I related powerfully to this LinkedIn post from a fellow editor. Her words got me thinking—for pages and days—and along the way my ideas went through mitosis. What started as one essay became two.

For those who like an outline, over the next two posts I will explore three theses:

Today I’ll explore the first two ideas. I’ll cover the third in the second essay. Ultreia et suseia! 

Each time I work with a writer, I feel great anticipation to walk with them and empower them, but I also feel a little nervous at the faith they put in me to help them navigate their communication journey. I suppose it is not too different from the excitement and trepidation the writer feels when they first dare to discover and express through words. Or when they choose their editorial guide.

I think a little nervousness is healthy for the writer and the editor. After all, we will not be simply shining the proverbial shoes. We will strap on those shoes to conduct the writer’s words—and the writer—on a pilgrimage of connection.

In a developmental edit, for instance, my client and I will quest to find the unknowns hidden in their words, and consider how those integrate with the known. I will help them probe their relationship with their subject matter, manuscript, and audience so the writer can reflect more deeply and decide more precisely what their communication goals are. I will help them draw a clearer map of their creative landscape so they can navigate with sharper vision and surer footing. And I will empower the writer with revision options so they can choose how to groom the word path for readers.

This is all expected and offered in one of my developmental edits, because the author and I share an understanding that they want to help their audience just like I want to help the author: to have a rich and memorable encounter with meaning and the person sharing it.

As I said, editing is a big deal … because the writing is … because the writer and their audience are. It’s always been thus. Many years and projects have only deepened my reverence for how valuable this work is, as well as for the mutual trust that must exist between writer and editor.

The creative process is a sojourn to say the least, and along the way what is energizing and what is exhausting are often the same thing. Working in words is amazing and also demanding. Just like getting out a first draft. Just like making revisions (and making revisions, and making…). Also demanding? Building an audience. Finding an agent or interested publisher. And so on.

The writer’s journey leads over peaks and through vales in all sorts of weather. This is true while they work with a developmental editor to pick the right words to lead through the wilds of story and theme; or with a line editor to cultivate that path more precisely; or with a copy editor to sweep the path, snip the brambles, and make sure the signs are error-free.

The demanding nature of creation also shows up in the business decisions a writer must make. I understand completely when they anxiously weigh who is the right editor for a given stage of the journey (or when an editor feels similar concern about getting it right as they walk beside a writer). Because, again, these are big steps for the writer along their monumental way. A writer deserves an editor who will be a good custodian of the precious word cargo. They also need—even if they do not consciously express it—a partner and advocate who empathizes with them and encourages them to stay the course through the grind.

In light of how challenging and multi-dimensional any writer’s journey is, and in light of the pressure a writer and their editors feel to make good on the needs of the creator in the revision stages, everyone looks for a sure sign that progress is being made (and in the right direction).

Here we arrive at thesis one, for in many cases the only landmark we look out for is:

The question is informed by valid expectations. Few writers don’t want to be published in some fashion. And a writer deserves to get essential, noteworthy progress out of their investment in an editor. And a good editor strives to deliver that value.

Finishing any piece of writing is a tantalizing vision, for writer and editor. For the writer, it means standing on the other side of the moody terrain of making and revising. Shedding all the gear that difficult phase required. Equipping oneself for the next, theoretically more important legs of the journey: publication, readership, making a broad impact. (We’ll return to these later stages in part two.) For the editor, it signifies pride but maybe even more relief—relief in the face of confirmation that they are, in fact, able to deliver on their promises. They are not merely a competent editor but a stellar one: look how they helped this author get published!

I empathize with these feelings. As a writer and an editor, I often feel them. And I respect the value of remembering such ambitions during the editing work. Among other things, the urge to be done helps fuel a writer’s will to conduct the hard work of revision and goads an editor to stay on their A-game.

Yet I also observe risks—damaging risks—in our habit of focusing on the horizon as we hurtle along the creative path. And here I arrive at thesis two, while my thoughts also return to the article which inspired these reflections. I see in that editor’s worries—which are my own when I work with a writer—echoes of a syndrome which I believe afflicts most of us in the world of writing.

Because upon deeper inspection, the shared assumption—the shared expectation—that the editor will lead the writer along an optimized and flawless route to the finish line is a very narrow definition of “value”—not to mention of what writing and editing are for. And this inherited (also self-imposed) pressure creates enormous stress and missed opportunities for all involved.

I’ll say it again: we writers and editors miss out on a lot of the added value at our fingertips when we work from a single-minded concern to reach the final destination.

In a writer’s mind, that destination is usually publication. In an editor’s mind it is also often getting the writer published, but more intimately it usually means an impeccable manuscript. In either case, if the words do not reach that place beyond a shadow of a doubt, then editing (the thinking goes) has failed. The editor has failed. The writer has failed.

Oof! If there is any room for joy or growth—or profound, lasting satisfaction and success—in this high-stakes process, surely it happens by accident.

