. Beth Hill. Title Page Books, 2016
• Unveiling your characters: Physical description with style. Louise Harnby
• Why ‘suddenly’ can spoil your fiction. Louise Harnby

Here are 5 things you can do in the year ahead to put a shine on the way you run your editing and proofreading business,

1. Be the editor who says, ‘It’s down to me’
Editors who work in-house edit. As for the other stuff, someone else does that for them – marketing, accounting, branding, heating the building, providing a good-quality office chair ... all of it.

Employee editors can say, ‘It’s not my job.’ Independent editors can’t. Most indie editors don’t have assistants, in-house accountants, IT managers, marketing departments or ready-made brand strategies. 

All of those things are down to us. If we don’t make them part of our job, we risk not being able to put food on the table, not paying our bills, breaching our legal responsibilities, working in an environment that’s physically unfit for purpose and, worst of all, having no clients. And we have to buy our own chairs.

Chairs aside, having no clients means we’re not independent business owners. It means we’re unemployed.

There are bits of my job I’d rather not do. You’re probably the same. I happen to love the marketing side of things but I have friends who loathe it. One of my editor pals gets a kick from using gadgets and spreadsheets that help her manage her invoicing; I find it a bore. That’s fine – we’re different. However, we both must find clients and track our financials, whether we struggle with these tasks or relish the challenge.

Being an editor is not enough. Being an editor is the work we do. Everything else is the work we do to get the work we do and operate in a professional manner.
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Editing is only one part of being an editorial business owner. For our businesses to thrive, we must do all the parts. We can’t afford to say, ‘But I don’t like marketing’, ‘I’m not good with spreadsheets’, ‘I’m not interested in the business end of things’, or ‘I don’t have time to learn how to do those things’, because we’re not employees.

​We have to say, ‘It’s down to me.’

2. Make changes
No one gets it perfect right from the get-go. Running a business is about testing and tracking so that we discover what works and what doesn’t. If things aren’t going as we hoped, we need to be ready to invest in change.

• If our schedules have lots of gaps in them, our marketing needs work.
• If we’re not attracting the clients we want to work with, our branding needs attention.
• If we’re not earning enough to make ends meet, we need to find new clients or tweak our fee structure.
• If we’re attracting clients who let us down, we need to tweak our contracts and terms.
• If our scheduling is muddled, our time management needs fixing.

​Easy to say, harder to do, I know. But change we must. The responsibility lies with us.

3. Don't measure your own success against other people’s raw data
Track your own data and use it to assess the health of your editing business. Your colleagues’ metrics don’t matter because those relate to their businesses, not yours.

And there’s another problem – it’s often like comparing apples and oranges. Here are two examples:

• The data picked up by Google Analytics varies from website host to host. That means any comparison of my Weebly site with a colleague’s Wordpress or Wix site is pretty much meaningless.
• Even when you look at your own data, you’ll get different figures depending on the analytics program you’re using. I access analytics data using StatCounter, Google Analytics and Weebly. None of the numbers are the same, and I don't mean a little bit not the same; I mean a lot not the same. It’s not that two of those programs are wrong but that all three are recording different things.

Does that mean you shouldn’t look at analytics? Not at all. But instead of looking at just the raw numbers, think about longer-term patterns in the data and outcomes (bookings/sales).

​How does this financial quarter compare with the previous one, or this year with the previous one? Have you made changes either on your website or elsewhere that might have influenced your analytics?

We must keep our attention on the end goal. Visitors, page views, shares, likes, follows, comments, connections etc. are only starting-point visibility indicators.

To be meaningful, they need to be considered over time and evaluated within the context of, and measured against, business goals: e.g. requests to quote, confirmed bookings, quality of clients, income, and the length of your wait-list. Otherwise, they’re nothing more than vanity metrics.

As for other people’s raw stats, they tell you nothing about your own business’s needs and goals. Don't spend valuable time worrying about them.

4. Track, plan and schedule
Like all sole traders, independent editors have to do everything themselves, unless they contract out services to, say, a VA, a marketer or an accountant, any of which will incur costs.

We can find ourselves being asked to carry out impossible feats of juggling – too many activities and not enough time to do what must be done. The solution could lie in improved scheduling:
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​(1) Track how much time you spend on social media during work hours and check that all of it is relevant to your business. Be strict with your social engagement – schedule it, and stick to that plan. You’ll save time and be more productive.

(2) Schedule all tasks, not just editing. Invoicing, marketing, replying to requests to quote, and dealing with queries can cause problems when they’re not scheduled. If you have 7 hours a day available for work, allot some of that time to stuff that enables you to run your business.

​That might mean you only have 5 hours a day available for editing, not 7, which means you’ll need to assign a longer period of time to complete each project. If you need to shift things around, fine – there’s a big difference between drinking your tea at a different time and forgetting to switch the kettle on.

5. Create templates and information resources
Templates make life easier and help editors work faster. They can be customized, of course, but the underlying framework is in place, meaning we can focus on tweaking the nitty-gritty so that what we’re creating is specific to the recipient. The following all lend themselves to templating:

• Style sheets
• Editorial reports
• Replies to requests for information
• Invoices

When we find ourselves explaining the same problem to different clients, it’s time to create a resource that we can use indefinitely.

For example, if you’re a developmental editor you might have written numerous reports and queries in which you describe the fundamentals of narrative point of view. Instead of repeating yourself, create a document that outlines the principles in detail.

The initial work will take you time, but once done you can use it over and over.
You can also place that information on your website and use it as a promotional tool. 

Summing up
If you’re looking for ways to make your business life run more smoothly in the next 12 months, perhaps some or all of these 5 tips will help you to save time, increase productivity, and take action.

There are some free templates and other resources in the Further Reading section below. Help yourself.

Happy New Year!
 
Further reading

• How to become a better editor while secretly promoting your business (blog post)
• How to increase your productivity ... the AIR way (blog post)
• How to minimize cancellations and non-payment for editing and proofreading services (blog post)
• Invoicing: Excel template (free: scroll through the resource gallery)
• Overcoming marketing paralysis: How to turn overwhelm into action (blog post)
• Free scheduling template
• Free style sheet template
• Marketing and branding courses and books for editors

If you write fiction, chances are your characters will be thinking. This article shows you several different ways of conveying what’s going on in their heads.

First off, there is no rule. Instead there are standard ways and not-so-standard ways of conveying thoughts in fiction.

Rules are problematic because they lead writers down a prescriptive road that can render their fiction difficult to read, and lacking in aesthetic on the page.

Method 1: Quotation marks
The Chicago Manual of Style (CMOS) has this advice (13.43: ‘Unspoken discourse’):

This is undoubtedly my least-favourite option. ​I recommend you use the speech-mark style with caution. I can’t remember the last time I saw this approach used in commercial fiction coming out of a mainstream publisher’s stable. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been, of course!

I dislike it intensely, and many fiction publishers seem to be choosing other methods by preference, but those aren’t good reasons to avoid it. Your style is your choice. The best reason for avoiding it is that using speech marks could confuse your reader.

The beauty of speech marks – or quotation marks – is that they indicate speech. When you put speech marks around a character’s thoughts, your reader will immediately assume they’re reading the spoken word.

Look at the CMOS example above. Only when we hit thought Vera do we realize she’s not speaking at all. She’s thinking.

Some authors might be tempted to use a different speech-mark style to indicate a thought. Again, this is confusing. Your reader might assume that you’ve not edited for consistency, as this example demonstrates:

If, like me, you want something a little cleaner, something that won’t pull your reader out of the story because you led them down a speech-based garden path only to pull them up short at the gate, here are a few alternatives.

Method 2: Italic text
You can render your thoughts in italic text. For short thought streams, this is a common approach.

Let’s return to the CMOS example and see what it looks like:

The advantages of this style are as follows:

• It’s a standard approach that readers will be familiar with.
• There’s no confusion. It’s clear that Vera’s not speaking out loud because the speech marks have been omitted.

However, some readers find that large chunks of italic strain their eyes. I’m one of them. I’m much more likely to skim over huge passages of italic because it’s not a pleasant reading experience.

If that text is masking a clue, or a key character trait, information about an important event or something else that holds the plot together, it’s essential that the reader accesses it.

Look at the Vera example again. There are two thought tags – thought Vera and she told herself – just to ram the point home that she’s thinking. Some readers and writers might consider two tags overkill, but they do help to break up the italic text and don’t jar as much as they might.

But imagine if Vera’s thought stream had gone something like this:

That’s a lot of italic to get one’s retinas around. If you have a long stream of consciousness, you might prefer another method.

Method 3: Normal body text
This style forgoes speech marks and italic, and sticks to normal text. This is how it looks with the longer Vera example:

The advantage of this style is that it’s easy on the eye. However, some readers might be jarred by changes in tense.
 
If your narrative is set in the past tense and set in the third person (as in this example with Vera) and you use the same text style for present-tense direct thoughts, then in a longer thought stream you could pull your reader out of the story.
 
And if this happens frequently, your prose will be riddled with flip-flopping tenses that are at best frustrating and at worst confusing.

Method 4: Free indirect style
Another option is to use free indirect style (sometimes called free indirect discourse or free indirect speech). This style offers the essence of first-person thought but through a third-person viewpoint.

The advantages of this style are as follows:

• The character’s voice is foremost but gone is the clutter of speech marks, speech tags, and italic.
• The thoughts can be formatted in the normal body-text style but without the risk of jarring the reader because the tense will be consistent with the main narrative.
• The shift away from the thought stream and into the usual third-person narrative is seamless.

Let’s return to Vera to see how this works:

The free indirect style does keep the narrative distance close but it’s still not quite as immediate at the present-tense first person. So is there anything else we can do?

Method 5: Mix it up
A more creative option might be to combine direct and indirect thought styles.

In the example below we begin with two sentences that use the italic style for the present-tense first-person thought, and we retain the thought tags to break up the text.

Then we move into roman text but cast the thought stream in the free indirect style, which matches the main narrative: third-person past tense.

The advantages of this style are as follows:
​

• It’s flexible. The character’s voice is foremost throughout. The narrative distance shifts from the immediacy of the present-tense first person but is still close – we’re still in Vera’s head even when we’re in the third person.
• The italic doesn’t dominate, so the text is easy on the reader’s eye.
• Given that the thought stream is quite long, it still doesn’t feel invasive. The shift into free indirect style gives us a breather. This approach might therefore suit you if your character is having an inner rant and the inner turmoil feels overworked.
• We’ve retained the seamless shift back to the main third-person past-tense narrative comfortably.

Summing up
As with many sentence-level decisions in fiction writing, rendering thoughts is about style choices rather than a single prescriptive rule. Choose the solution that fits your story best. This might mean making different decisions at various points in your novel depending on what’s going on.

Consider combining approaches if you have longer thought streams and want to be sure of retaining reader engagement.

And, finally, avoid speech marks when it comes thoughts. They’re called speech marks for a reason and are best reserved for talking and muttering!

Cited works and related resources

• 3 reasons to use free indirect speech
• Dialogue tags and how to use them in fiction writing
• How to punctuate dialogue in a novel
• How to use apostrophes in fiction writing
• Playing with sentence length
• Playing with the rhythm of fiction: commas and conjunctions
• The Chicago Manual of Style, 17th ed. University of Chicago Press, 2017
• Unveiling your characters: Physical description with style
• Why ‘suddenly’ can spoil your fiction

Repetition of key words and phrases in narrative and dialogue can make the reading experience laborious. There are times, however, when saying something more than once works beautifully. It’s time to talk about anaphora.

What is anaphora?
Anaphora is the deliberate repetition  of words or phrases at the beginning of successive clauses for artistic effect. This literary device is often seen in poetic works and in speeches. It’s also common to see it in children’s books that have a rhyming element.

Anaphora – rhythm, emphasis and emotional back doors
First, repetition of words affects rhythm, which can evoke mood: monotony, boredom, excitement, frustration. Emotions transform a story from just words on a page to a reader experience. Plus, rhythmic writing is memorable and digestible, which helps your reader get under the skin of your novel.

Second, anaphora can be used for the purpose of emphasis. We notice repetition and, while it can jar when not used purposefully, deliberate repetition helps your character or narrator to drive a point home.
​
Third, anaphora is one of a range of tools that will help you keep your writing tight but emotionally rich. Repetition is used purposefully so that the reader understands what the character is feeling, but via a literary back door.

Anaphora and your fiction’s narrative
Reading isn’t just about ingesting words. It’s about experiencing a sense of place and mood. There are different ways in which a writer can help a reader engage with a character and their story.
​
​1. You can tell them what a character’s feeling:

​2. You can show them what’s being felt with action beats:

3. You can nudge them by playing with the rhythmic structures, of which anaphora is one:

None is wrong or right but relying on only one could render your prose dull. Experimenting with different techniques can enrich your narrative.

Anaphora and your fiction’s dialogue
We often use anaphoric constructions in everyday speech, and the fiction writer seeking to mimic that naturally shouldn’t fear using them in dialogue. Here are some examples:

​Note how the repetition adds emphasis and heightens the emotion.
​
Take example (1). The anaphora helps us to feel the character’s frustration and hurt. We don’t need an action beat or dialogue tag to tell us this. There’s no need for the narrator to interject with an explanation. We don’t even need to use italic to nudge the reader towards where the emphasis should be placed in our mind’s ear. The anaphoric speech does it all for us.

Here are examples of how the passage might look with extraneous information:

Used purposefully, anaphora can help writers declutter their dialogue. Readers don’t just focus on the words in the conversation: they also do their own emotional imagining. That can be a more rewarding way of engaging with the story than being told what the character must be feeling.

Anaphora, memorability and overuse
Anaphoric constructions are rhythmic, which makes them memorable. That’s why politicians employ them in their speeches when they’re trying to rally the masses, and why children’s book authors use them to help young readers engage with their stories.
​
Look how Julia Donaldson uses it to gorgeous effect in The Magic Paintbrush:

Still, in a novel, that memorability can work against the writer. If you overuse deliberate repetition, it could become an irritant instead of an engagement device. Readers will view it as a writing pattern, not a writing tool.

As with any literary device, think about peppering rather than littering your prose with anaphora. That way, you maximize the impact. It becomes just one literary device among others that makes your prose interesting.
​
When repetition isn’t a literary device
Sometimes an author can get so carried away with writing that they don’t notice they’ve repeated words. This can make the prose clunky to read. After your first draft, revisit what you’ve written. You might even like to read it out loud or play it through an onboard narration tool on your computer.
​
Anaphora is deliberate repetition. It serves a purpose – to evoke emotion, drive emphasis, or nudge readers towards their own emotional imagining. If multiple uses of a word or phrase aren’t serving artistry, recast the sentence.

​Summing up
Anaphora is one device among several that has a place in the novelist’s toolbox. I’m not advocating removing description or action beats – not at all. Rather, I’m suggesting you might like to experiment with anaphora here and there in your fiction.
​
If you enjoyed this post, check out my other articles on sentence-level mastery.

• 3 reasons to use free indirect speech in crime fiction
• Dialogue tags and how to use them in fiction writing
• How to punctuate dialogue in a novel
• How to use apostrophes in fiction writing: A beginner’s guide
• Playing with sentence length in crime fiction. Is it time to trim the fat?
• Playing with the rhythm of fiction: commas and conjunctions
• Unveiling your characters: Physical description with style
• Why ‘suddenly’ can spoil your crime fiction: Advice for new writers

If you’re struggling to decide what to call your new editing or proofreading business, here’s a 6-step framework to set you on the right path.

Deciding what to call your editing or proofreading business is part of the BRANDING process and needs careful consideration. Follow these steps to work out what’s right for you.

Step 1: Brainstorm a list of possible business names
Let your imagination fly. Put your silly hat on. Then your serious one. Then your smarty-pants one. Anything goes at this point. This is all about you and what floats your boat. There’s no wrong or right – just ideas.

For demonstration, let’s imagine a new proofreader called Basil Rhoueny. Basil is trying to decide on a business name and comes up with the following ideas:

1. Basil Rhoueny | Academic Proofreading Services
2. Basil Rhoueny Editorial
3. Bulletproof Editorial
4. Comma Sutra
5. Full-proof Editorial Services
6. Norfolk Editorial
7. Perfect Prose
​8. Responsible Editing

Step 2: Identify target clients
The next step is for Basil to identify his target clients. If he doesn’t know who he wants to work for, he can’t create a message that compels them – via his business name, his mission statement, his elevator pitch, his web copy, or any other marketing materials.

And if he doesn’t have a compelling message, why would anyone choose him over any one of the tens of thousands of colleagues who are also offer editing services? ‘I’ll edit and proofread anything for anyone’ isn’t a standout proposition. Basil needs to do better.

Even if an editor is prepared to be something of a generalist, I recommend talking like a specialist when communicating with different client groups. On our websites, that means giving visitors signals so that they can navigate to specialist messaging on different pages that focus on solving group-specific problems.
​
Some people know who they want to work for right from the get-go. Some have no clue. Some think they do, but seven years ahead find that they’ve completely shifted their client base. We’ll deal with that issue in Step 6.

For now, let’s imagine that Basil thinks his editorial training, educational background and former career make him best suited to the following client groups:

• academic publishers
• students
• independent academics

Identifying these groups will help him with Steps 3 and 4.

Step 3: Identify core brand values
A brand can be loosely defined as what others think about us – external perceptions. A brand identity is the distinctive business persona we present that nudges target clients to notice the things that we want them to notice. It’s what allows us to influence those external perceptions.

Brand values are the essence of our brand identity. They represent the kind of editorial pro we want to be seen as – the things we stand for, what we’re passionate about, what makes us tick, why we’re different.

Our business name, photographs, colour palette, web copy and marketing materials should reflect our brand values so that the clients we’d most love to work with will most love to work with us.

It’s no small thing to develop a brand identity. If you need help, I have an online course called Branding for Business Growth that can help you develop an emotion-based business brand identity.

Let’s imagine that Basil has identified the following brand values that he wishes to convey at every touchpoint of his business:

• The Editorial Professor – this reflects his desire to proofread knowledgeably and respectfully
• The Green Editor – this reflects his commitment to environmental sustainability and socially responsible, ethical business practice
• The Globalist – this reflects his passion for working with people whose first language isn’t English

Identifying these brand values will help him with Step 5.

Step 4: Serving the client
In this step, Basil revisits his list of business-name ideas and considers whether they’re appropriate for his target client groups: academic publishers, students and independent academics.

1. Basil Rhoueny | Academic Proofreading Services
2. Basil Rhoueny Editorial
3. Bulletproof Editorial
4. Comma Sutra
5. Full-proof Editorial Services
6. Norfolk Editorial
7. Perfect Prose
8. Responsible Editing

He asks himself the following questions:

• Do the business names tell the target client what he’s offering? If people find him online, they’ll likely be deciding in seconds whether he can solve their problems, and therefore whether he’s worth investigating further.
• Is the name available? If existing services exist, clients might become confused about who’s who. Basil’s competitors will be less confused than furious that this newbie is diluting their carefully developed brand identity.
• Will the name be findable by clients who are searching online for someone who can solve their problems?

Names (1) , (2) and (8) best reflect exactly what he’s offering.

Names (3), (5) and (6) are next in line, though they’re less specific.

Name (4) alludes to sentence-level editing work, and some will think it amusing.
However, Basil wonders whether some of his non-native English-speaking clients will get the joke and bypass him.

Name (5) is a problem – there’s an existing established business called Full Proof | Professional Proofreading Solutions.

Names (4) and (7) give him cause for concern regarding their searchability. It’s likely that the words ‘proofreading’ or ‘editing’ or ‘editorial’ will be searched for by potential clients. It’s far less likely that someone will search for ‘comma sutra’ or ‘perfect prose’ if they need proofreading assistance, though they are distinctive.

Name (6), however, might be great for being found in the search engines by local clients.

Basil decides to remove Comma Sutra, Full-proof Editorial Services, and Perfect Prose from the list of contenders.
​
Now he turns to the branding issue.