And so we arrive at thesis two:

Let’s start by taking a closer look at what we mean by publication.

Publication is what MBAs would call a lagging indicator: a desired outcome. We have acknowledged that there are important respects in which this is an appropriate way to evaluate an editor’s services. Yet it is interesting to pause and ponder just what we really mean when we say publication is the goal the writer and editor must achieve.

What publication stands for depends in part on the writer (or the editor). I am willing to venture it often implies relevance, broad acceptance by society (celebration) or at least attention (notoriety), wealth (again, relative to the writer), and, on a more private level, the satisfaction of a project concluded—scratching the instinctive itch to have started and finished something. What does “publication” mean for you?

Regardless of what it conjures in our imaginations, what is important here is to observe that it is only one measurement—one of many lagging indicators—one vector that define an excellent editing experience. But like a rut worn by driving rain into a dirt road, a singular focus on publication flushes us past all the other brilliant moments of growth and inspiration and connection that editing offers.

As I have said at other times, a writer achieves enormously just by picking up a pen (what dignity and courage are required to take that step!). They achieve by completing a draft (if you know you know what perseverance this requires). They achieve by enlisting beta readers (how brave and amazing, this first time they risk sharing their fledgling efforts with others in order to creatively be seen and heard). And a writer achieves by collaborating with an editor to engage in deep analysis and revision—which shows such dedication to craft, self, and excellence.

The editor likewise achieves mightily, independent of whether they ship a writer by express container straight into publication. For through their labor, an editor esteems the writer, they summon all their acumen to empower the writer, they faithfully assist the writer in learning how to position a pen at the most advantageous angle over the page.

And the editor furnishes not just wisdom but respect and companionship. They may be the writer’s first real cheerleader and advocate, the first professional bearer of celebratory witness to the writer as they help to revise the words into a clearer, more resounding form.

Here I can only offer my own experience. I encourage you to reflect and determine your own definitions.

I bend all my efforts as an editor and writer to helping my clients accomplish their ultimate goals … but not to the neglect of process. A big part of my strategy is to put the noisy question of publication at a distance so that the room can grow quiet. Then I try to communicate with my client in a way that helps them relax, slow down, and relish revision.

I believe this helps a writer cultivate a deeper relationship with themselves, with their words, and with their desired audience. It helps them to discover the joy and success to be grasped right now in a collaborative creative space. It helps them learn (maybe with surprise) that this leg of their journey is just as rewarding, in its way, as the projected end.

I feel a client and I are succeeding when they have a burst of creative insight. Like time-lapse photography of a flower, I watch their writing skill and confidence grow before my eyes. Maybe they’ve realized how to revise a sticky section of text, or their mental picture of their audience comes into sharp focus. Perhaps they even reject a piece of my advice—which often signals to me that they carefully weighed my suggestions against their intentions and now know more deeply and confidently what they are after and how to achieve it.

So success in this realm is not just about the words—it’s about the person behind the words. I feel good when a writer departs prepared to go forth and write with greater skill and brighter inner light than before. I thrill to witness this sort of growth, and I feel grateful to have played a part in helping it happen.

An even more exciting form of success is when a client simply states their gratitude that they gave themselves the gift of editing … or says they feel really proud of their work in a way they didn’t before. In these moments I sense the writer discovering, thanks to their brave and patient engagement in the process, just how much they matter. How much what they want to say matters. How much the people they hope to reach matter. In a moment like this, I struggle to think of what could possibly matter more.

Take note that these are all legitimate successes—goals achieved—they are simply process-oriented goals. These sorts of goals help writers grow in skill and also in appreciation for what a gift of liveliness, dignity, and strong connection their writing is.

Some closing thoughts.

Exercise is not having done twenty reps. Exercise is doing the twenty reps. So it is with communicating, which is through editing, even if we mistakenly believe (writers and editors alike) that now we are only fixing the text so that it can communicate later.

Likewise, deeper connection is through writing and editing. Dignity is. Improved skill is. Greater knowledge of one’s story and message is. Connection is.

A writer and editor who cooperate to revise are saying to one another and the universe, “These words are worth our effort. This writer is worth it. The people the book will reach are worth it.” Doesn’t publication as a singular objective pale by comparison?

But even if you remain convinced that writing—and editing—is for getting onto bookshelves, you can benefit from these reflections. All of us, whatever our end goals, can gain much more from editing by right-sizing and relishing what that process may deliver.

But that’s what Part Two of this essay will cover (keep an eye out for that next week).

Today I simply invite us all to reflect that what writers and editors do is journey with earnestness through words to get in touch with themselves and others. This is the center around which everything else revolves, and during editing, we are already in that center.

Editing is a service, yes, and we want it to accomplish certain things, yes. Among these services and accomplishments are gifts that can only be discovered and relished in medias res—in the middle of the thing.

Embrace the process. Enjoy the riches of being present where you are. And count it as success.