Step 5: Serving the brand
In this step, Basil revisits his list of business-name ideas and considers whether they’re good brand practice. His remaining names are:

1. Basil Rhoueny | Academic Proofreading Services
2. Basil Rhoueny Editorial
3. Bulletproof Editorial
6. Norfolk Editorial
​8. Responsible Editing

He asks himself the following questions:

• Are the remaining business names distinctive? After all, branding is about showing potential clients those things that set us apart from other editors, not what will make us look like every other editor.
• Do they reflect his brand values (BVs): Editorial Professor, Green Editor, and Globalist?

Basil has an unusual name. If he’d been called John Smith, he might have been easy to confuse with other editors called John Smith, at least in the West. However, either of his remaining business names would work.

There is, however, a good chance that his name might be misspelled. Is this something he needs to worry about if people are searching for him by name? This could be an issue if he’s referring someone to his website by phone, or if a word-of-mouth lead is trying to find him.

Here’s a test. Type ‘louise harby editor’ or ‘louis hornby proofreader’ into the search engines. Can you find me? I can find me! I’m not convinced that tricky-to-spell names are as problematic as we might think.

Back to Basil. Name (3) is at odds with the sentiment of BV-Green Editor. This brand value seeks to nudge potential clients towards thinking of Basil as compassionate, respectful, broad-minded, ethical, warm … someone who can see the bigger picture. The word ‘bullet’ might bring to mind thoughts of violence, death, harm and brutality.
It’s potentially a negative nudge rather than one that evokes positivity.

Name (6), while potentially clickbaity for local searches, doesn’t sit so well with BV-Globalist. Basil would be happy to work with local clients, but he’s not sure he can build a sustainable business on this alone.

Name (8) has a definite though subtle nod to BV-Green Editor.
​
He elects to remove Bulletproof Editorial and Norfolk Editorial from the list of contenders.

Step 6: Think ahead but don’t get bogged down
Can any of us be absolutely sure that what we want to do now is what we will want to do in the years ahead? Choosing a business name requires us to think ahead, but also to be true to who we are and what we’re offering in the present time.

In case you didn’t spot it, Basil’s name is an anagram of mine. When I set up my business in 2005, I was a dedicated proofreader who specialized in working for social-science publishers. If you’d told me back then that by 2016 I’d be specializing in line- and copyediting for indie fiction authors, I’d have been a tad surprised.

But that’s exactly what happened. My original business name was Louise Harnby | Proofreader. My URL was and still is: www.louiseharnbyproofreader.com. My business name now is Louise Harnby | Proofreader & Copyeditor.

It wasn’t actually a big deal to add an ampersand and the word ‘copyeditor’ into my business name and didn’t affect my findability in the search engines. Would it have if I’d changed it to Louise Harnby | Fiction Editor, or Fabulous Fiction Editing, or something else?

Possibly, but Google Search is a tricky beast to master and shifts the goalposts often in a bid to thwart those who’d use black-hat SEO techniques rather than genuine attempts to be interesting and discoverable online.
​
Basil is left with choosing between the following:

• Basil Rhoueny | Academic Proofreading Services
• Basil Rhoueny Editorial
• Responsible Editing

​There are good arguments for the SEO-friendliness of the first two, and the flexibility of the third. My view is that any would work because they are true to his business’s brand identity in different ways.

What’s right for you?
Basil’s brand identity and your brand identity will not be the same because you and Basil are individuals, each with your own businesses, ideal clients, goals, hopes, dreams and passions. The decisions you make will therefore be different to the one Basil makes. That’s fine.

Will there be a perfect solution? Unlikely. There will be choices to be made.

• You might decide it would be to your advantage to have a short name rather than a long one.
• You might choose a little SEO clickbait over humour.
• You might choose a punny name over a more straightforward business name.
• You might opt for flexibility over specificity.
• You might choose memorability at the expense of spellability.
• You might elect to incorporate the essence of your political or social values.

What’s important is that you choose a business name that you feel comfortable with: one that reflects your brand identity and nudges your ideal clients towards an awareness of the kind of editor you are and why you’ll be a great fit with them; one that alludes to what you do.

Here are just a few of my favourites:

• A Novel Edit: Beth Hill specializes in helping authors prepare for submission to agents and publishers. The gentle and humorous play on words in her business name evokes a sense of freshness and vision.
  
• Enigma Editorial: Cally Worden specializes in editing mystery, crime and thrillers. Her business name tells us what she's passionate about. It's also short and snappy, and avoids cliche.
  
• Denise Cowle Editorial: Denise specializes in editing non-fiction for businesses and publishers. Her surname is unusual, and her business name capitalizes on this. We know immediately who we're dealing with, and that makes it personal.
  
• Le Mot Juste: Sarah Patey specializes in non-fiction editing and translation. The business name reflects her language skills and her commitment to detail and accuracy.
  
• Liminal Pages: Sophie Playle specializes in editing speculative fiction. Her business name reflects the pushing of boundaries that exists within the novels she works on. It's also sounds elegant to my ear.
  
• Radical Copyediting: Alex Kapitan specializes in helping authors and publishers use equitable and inclusive language. The business name reflects Alex's values and includes some SEO functionality.
  
• Wordstitch Editorial: Hazel Bird specializes in non-fiction editing and editorial project management. Her business name embodies a sense of editing as a craft, and evokes a strong sense of her commitment to detail and precision.
  

It’s likely your choice will not be clear cut. Try not to get bogged down by that. Business names alone will not make you visible or discoverable. The compromises you make can be offset by other business-promotion activities that strengthen your online presence.

Happy naming!

Novels and screenplays are two very different art forms. When a story is presented to a reader as if it were something being watched in a cinema or on TV, the book begins to wobble.

Great screenwriters can be great novelists, but being the former doesn’t guarantee the latter.

Description and dialogue
When a novelist approaches their story as if it’s going to be watched, the narrative and dialogue can become overwritten.

In TV shows and movies, characters do lots of quite mundane things – walking into and out of rooms, opening and shutting doors, scratching their heads, putting the kettle on, wringing their hands, frowning, standing up, sitting down, walking over to windows and gazing out of them, picking up tea cups or beer bottles and taking a sip or a slug.

They say hello and goodbye, and hmm, mmm, er, um and aah as they talk to each other and themselves.

All this stuff happens quickly and provides a backdrop to the main action and dialogue. Sometimes there’ll be a backing track to assist with mood creation.

Some of that mundane stuff can go into a novel, but when it’s replicated in full it can be tedious to read and does nothing to drive the novel forward.

Example: taut description and dialogue in a novel
Here’s a scene from Harlan Coben’s Don’t Let Go (Penguin Random House, 2017, p. 201). There are 122 words.

Example: description and dialogue in a screenplay
If we were watching that on TV, we’d be shown a great deal more.​

• We’d the see colour of the garage, the material it’s constructed from, the car pulling up and stopping.
• The driver would switch off the engine, then both men would undo their seatbelts, exit the car, close their doors and walk to the garage. One would open the side door and they’d both walk through as the door closed behind them. Then they’d walk down the steps, reach the door of the basement and open it.
• Once in the room, David would flick the light switch, walk over to the safe, bend down, move the dial, left, then right, then left again.
• The camera might flip from the concentration on his face and the beads of sweat on his forehead to the way his trousers pull down over his backside as he bends.
• We might watch and hear his laboured breathing or the slight grunt he lets out as he works.
• He might scratch his face, touch his hair, purse his lips, or look up at the other man (Nap).
• Nap, meanwhile, would be doing a bunch of things with his own body.
• As for the conversation, either man might sigh, pause, stammer, belch or cough at any point, and at no time would it moderate the pace of the film because the camera can show us many of these things simultaneously.

In his book, Coben omits almost all of that.

Instead, he lets the reader do the work. Good choice because all that stage direction would be boring to read. It could take a page to get through it all, maybe two, and none of it would drive the novel forward.

He gives us just enough to imagine the setting in our mind’s eye, then gets down to business with the interesting elements of the story.

He and we know that no one’s walking through doors spectre-like; they need to be opened and shut. No one’s leaving the car running; the engine will be switched off. And natural speech invariably includes noise and pause.

Example: overwriting in a novel
Here’s my mangled example of how that might have looked if the detail of the screen version had been written into the novel. There are 421 words.

Word dump
Writers who choose to write novels for viewers rather than readers risk adding ten, maybe twenty thousand words to their books that don’t need to be in there.

I’m not advocating removing description; I’m advocating writing for the page. That means making sure that the description is relevant rather than suffocating, enriching rather than boring.

If you have pages of characters making small talk about how they take their coffee over the noise the kettle’s making, that small talk needs to be central to the plot. So does the whistle of the kettle. And if it takes 500 words to get your character out of their car, there needs to be a reason for that.

If that information is just filler, give your reader the nudges they need and dump the rest into a box for when you write the screenplay version. Your director will the delighted! 

Viewpoint characters
Viewpoint can unravel when a novelist approaches their story like a screenwriter.

When a novelist selects a viewpoint character for a section or chapter of their book, the reader will experience the story through that character’s perspective – what they see, smell, hear, touch and think.

Viewpoint characters allow the reader to immerse themselves in the moment, and for that reason they’re tremendously enriching.

Example: viewpoint on the screen 
Imagine watching this short scene on TV:

1. One of the characters, Matt, ducks under a hedge. We seem him grimacing, shutting his eyes tightly. Then the camera cuts to a close-up of the thorns in the hedge pressing into his head. Perhaps there’s a trickle of blood down one side of his neck.
2. The camera stays with Matt and we see him mouth the word ‘bitch’.
3. We hear the clip-clopping of heels, and the camera moves to a lone woman on a footpath in the garden – Adriana. She speaks into her phone, saying, ‘He can’t have gone far. Find him and take him out,’ then rubs her throat. She continues to talk, telling the person on the other end of the line that she’d had a skinful the previous night and is furious about Matt’s interference, which is all she needs because she feels like she has cold coming on.
4. The camera cuts to another character, John. He’s clad in black. We hear him reply to her, telling her not to worry, then watch as he peeks over a wall and sees Adriana.
5. The view shifts to Adriana. She’s putting her phone in her pocket. Her expression is one of anger and frustration.
6. We go back to John. He pulls down a balaclava and moves stealthily towards an area at the back of the house. He’s almost invisible in the darkness of the night but we see him in the shadows because the camera shows us where he is.
7. Now it’s back to Matt. He’s still hunched up in the hedge, eyes wide, body still.
8. The camera zooms out so that we can see Adriana moving ever closer to where Matt’s hiding. She’s getting nearer.
9. The view moves in on Adriana. We see her flinch and purse her lips. She hobbles just a little, then bends to adjust her shoe. The camera view tilts down to her feet and we see the redness of the skin where it’s rubbing against her stilettos.
10. The camera cuts to Matt, still in the hedge. But now he’s smiling, enjoying Adriana’s discomfort.
11. Notice that the viewer can’t know what anyone’s thinking unless we are told through dialogue or facial expression. Gesturing will fill in the gaps. A soundtrack will also create mood.

Example: confused viewpoint in a novel
What some beginner writers do is render the scene in a way that partially mimics the screen version. That’s because they’re familiar with how stories are presented on the TV or in film.

The problem is that there are multiple viewpoints that force the reader to bounce from one character’s experience to another. We never invest in Matt, Adriana or John because as soon as we try to immerse ourselves in the experience of one of those people, we’re dragged into the head of another.

The result is a wonky hybrid of novel and screenplay. We know what everyone’s doing, thinking and seeing. It rips out the tension and destroys the structure of the scene.

Example: singular immersive viewpoint in a novel
If, however, the writer commits to the viewpoint of one character, the prose is very different. In this version, we lose John completely. Adriana is visible but only from Matt’s perspective. We don’t have access to her thoughts, only what Matt thinks might be going on in her head based on what he knows, sees and hears.
​
It’s shorter, certainly, but the tension is back and the writing is tighter.

Summing up
If you’re at the start of your writing journey, take care to craft words for the page, not for the screen. Keep the boring stuff out, even if it’s realistic. You’ll reduce your wordcount but enhance reader engagement.
​
Look to books written by your favourite novelists for inspiration on how to build a beautiful page, rather than the Netflix adaptations. Your writing will be all the better for it, I promise.

If you’ve made yourself visible enough to be asked to quote, that quotation needs to sparkle with value. A poor response is just poor marketing. Here are some ideas about how to offer compelling quotes that go beyond the fee.

Why quoting is a part of marketing
1. You’re not alone
It’s never been easier or quicker to find an editor and get a quotation. That’s great news because any one of us can make ourselves visible. That’s just the first step, though.

Your author has probably asked more than one editor to quote. And so they should have. They’re trying to find the best-fit editor – someone with the right skills, experience, availability, fee structure, and personality.

And just because you’ve made the final three, five, ten (or whatever) doesn’t mean any of you will get the gig. If none of you float the client’s boat, they’ll head back to the search engines and directories in a jiffy. There are plenty more editing fish in the sea.

Never forget the competition when you’re quoting. You’re not alone; you’re one among thousands. Standing out is essential.

​2. Is the author really just asking for a quote?
Most of us have been interviewed at some time. Questions are asked and we respond. But we’re not assessed just on the words that come out of our mouths.

The interviewer(s) will also be influenced (even unintentionally) by how we smile; what we’re wearing; whether we seem friendly, confident and engaged; whether we arrive in a timely manner; and the degree to which the answers we deliver reflect the CV we submitted.

It’s the same when we respond to quotation requests. Our authors, too, will be influenced by the engagement we show, the speed of our response, the tone we use, and whether that matches what they were expecting.

Imagine you and I have just sat down in a restaurant. You ask me what my favourite chocolate is. My response is one of the following:

1. ‘Lindt.’
2. ‘I absolutely love Lindt. It’s delicious. Just thinking about it brings to mind Christmas when I was a kid.’
3. ‘Lindt is my top choice. That company sources high-quality beans from sustainable cocoa-farming programmes.’

If all you want to know is what my favourite chocolate is, then (1) answers the question. But if we’re chatting over dinner, I’m not exactly helping the conversation along. You might think me rather dull. You might be texting Uber. You might already have your coat on.

The other two responses tell you something more about me. Answer (2) might evoke a sense of warmth and openness. Answer (3) might evoke a sense of my political and environmental values. Either way, both show that I’m interested in your question, that I’m prepared to give thought to it.

And maybe I can hold off your Uber text for just a little longer.

Our responses to requests to quote need to demonstrate engagement and thoughtfulness too. Getting a cab with Uber is quick. Deleting an email is quicker.

3. You might be able to change their mind
Perhaps the author’s done their editor search with the intention of sourcing three hundred quid’s worth of proofreading within the next month. Based on the sample you’ve assessed, you think it needs seven hundred pounds’ worth of copyediting. Plus, you’ve got a wait list of six months.

You don’t know what the author’s budget is but that’s not what matters. What matters is that they do, and it’s way lower than what’s in the email you’ve just sent them. And the time frame is just wrong.

When you add value, you might be able to change their mind. Maybe they’ll say:

‘I’d planned to have this turned around within the next few weeks, but you’ve blown me away. You’re worth waiting for.’

Or:

‘I’ll be honest – that’s a lot more than I’d budgeted for. However, you’ve really nailed what I’m struggling with, and I think you’re worth it.’

4. Or they might become your champion
Sometimes you won’t be able to change the author’s mind because the budget or the timing just isn’t right. But that doesn’t mean you won’t stay top of mind. Perhaps they’ll say:

‘I really, really need to get this out now, so I’m going to walk away. But I want you to know that I would have loved you to edit my book. Here’s a testimonial.’

Or:

‘I’m really sad that I can’t afford you. You’re worth every penny. Next time I’ll plan ahead and save up.’

And even though they haven’t hired you, they’ll still be your champion. Perhaps they’ll tell another writer about you, or maybe they will plan ahead with the next book and save up for you.

When you add value, you’re not just quoting for this job, you’re quoting for future jobs too.

5. You’re dealing with people who don’t know you
If you’ve been contacted by someone who’s never met you before, trust issues are already in play. For the less experienced author, sourcing editing can feel like a high-risk venture.

Unlike doctors or electricians, there’s nothing to stop anyone entering professional practice. Editors can’t be struck off.

Here’s what an author recently told me:

‘My problem is one that's all too common across all aspects of the indie publishing landscape. The barriers to entry are few (a website) and the options available to a customer to confirm or verify quality are limited and poor, short of taking a test drive.’

We need to help potential clients confirm or verify quality. Adding value is part of that process.

6. Your brand is at stake
Responses to quotation requests need to be on-brand. Branding is not just about having an eye-catching logo. It’s about conveying the essence of what you stand for at every touchpoint of your business – from your website and business cards to your emails and invoices.

There’s little point in having a compelling website if your quotation responses are forgettable or off-putting.
​
Whether your passion lies in editing for students, academics, corporates, or novelists, your quotations need to reflect that passion. Offering value – something beyond ‘This is what it will cost and when I can do it’ – is one way of reinforcing that brand identity and moving away from an any-old-editor mentality.

How to add value to the quote
1. Include a digital swag bag of relevant hero resources
Let’s imagine your evaluation of the sample indicates problems with dialogue tagging and viewpoint.

What if, in addition to telling the author your price and availability, you gave them two free booklets that offer guidance on how they might rectify those problems in the book you’re quoting for or their future writing.

Even if those booklets are on your website, don’t assume the author has downloaded them. Maybe they didn’t get round to it, or perhaps they found you through a different platform.

Hero content adds value in multiple ways:
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• It demonstrates engagement and thoughtfulness – you’re showing you understand what the client’s problems are, and are providing solutions.
• It offers proof of expertise – you have the knowledge, and that helps to build trust.
• It stands out – most editors don’t offer free booklets or free resources.

2. Do a small sample, even if you haven’t been asked to
Even if you usually charge for sample line/copyedits or proofreads of a thousand or so words, consider doing a short one for free. This delivers value in the form of:

• Engagement and thoughtfulness – you’re giving the author something valuable that they can measure or use for comparative purposes.
• Expertise – you’re demonstrating your abilities; showing the difference it would make if the client were to choose you.
• Acknowledgement of subjectivity – you’re helping the author assess whether your style of editing fits their expectations.

3. Provide a teeny critique
Another option is to offer a mini critique of the sample they’ve sent. I’m not suggesting a five-page report, but rather a few paragraphs that summarize the main problems as you see them, illustrated with a few examples.

As with the free short sample edit, it’s something they can use, and it demonstrates your knowledge of and engagement with their craft.

This is an opportunity to show not only how you’d get under the skin of the writing, but also how working with you would push the author’s project forward.

​4. Be a little personal
How about including a personal snippet that responds to something in their enquiry that truly resonated with you?

• Perhaps they mentioned being inspired by a love of a particular author’s published works. If you’re a fan, too, tell them.
• Maybe they told you this is their first novel. If you’re an editor who’s written fiction, tell them so, and include a few words to show that you understand what it’s like to start out on the writing journey.
• Did something about the premise of their novel really stand out for you in the sample? Maybe you’ve visited a place they mentioned, or have a personal fascination with an aspect of the life/culture/society/history etc. that their story touches on.
• If they’ve expressed concerns about anything – fear of being edited, confidentiality, new-author nerves, then express your empathy and address those issues with solutions.

Whatever you choose to communicate, remember that it’s a small personal connector that says, ‘I get you.’

Don’t make it up. It must be genuine ... the thing that excites you and reflects your desire to invest in the book. When we feel that itch, we’re starting on a journey too, one that compels us to do a standout job. Communicating this in some small way can help you to earn the author’s trust.

5. Show your enthusiasm
Don’t forget to make sure that you sound like you want the job! ‘This is what is will cost and when I can do it’ won’t inspire confidence in any author who’s even slightly nervous about working with an author … not on its own.

If, like me, you love your job, and think it’s a privilege to get paid for doing something you love, use language that conveys that passion. Tell your potential clients that you want to work with them, that you’d relish the chance help them with their writing journey.

Talk to them about the price and your availability, of course. That’s what was asked for and it must be front and centre.

That’s where you should start … because when it comes to the fee you’re offering, it’s not enough to think, I’m worth that. Worth has to be proved. And in a noisy, global online market, that takes effort.

If that effort helps you secure the opportunities to work for your ideal clients, it’ll be time well spent. An editor with no work is not running a business; they’re unemployed. Every minute we spend adding value to our quotations is an investment in employment and business ownership.

Let me know what you do to add value when you quote for work!

***
​With thanks to my fellow editors Cally Worden and Lesley Jones for their inspiring comments and suggestions.

Will your reader immerse themselves in your crime novel’s setting? Will the world you’ve built make sense, even if it’s a work of fantasy? And is it coherent? If you’re not sure, create a wiki.

A world-building wiki will help you keep track of your novel’s environment and the rules that govern it. And that will go some way to protecting your plot and maintaining a logical narrative.

‘But I write crime, not fantasy ...’
Even if your novel’s setting is the world as we know it right now, a world-building wiki is still useful.

I live in a hamlet in Norfolk (the UK one). Some of the things I have to deal with in my day-to-day life are different to those of friends who live only ten miles away in the city of Norwich.

How does all of this relate to fiction writing?

​One of my author clients bases his books in the Colorado Rockies. I know the lie of the land – how the weather affects the local population on a seasonal basis, how the pine smells in the spring, how the mountain passes are treacherous in the winter.

Then there’s the town where the sheriff’s office is located. And it is a sheriff rather than a chief constable who’s in charge of this fictional county’s law enforcement. I know about the guns people carry, the idiomatic turns of phrase they use, and where they tuck their chewing tobacco when they speak.

I live five thousand miles away and have never visited this region of the US, and yet I swear if I drove into that town with a flat tyre, I could locate the garage and a find place to grab a latte while the mechanic was fixing my car – without having to ask a soul.

And that’s because my author is a great world-builder.
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He writes crime thrillers, but he never forgets that most of his readers aren’t cops; that many don’t even live in the US, never mind near the Colorado Rockies; and that no one lives in Rocky Points … because he made it up.

Environments of the not-now and the not-here
Crime fiction is as versatile a genre as any other. For not-here, think about Chris Brookmyre’s Places in the Darkness. The Ciudad de Cielo space station makes the Colorado Rockies seem like a mere hop. It’s crime fiction, but spacey!

For not-now, how about C. J. Sansom’s Shardlake series. It’s crime fiction but the Tudor world in which our lawyer-detective operates bears little resemblance to that of a modern detective.

And then there’s China Miéville’s not-here and not-now The City & The City. It’s a richly gritty world of hardboiled crime fiction where things don’t work in quite the same way. However, the narrative feels utterly reliable.

All three authors are fine crime-writing world-builders, and their plots never unravel because the worlds they’ve shown us work.

Your wiki and your plot
Not everything in your wiki has to end up in your book, but all of the information will help you keep track of who’s who, what’s where, and how. That means you can keep the environment(s) in which your story is set coherent.

Furthermore, if you decide to write a series, your wiki will help you maintain consistency across books. Even if you switch to a new location, even a new planet, and different rules come into play, it’s a space in which you can record the additional information and keep yourself on track.

Let’s look at some of the elements you might include in your crime wiki.

Physical environment
Where does your story take place and how will the geography, geology and climate play with your plot? Does the landscape or the weather restrict or empower your characters, and if so, how?

Real or fantastical, every world must obey its own scientific laws. Continuity is key, and your wiki will help you stay on track.

Imagine your protagonist’s partner dies because the paramedic’s oxygen tank is empty, but they live on a world where the population breathes mainly nitrogen. Even your characters’ inhalations can blow a hole in your plot if you don’t keep track of the rules of your physical environment.
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If you’re setting a story in a real place that you’ve not visited, the wiki is where you record the details you’ll need to stop pedantic locals getting the hump when your hero sprints from the Tube station at Amersham to the next stop on the line. Chalfont & Latimer looks close by on the London Underground map, but trust me, it’s not for sprinting. Embankment to Charing Cross, yes!

Culture, language and faith
Use your wiki to record the ideas, customs, belief systems and social behaviours that distinguish your world, and how those will impact on your characters. Record also how your characters speak, and whether they are out of place in the setting, or fully integrated.

How will you reflect the way people speak in your world? Do people from the region in which the novel’s set have a particular idiom or dialect, and will you express this just through dialogue or in the narrative too?

Will you offer nudges here and there or include it consistently and heavily throughout the book?
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It goes without saying that if you include phrasing in a language you’re not fluent in, get it checked by someone who is. Google Translate is not the tool of choice here.

Rules of governance
Record who’s in control and how the rule of law works in your novel’s setting. If you’re mimicking reality, there might be variations not just between countries but also between states, counties, provinces or municipalities.

Who makes the law? Who upholds it? What powers do they have? What are their titles? Who are they accountable to? What are the checks and balances that restrict them? And what does sentencing and punishment look like in the world you’ve created?

How about the rules of engagement and the customary notifications given to characters apprehended by law enforcement? If a right-to-silence warning is given to a suspect arrested in the UK, and it’s referred to as a Miranda warning, your narrator’s reliability will be compromised. The term ‘caution’ is used in this neck of the woods.

Make notes about the way the jurisprudence system works, and the rights of your world’s citizens in the locations you situate them. For example, time and place will determine how long a person can be held without access to legal representation, and how they might be punished if they’re found guilty of a crime.

If your story is taking place in a fantastical setting, you can decide how all of this works. Still, your wiki will ensure there’s continuity in the way you apply your fictional rule of law to your characters.

Science, technology, engineering and medicine ... and guns
Your wiki is the perfect place to record essential information about science, tech and weaponry – what it is, how it works, who has access to it and what it’s used for.

If you’re going for authenticity, make notes about how it works in the real world. How heavy is a Glock 19, and can a suppressor be attached to the barrel? What noise does a suppressed gun really make – is it just a pop or something louder?

Years ago, I read a novel by a very well-known fantasy and horror writer. One of the subplots hinged on the DNA of a set of identical twins – one egg, one sperm, one zygote, which had split into two embryos. They had almost identical DNA. Only they didn’t because our twins were different sexes. That meant they were fraternal, not identical. The only thing they’d shared was a womb. A technical error pulled the plot to pieces.

Food, drink and dress
What do people eat and drink in this world, and how do they dress?

Are there foodstuffs or materials that are restricted, impractical, unaffordable or impossible to access for some or all of the characters in your world?

Does what people eat and how they dress indicate something about their status, their identity, their belief system, and what are the norms and rules surrounding their choices?

Even if this information isn’t integral to the plot, it can still help your reader immerse themselves in your narrative as they experience the colours, textures, tastes and smells of the world in which your characters are moving.

Heterogeneity in homogeneity
As with real life, just because a group of people share a location, a job, a faith, doesn’t mean they’re all the same.

Unless homogeneity is central to the plot, it can suck the soul from a novel because it’s unusual.

Any other quirks
Record information about any other quirks that are story-specific in a miscellaneous section.

I nearly came undone with my own writing when embarking on a piece of flash fiction centred around where I live in Norfolk. During my research into pheasant shooting, I found out that my wee tale had come undone before I’d put a word on the page.

Initially, I’d centred my plot around a crime being ignored during the summer because of the gunshots from legal pheasant-shooting parties. ​

Summing up
You can include whatever you need to in your wiki. Fundamentally, it’s about consistency and continuity, such that your plot isn’t plundered because you forgot something crucial about your world and how it works.
​
More than that though, a reliable world is a believable world, even if it’s completely fabricated. When your readers feel like they can visit without having to ask where to grab a cuppa, you know you’ve built something beautiful.

Readers want to know what characters look like. Writers want to show them. Here are some tools that will help do it with subtlety rather than a sledgehammer.

We like to know what characters look like because it allows us to picture them in our mind’s eye. That helps us invest.

The author wants us to invest in them, immerse ourselves in their journey, because then we’re more likely to keep on reading.

Still, no reader wants all that information hurled at them as if they’re reading a shopping list, and certainly not in a way that’s cliched or mundane. That’s nothing more than an information dump.

Here are some ideas for how you might unveil your characters’ physical descriptions in ways that are relevant and interesting. I’ve used examples that I’ve enjoyed from published works of crime and speculative fiction.

First things: Pick and choose what to tell
I said above that readers like to know what characters look like. Actually, we don’t necessarily need this detail to immerse ourselves in a character’s experience.

I’ve just finished reading I Am Missing by Tim Weaver. I love the David Raker series, and have read most of the books in it. I can’t recall whether and where Weaver has given me a physical description of his missing-persons investigator, but he certainly didn’t in I Am Missing. And you know what? I didn’t care a jot.

Weaver uses first-person past-tense narratives, which means we uncover the mystery with Raker. We see what he saw, wonder what he wondered, run when he ran. His fear, pain, shock and relief are ours. That’s where the immersion comes, rather than in knowing that he’s X feet tall or has hair the colour of whatever.

Which is to say, you might not need to tell us about the physical appearance of a character to draw us deep into the story.

And even if you do want to give your readers a sense of what a character looks like, we don’t need to know everything. Tell us what’s interesting, what gives us an insight into the way they think or feel, or things they notice that will be relevant later in the story.

Green eyes might be more interesting if they’re surrounded by bags that show tiredness, or creped lids that give a clue to the character’s age. Long elegant fingers might be more deserving of a mention if the owner picked away at their cuticles and made them bleed, perhaps because of anxiety.

Choose the right space
If you decide you want to put a character’s physical traits in front of the reader in one fell swoop, you could follow Roger Hobbs’s approach. Ghostman is a gritty, punchy thriller. Hobbs’s writing is fast and taut.

Five pages into the novel (p. 8) we’re given a description of Jerome Ribbons. Hobbs fires a lot of information at us – skin, height, weight, strength. This is no shopping list, though.

Ribbons is about to carry out a casino heist, and Hobbs uses a description of the character’s physical traits to show us that he’s physically and mentally capable of the crime.

It’s a case of the right words in the right space.

​Show us through another character’s eyes
There’s no better time to show what someone looks like than when a viewpoint character sets eyes on them. We’re already in the viewpoint character’s head, thinking and seeing with them. Their observations are reliable, and it feels natural for the reader to be confronted with descriptions of what’s visible, and why it’s noticeable.

Here’s another excerpt from Ghostman (pp. 31–2).

Jack is the protagonist, and the viewpoint character in this chapter. We see what he saw, and know what he knew. More telling, we learn something about how this character’s appearance belies his nature.

Make your character self-reflect
A viewpoint character’s self-reflection is another useful tool for character description, especially when it includes contrast … that was then, this is now. We don’t feel like we’re reading a shopping list. Instead, the details tell us a story of change – whether that is positive or negative.
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In The Wife Between Us (p. 11), Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen weave Vanessa’s current hair colour, height and weight into a narrative about the challenges she endured when her marriage to a wealthy hedge-fund manager broke down.

Think about what you do when you look in a mirror.
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• I don’t think: there’s a woman with brown hair with an orange streak in it. I think: I need my roots doing because there’s a grey stripe at the hairline that’s really stark against the brown hair and orange streak.
• I don’t think: there’s a woman with blue eyes. I think: I need to get a good night’s sleep tonight because my eyes look bloodshot, more so against the blue irises.

If your character is seeing themselves reflected in a window or mirror, have them notice things about themselves naturally.

Create an out-of-place setting
Might you set a character’s description in a scene where they look out of place?
Philip K. Dick doesn’t use any clever descriptors for Bill Black in Time Out of Joint (p. 19). Instead, the interest comes from how his manner of dress, hairstyle and gait appear old-fashioned to the viewpoint character, Ragle.

It’s less a case of what he looks like than why he looks strange. No matter – the reader knows what they’re looking at.

Show us the viewpoint character’s emotional reactions
Describing how another character’s appearance makes the viewpoint character feel is another trick.

In Bad Luck and Trouble (p. 32), Lee Child uses rather mundane adjectives to describe Neagley, but the emotional impact on the plucky and usually granite-like Reacher, and Child’s typically no-nonsense sentence structure make this description anything but dull. 

​In the above example, Reacher feels awkward. You might use other emotional reactions as a way to open the door to natural-sounding physical description: envy, disgust, desire, for example.

Unveil through dialogue
Character descriptions needn’t come solely through the narrative. Dialogue is perfect for unveiling too because it pushes the details front and centre.
​
In I Am Missing (p. 13), Tim Weaver constructs a discussion between Raker, the protagonist investigator, and his client, Richard Kite. Weaver uses the conversation to show the scarring on Kite’s face.

Of note here is that the author chooses to give us little else about what Kite looks like – hair or eye colour, for example. It’s clever because this character is suffering from dissociative amnesia – unable to recall large chunks of information about himself. He is lost.

The author keeps such tight control over the physical description that we are drawn deeper into Kite’s loss of self, and Raker’s struggle to find any clue to who he is. As I read, he remained almost faceless in my mind’s eye. All I could picture was the harm he’d suffered.

Writers can and should be picky about what they choose to include, and omit, in order to draw a picture and evoke a mood.

Summing up
Do your best to avoid descriptions of characters that read like shopping lists or police reports. Instead, wrap the details around emotions, contrasts, and journeys of change.

​See you next time (said the blue-eyed fiction editor with a bob, who wore size-nine shoes and was five foot eight).

Cited works and further reading

• Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen, The Wife Between Us. Pan, 2018
• Lee Child, Bad Luck and Trouble. Bantam Books, 2011
• Louise Harnby, 3 reasons to use free indirect speech in your crime fiction
• Louise Harnby, Playing with the rhythm of fiction: commas and conjunctions
• Louise Harnby, Playing with sentence length in crime fiction. Is it time to trim the fat?
• Louise Harnby, A beginner's guide to narrative point of view in crime writing
• Philip K. Dick, Time Out of Joint. Vintage, 2002
• Roger Hobbs, Ghostman. Corgi, 2014
• Tim Weaver, I Am Missing. Penguin, 2017

This free booklet offers one example of how an editor or proofreader might approach testing which pricing model works best for their editing and proofreading business.

I discuss how and why I collect data, and the macro and micro insights I've gained that have helped me to grow my editorial income stream.

Hope you find it useful!

Click on the image above to download your copy.

Apostrophes confound some authors. Not knowing how to use them doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer, but getting them wrong can distract a reader and alter the meaning of what you want to say. This guide shows you how to get it right.

What does an apostrophe look like?
The apostrophe is the same mark as a closing single quotation mark: ’ (unicode 2019).

This is worth remembering when you use them in your fiction to indicate the omission of letters at the beginning of a word. More on that further down.

What do apostrophes do?
Apostrophes have two main jobs:

1. To indicate possession
2. To indicate omission

And sometimes a third (though this is rarer and only applies to some expressions):

3. To indicate a plural

​1. Indicating possession
The English language doesn’t have one set of rules that apply universally. However, when it comes to possessive apostrophes, the following will usually apply:

Add an apostrophe after the thing that is doing the possessing.
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• If there is one thing – one noun – an s follows the apostrophe.
• If there’s more than one noun, and the plural noun is formed by adding an s (e.g. 1 horse; 2 horses), no s is required after the apostrophe.
• If there’s more than one noun, and the plural is formed irregularly (e.g. 1 child; 2 children), an s follows the apostrophe.

Possessive apostrophes and names
Names can be tricky. The most common problem I see is authors struggling to place the apostrophe correctly when family names are being used in the possessive case, even more so when the name ends with an s.
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Here are some examples of standard usage to show you how it’s done:

Note that in the Melanie Fields singular-possession example, there are two options. Both are correct but some readers will find the second more difficult to pronounce because there are three s's a row.

Hart’s Rules (4.2.1 Possession) has this advice: 'An apostrophe and s are generally used with personal names ending in an s, x, or z sound […] but an apostrophe alone may be used in cases where an additional s would cause difficulty in pronunciation, typically after longer names that are not accented on the last or penultimate syllable.’

If you're unsure whether to apply the final s in a case like this, use common sense. Read it aloud to see if you can wrap your tongue around it, and decide whether the meaning is clear. Then choose the version that works best and go for consistency across your file. Pedantry shouldn't trump prescriptivism in effective writing.

2. Indicating omission
Indicating omission when one word is created from two
In fiction, we often use contracted forms of two words to create a more natural rhythm in the prose, particularly in dialogue. The apostrophes indicate that letters (and spaces) have been removed.
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Common examples include:

Indicating omission at the beginning, middle and end of single words
We can use an apostrophe to indicate that a letter is missing at the end of a word (dancing – dancin’), the middle of a word (cannot – can’t) and the beginning of a word (horrible – ’orrible).

Start-of-word letter omissions are commonly used in fiction writing to indicate informal speech or a speaker’s accent.

Make sure you use the correct mark. Microsoft Word automatically inserts an opening single quotation mark (‘) when you type it at the beginning of a word because it assumes you’re using it as a speech indicator.

Apostrophes are ALWAYS the closing single quotation mark (’) so do double check if you’re indicating omission at the start of a word.

Indicating omission in numbers and dates
Plural numbers don’t usually require an apostrophe because there’s no ambiguity. In fiction writing, it’s common to spell out numbers for one hundred and below, but even when numerals are used, no apostrophe is needed for plurals.

Omission-indicating apostrophes at the beginning of dates are acceptable according to some style manuals. In the example below, the 1970s is abbreviated. It’s conventional in UK writing to follow the NHR example below.
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In fiction, however, you can avoid the issue by spelling out the dates. This is universally acceptable, and my preference when writing and editing fiction.

3. Indicating a plural with an apostrophe
When indicating the plural of lower-case letters – for example, if you want to refer to two instances of the letter a – it’s essential to use an apostrophe because the addition of only an s will lead to confusion.
​
In the non-standard examples below, you can see how the plurals (in bold) form complete words, resulting in ambiguity.

For that reason, it’s considered standard to use an apostrophe (see The Chicago Manual of Style Online 7.15 and New Hart’s Rules 4.2.2).

When indicating the plural of upper-case letters, the apostrophe would be considered non-standard because there’s no ambiguity.

Avoiding erroneous apostrophes and possessive pronouns
Possessive pronouns are the bane of the apostrophe novice’s writing life, especially its!

The following possessive pronouns NEVER need an apostrophe: hers, theirs, yours and its.

• it’s = the contracted form of it is (or it has)
• its = the possessive pronoun

​If you’re unsure whether to insert an apostrophe in its, say it out loud as it is. If it makes sense, you need an apostrophe; if it doesn’t, you don’t!

Avoiding erroneous apostrophes in plural forms
The apostrophe novice can fall into the trap of creating plural forms of nouns by adding an apostrophe before the final s.

Summary
I hope you’ve found this overview useful. It isn’t exhaustive – there are entire books about apostrophes. Fucking Apostrophes is one of my favourites.

However, when it comes to fiction writing, it’s unlikely that you’ll need to worry about more than the basics covered here.

If you’re stuck on where to stick your apostrophe, feel free to ask me for guidance in the comments.

Further reading

• Fucking Apostrophes (Simon Griffin, Icon Books, 2016)
• How to punctuate dialogue in a novel (article and free booklet)
• Punctuating dialogue in fiction (video series on my YouTube channel)
• New Hart’s Rules (Oxford University Press, 2014)
• The Chicago Manual of Style, 17th ed. (University of Chicago Press, 2017)

Does standing up in front of a room full of editors terrify you? I know that feeling. Still, I learned how to love it, which rather took me by surprise. In this post I show you how I did it.

Let’s talk about nerves
I haven’t conquered my nerves about speaking at editing conferences, but that’s okay. Nerves are normal, even for presentations experts like my friend Simon Raybould.

More on him later, but for now it’s enough to say that feeling nervous is not the same as suffering from a level of anxiety that renders you unable to step out of your comfort zone and try something that could push your editing business forward.

Pushing your business forward
Speaking at editing conferences will push your business forward. You’ll get yourself seen and heard. People will understand more about who you are, what you specialize in, and what you stand for (your brand).

That will lead to opportunities: work referrals, awareness about courses or books that you offer, discounts on the conference registration price (even payment for some gigs), and invitations to speak at other conferences taking place in cities that require a little more effort to get to.

Take me. I live in Norfolk (the UK one). On 7 November, I’ll be speaking at the Society for Editors and Proofreader’s mini-conference in Toronto (register here if you want to join me – it’s now open to non-SfEP members). It’s a massive honour to be invited. I get to talk about my two editorial passions – fiction and marketing!

In 2016, I’d probably have shied away from doing this, despite the opportunity to hang out with my favourite Canadians (and a few of my favourite Americans). The words ‘I’m busy’ would have flown from my mouth just in time to curb the nausea.

In 2017, I might have agreed to do it as long as I was sharing the spotlight with a pal, though the thought would still have made me queasy.

But it’s 2018 and, to my surprise, I’m more than happy to fly solo.

​One way to learn to love it
Loathing turned to love because I changed one thing: I dumped the script.

This is where I get to talk about Simon again, because he’s the person responsible for making me love speaking at editing conferences. In May 2018, he wrote a blog post for me called 6 tips to help you speak in public with confidence. Tip 4 asks us not to use a script.

I was gobsmacked. There was no way in hell I’d dare stand up in front of a group of my peers without having every word of my presentation memorized!

We had a long chat about it over Skype, and by the end of that conversation he’d convinced me it was worth testing.

And so when the SfEP’s conference director, Beth Hamer, asked me to do a two-hour session, on my own, at the annual conference in Lancaster, I promised her I would. And I promised myself I’d do it without a script.

3 snags with scripts
Scripts are inherently problematic.

Snag 1:  They take time to learn, especially if you’re going to be talking for an hour. Unless you have a brilliant memory. Which I don’t.

Snag 2: They’re hard to remember. If they were easy to remember, more of us would be on the stage. Which I’m not.

Snag 3: They’re difficult to deliver well. If they were easy to deliver well, more of us would have Oscars and BAFTAs. Which I don’t.

No wonder so many of us cringe at the thought of speaking at editing conferences.

Even if we manage to learn the damn script, what are the chances that we’ll remember it, given how nervous we are? And if we’re uptight about remembering, what are the chances that we’re going to deliver our script in a way that’s engaging and informative?

This is the kind of stuff that’s always been in my head when I think about presenting. All of which can be summed up as follows: at what point will I fail?

Going scriptless
You can’t fluff a script that doesn’t exist. That in itself gets rid of snags (1) and (2). All you can do is talk about the thing you’ve agreed to talk about.

We’re not in the pub or having lunch with our mates, so we still need a structure.

I am not a perfect presenter, not by any stretch. But I have embraced an approach that means I will present, and I will enjoy it.

This is how I do it:
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• Create a list of every learning point my audience needs to know by the time they walk out of the lecture room.
• Create a slide with an image that illustrates that learning point – that’s my trigger to explain it.
• Glance at the slide for the trigger, then face my audience and talk about that learning point.
• Click to the next slide. Glance at it, then face my audience and talk.
• Repeat until I’m done.

Because you’re talking rather than delivering a script, you’ll sound more natural. And because you can’t forget any of the key learning points, you’ll feel more relaxed. That’s snag (3) dealt with.
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There are caveats, of course. You must know your stuff. And you should rehearse. Each rehearsal will be different because you don’t have a script, but you will prove to yourself that you can talk through every one of the key learning points.

Being imperfect – audience expectations
Will you stumble if you’re scriptless? Maybe. Probably. I stumbled several times in Lancaster. But I loved every minute of that workshop. I felt relaxed, and as I talked I was in the moment, not tuned into the next thing I needed to remember.

And the delegates gave me some amazing feedback. That they enjoyed it is the most important thing of all. I’m sold on scriptlessness!

Plus, having a script doesn’t mean you won’t stumble. You’re human, after all. The difference is that when you’re scriptless, you get to stumble just because you stumbled, not because you forgot anything important or because you were distracted by the pressure of having to remember what’s up next.

Here’s something Simon told me during our Skype chat:

Your audience will forgive you if you trip up over a word.

Your audience will forgive you if you stammer.

Your audience will forgive you if you fluff a line and have to restart the sentence and explain something in a different way.

Your audience will forgive you for just being an editor rather than a TED Talk speaker.

What your audience will not forgive is your failing to deliver the key learning points that you promised you would ... for wasting their time.

At the larger editing conferences, delegates have to choose which sessions to attend. So I know that when someone chooses to come to mine, they’re probably missing at least two workshops they’d have learned something valuable from. That I don’t teach them what I promised is unacceptable. And that is the only way I can fail.

When will I see you again?
If you can get to Toronto on 7 November 2018, please come and listen to me talking about how to build a knockout home page, getting fiction editing work, and marketing an editing business.

Will I fluff my words? More than likely. Will I fail? No. I’ve already created slides for my key learning points and rehearsed what I’ll chat about.

I might well stumble and stammer, but I will smile at you as I do so, and I will deliver what I've promised!

​In this article, I offer 12 tips on how to make your book file editor-ready.

Interior book design is something that should be carried out after your book’s been edited, not before.

If you’re creating a printed book, post-design page proofs are perfect for the proofreader because they can check not only your spelling, punctuation and grammar but also the layout.

Page proofs are either hard-copy or PDF versions of the book that are laid out exactly as they will appear in the final printed version.

You and your proofreader will be looking at what the reader would see if they were to walk into a bookshop, pull the title off the shelf and browse through the pages … almost. The proofreader’s job is to ensure that any final errors and layout problems have been attended to before the book is printed.

For a comprehensive overview of what needs to be attended to when proofreading designed page proofs, read this: Proofreading checklist: How to check page proofs like a professional.

With copyediting (and proofreading raw-text files for digital books), it’s a different story ...

Working with raw-text files
If you are asking a professional editor to work on the raw text of your book, follow these 12 recommendations to ensure that the file is editor-friendly.

The good news is this: it means less work for you, not more, because you’re not having to design anything … not yet, anyway.

1. File format
Most professional fiction editors work in Microsoft Word. That’s because, despite the odd glitch, it’s still the best word-processing software on the planet.

It has a range of excellent onboard tools that help your editor style the various elements of your text consistently, and quickly locate potential problems that might need fixing.

Word is compatible with a host of macros that complement the editor’s brain and eye. That means they can add an extra level of quality-control to the edit efficiently.

Even if you’ve written your book in a different program – for example, Scrivener, Google Docs or Apple Pages – place the text in a Word file before you send it to your editor. You’ll get a better-quality book edit, I promise.

2. Number of files
Unless you’ve agreed with your book editor to work serially – i.e. on a chapter-by-chapter basis – create a single master file that contains the full text of your novel.
If you send them 75 separate chapters, all they’ll do is combine them into one file … after they’ve finished weeping with frustration.

Editors want to ensure that your book is consistent – that Kathyrn doesn’t become Katherine, Catherine or Cathryn. There are Word plug-ins that can help them identify problems like this efficiently but they’re only effective if the editor is working with a single file.

The same applies to ensuring that the various elements of your text are formatted consistently. For example, it’s conventional for the first paragraph in a chapter or section to be full-out (not indented). Your editor can use Word’s styles palette to define the appearance of a first paragraph.

Once the style has been set, it’s a case of applying it to every relevant paragraph in the file. If they don’t have a master file to work with, they’ll have to create a new style for each one of your 75 chapters or import that style for the same.

Fiction editors love master files, and they will love you if that’s what you provide.

3. Fonts
You might have decided to use an unconventional font for your book interior. You’re perfectly entitled to use any font you choose ... just spare a thought for your editor’s eyes.

When it comes to the editing stage, stick to something like Times New Roman, size 14. It’s a serif font, which means it’s easy on the eye. The less your editor struggles to read the text, the better the quality of their work.

4. Colours
I recommend you use black text on a white page. Again, it’s about readability.
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The white text on the coloured blocks below certainly stands out, and the contrast is visually appealing, but for editing purposes it’s a challenge.

A couple of years ago, I was asked to copyedit a fabulous book for an indie author. The pages were black, the text pink. The first thing I asked him – no, begged him – was for permission to change the file’s appearance to something more conventional.

He agreed to save the quirky colourway for the design stage and I was immensely grateful. So was he. I’d have had to increase my price because I would have edited more slowly.

5. Paragraphs
Open any novel on your bookshelf and it’s likely you’ll see a text layout something like this:

Those indented paragraphs are not made using the tab key. Instead, use Word’s ribbon to create proper indents.

To find out how to create a body-text style with proper indents, watch this video tutorial: Self-editing your fiction in Word: How to use styles.

6. Spacing
At line and copyediting stage, don’t worry about how many pages your text covers. Instead, give your editor a file with the lines spaced so that the text is easy to read. Setting the line spacing at 1.25 or 1.5 works well for a font size of 12 or 14.

The line spacing function can be located by right-clicking on text and selecting PARAGRAPH. A window will open. Make sure you’re in the INDENTS AND SPACING tab. Then amend the LINE SPACING field.

7. Chapter headings
Your editor will adore you if you assign your chapter headings with one of Word’s heading styles:

You can even modify the style so that it automatically starts on a fresh page.
Right-click on the heading style, select MODIFY, then FORMAT, then PARAGRAPH. A window will open. Make sure you’re in the LINE AND PAGE BREAKS tab. Check the PAGE BREAK BEFORE box.

Why is this useful?

• It means you won’t need to hit the return button 23+ times to get the cursor to the top of the next page when you begin a new chapter.
• You’ll provide your editor with a quick way of ensuring that all chapters are listed chronologically because they’ll appear in a list in Word’s Navigation menu. If your chapters are numbered, any problems will be easy to identify.

8. Page numbers
In a raw-text work of fiction, there’s no need for page numbers or other headers and footers.
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Word records the page number in the bottom-left-hand corner of the screen of a PC, and that’s what an editor will refer to if they need to direct your attention to a specific page.

If you plan to upload a later version of your file for ebook creation, your page numbers will need to be removed anyway.

If you’re printing, save the page numbering for design stage.

9. Section breaks
I recommend introducing three asterisks (***) to indicate a section break. You can change them at design stage of course, but they’re handy at editing stage because your editor can see that you intend for there to be a section break.

Why not just have a line space? Because sometimes a writer will accidentally hit the return button twice. Your editor will have to spend time working out whether the break is intended rather than focusing on the flow of your text and any errors that need correcting.

10. Pictures/images
If your editor needs to check copy against images and their captions, consider placing these in a separate file.

Images, especially high-resolution ones, will increase the size of your book file massively, and slow down refreshing when the editor saves. And your editor will save once every few seconds.

Sounds bonkers, doesn't it? But the editor who doesn't save regularly is the editor who finds they've lost a precious half-hour's worth of editing because there was a power cut, or a hurricane, or the oven exploded, or whatever.

And when they come to email your edited file full of hi-res images, it will be so huge that they'll have to use an external cloud-based transfer service. The file will take an hour to load (unless they have rubbish broadband speed, in which case it will take two or three hours).

They'll do the transfer in the evening so that it doesn't slow them down while they're working, meaning their teenage kid will start moaning and giving them that look because Netflix is buffering or Minecraft won't load, or something equally devastating. Save us, I beg you. 

On top of all that, amendments, deletions, and additions to the text will cause your carefully placed images to shift into spaces you didn't intend. Better to leave image placement to interior-design stage. It'll save you and your editor time and tears.

​11. Manual tables of contents
If you've created a table of contents in a Word file prior to copyediting, there's a good chance that a chunk of your page numbers and some of the chapter titles will be wrong by the time your editor has finished. 

Of course, you can pay them to fix these too. But that could add an extra hour's work onto your bill. Worse, you'll be wasting your money because when the book's interior is designed, everything will change again.

I know this because when I proofread for publishers (and that means I'm working on designed page proofs that have been edited multiple times and designed by a professional interior formatter) the table of contents is always messed up.

Sort out your table of contents before you do your final design, not at copyediting stage. It'll save you money, I promise.

12. Manual index
I'm adding this one in for non-fiction writers, just in case you're reading.

If the page numbers against a table of contents get messed up during copyediting, the damage to an index is nothing short of catastrophic.

It's not just the page numbers, but the indexed entries too. Spellings might change, so might compound hyphenation. Some key terms will have been removed or changed. Others will have been added.

Indexing should come after proofreading, ideally, but certainly not at copyediting stage.

Summing up
These are just suggestions, not book law, editing law, any kind of law. However, your editor will love you if you make life easier for them, not because they’re lazy but because they want to focus on making your narrative and dialogue sing rather than formatting text so that it’s readable.

There’s absolutely a time and a place for great interior design, but pre-editing stage is not it. Save yourself the bother and keep it simple.

For more raw-text tidy-up tips, grab this free booklet: The Author’s Proofreading Companion.

Fancy watching a video instead? Here you go!

There's a new podcast in town ... or there will be in January 2019! And it's all about editing and writing for indie authors.

What is it and who is it for?
Editing your book is essential, whether you do it yourself or work with a pro. This podcast will explore ways in which independent authors can make their publishing journeys easier.

If you want to learn how to improve your writing and self-editing with tips, tools and guidance, The Editing Podcast is for you.

Who are the hosts?
Denise Cowle and Louise Harnby are your hosts. We thought it would be fun to have two of us talking with each other rather than one of us talk at you. 

Plus, we have different but complementary specialist experience, which means we can cover more topics with authority.

​Why should you bother listening?
Because we really do know what we're talking about!

• We're experienced professional editors who've edited millions of words in fiction and non-fiction.
• We're Advanced Professional Members of the Society for Editors and Proofreaders.
• We're champions of independent publishing, although we both have extensive experience of working with mainstream publishers too.
• We provide training for fellow editors to help them improve their skills and grow their editorial businesses.

We have a lot in common! Having said that, our editing passions have gone in different directions. Denise is a non-fiction editor while Louise is a fiction specialist. That means we can ensure the episodes are balanced, and of value to indie authors regardless of subject or genre.

What we'll be talking about
We currently have over 50 topics lined up for discussion. Here's a selection that will give you a flavour of what's in the pipeline:

• The different levels of editing and the order of play
• The benefits of working with a professional editor
• How much pro editing costs, and how you can save money
• Self-editing tools
• Style manuals: what they are and how you should use them
• Common problems in beginner writing and how to solve them
• Sample edits: costs, benefits and evaluation
• Style sheets: what to include and how to use them
• Working with editors from other countries: benefits and challenges
• Zombie rules: why what you were taught at school isn’t necessarily best for your writing.
• Spelling variations
• Formatting guidance based on industry standards
• The editing you need if you're working with an agent
• Publishing lingo explained

When and how often will we air?
Season 1 of The Editing Podcast will air weekly from January 2019.

Each season will include 10 standalone episodes of complementary topics. That means you can listen to them when you want and in the order of your choosing. 

You'll be able to access the podcast via Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, our Libsyn podcast page, and both our websites.
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Get in touch or subscribe
We’re really looking forward to making your writing and editing life easier! To stay in the loop, visit The Editing Podcast’s Facebook page and subscribe to our YouTube channel.

And if there's a problem you'd like us to solve on the podcast, get in touch.

If you're a first-time writer, working out which editorial services you need help with and what you can do yourself can be tricky. Is proofreading enough or do you need additional assistance? A key question is: How does your reader dance?

Here's a free PDF booklet that covers the key issues. In it, you'll find guidance on:

• The different levels of fiction editing: developmental editing, line editing, copyediting and proofreading
• Which services you might need: including thoughts from Silo series author Hugh Howey
• Your readers' perspective: are they free-wheelers or pedants, and how might this impact on reviews and sales?
• What's possible at proofreading stage: why your proofreader isn't a magician

Click on the image below to get your free copy.

What is flash fiction and can its creation make us better writers and better editors?

​In July 2018, I wrote my first piece of flash fiction and submitted it to the Noirwich Crime Writing Festival’s flash fiction competition. Here’s what I learned.

What is flash fiction?
Think of a tiny story that packs a large wallop … that’s flash fiction. It’s not always called that. Some call it micro fiction, others nano fiction. I’ve also heard it called the shortie, short-short and postcard fiction.

How long is it? There’s no consensus other than it’s short ... very short. Some types of flash fiction have established word counts – the dribble with 50 words, the drabble with 100 words, and Twitterature – ­­no more than 280 characters. If Twitterature seems like a challenge, imagine writing it when the character-count limitation was 140!

So what are the key components and what can they teach writers of longer-form fiction?

1. Brevity – making every word count
Keeping things tight is one of the biggest challenges faced by many of the beginner novelists I work with.

Overwriting usually occurs because the author hasn’t yet learned to trust their reader. Will that single adjective be enough? Maybe another sentence that says a similar thing would be in order, just for clarification …

Often, it’s not a reflection of a writer’s ability to write, but about confidence. Getting the balance right comes with experience and not a little courage. A line editor can help with overwriting – they bring fresh eyes to the book, and can advise on what can safely be removed without damaging flow, sense, rhythm and tension, and in a way that respects style and voice.

Flash fiction helps writers practise the art of precision in the extreme. And when it comes to self-editing your novel, you can ask yourself this: ‘If this were a short story and my word count was restricted, is this the way I’d construct this sentence?’

The answer might be ‘No, but I’d be missing an opportunity to enrich the narrative and the dialogue in a way that’s best for my book.’ That’s a great answer. Still, the flash fiction writer is forced to be disciplined, and when it comes to writing longer works, that discipline will get you used to thinking in terms of making sure every word counts, and comfortable with removing those that don’t.

A limited word count also encourages writers to experiment with literary devices such as free indirect speech, sentence fragments, action beats, and asyndeton, all of which can facilitate brevity but enrich tension, immediacy, mood and rhythm. 

2. Structure – shaping the story
Stories need structure. No writer wants to get to the end of their novel only to realize that the denouement occurred ten chapters earlier. Sophie Hannah calls it ‘story architecture’, which I think is both a practical and a beautiful way of thinking about how a writer helps their readers experience a novel.

There are different ways to shape stories but the most common is the three-act structure. First, the beginning or hook that draws us in. Second, the middle where the confrontation takes place. This is where we come to understand the characters’ motivations and the conflict or obstacles in their way. Third, is the end where the denouement or resolution occurs.

Says Julia Crouch, ‘If you have any storytelling bones in you at all, you will more than likely, even subconsciously, end up with a structure like this.’

How does flash fiction help? Do you even need to worry about structure when you’re writing such a short piece of work?

Absolutely! No one will enjoy an 80,000-word novel that’s poorly structured. The same applies to 800 words. The only difference is that with flash fiction they’ll lose interest quicker.

Flash fiction is a story form in its own right. It’s not about pulling an excerpt from a longer-form piece of writing. Flash must have structure – a beginning, a middle and an end. Something must happen to someone or something, and readers must leave the story feeling satisfied, that the story is complete, that they’ve been on a journey, albeit a short one.

Without structure, it will descend into nothing more than an extract.

Perhaps flash is akin to poetry – squeezing big ideas into small spaces. That too, though, is good practice for the novelist, because it encourages writers to think about the discipline of shaping, and the journey that the reader will be taken on.

3. Strong endings – surprises and twists
There’s nothing more disappointing than a book that hooks you into turning page after page only to sag into a giant anti-climax.

‘Endings are so important to the reader and you will never please everyone,’ says Nicola Morgan. ‘Readers do want the end to feel “right”, though. They have spent time with these characters and they care what happens to them.’

How and when novelists decide to tie up all or most of the loose ends will depend on style, genre, and whether the book is part of a series, but there must be some sort of closure so that your readers aren’t left hanging.

Flash fiction is a challenge to write, but it’s a challenge to read too, particularly for those who love to get stuck into a world and the characters who move around within it.

It’s therefore an excellent format in which to practice packing a final punch, even if that amounts to just one or two sentences. This form of writing also allows writers to play with readers’ expectations of resolution in quirky ways.

You might decide to evoke a laugh, or a shudder, or shock, or a sense of poignancy, but the reader should feel something such that even though you’ve only written a few hundred words the story is memorable.

Here are some additional tips that you might consider if writing flash fiction appeals.

Flash fiction tips #1: Seek immediacy
Which tense will you use?

At the time of writing, I’ve written eight flash fiction stories, none of more than 900 words. In all but two I instinctively opted for the present tense. I didn’t notice my predilection un