“All writing is editing.”
Fran Lebowitz said that and it’s true. But what does it mean?
What it means, first of all, is that writing can be hard work. Like any tough job, it’s not always over when you think it’s over. You’ve worked hard all day and want to go home but the job’s not done. You have to hang back and get the product right–not perfect, but more perfect.
When he oversaw product development at Apple, Steve Jobs insisted that every part of every computer be beautiful … down to the circuit boards that almost no one would ever see. Why? What did it matter? Partly it was a matter of pride: Everything matters to a worker with integrity. Partly it was a matter of habit: You are what you do, and if you pay attention to logic and beauty at every level, it will become second nature. Partly it was a matter of organization: It’s easier to work on something that has a logical and accessible design. Partly it was a matter of respect: When you design the insides of a machine, you are creating the workspaces of future designers.
That’s how I see the editing process. You write (and edit) not just to convey an idea. You write (and edit) to convey and idea in the best possible way, with internal consistency and discipline and respect for everyone who will ever touch your piece.
When I was in college, I worked for the campus newspaper. In my freshman year, I asked an editor to critique my articles. He gave me a newspaper filled with red ink. One critique seemed especially picayune. “Gimme a break,” I said. “You know what I mean. No one is going to notice.” I turned to the journalism advisor for support.
“Well, some people will notice,” he said. “And they’re the ones who matter the most.”
Of course, a lot of editing points are subjective. Some people write with a conversational voice, others with a formal voice. Some speak in the first person, others abhor it. Some write in telegraphic short paragraphs, other ruminate at length. Some complement text with charts and graphs and images, others revere big blocks of gray text. You get the idea.
Ultimately, editing is about connecting with the reader. Usually that requires:
- A single purpose for every piece, which can be stated in a “logline”–the Hollywood term for the one- or two-line description of movies (for The Godfather, e.g.: “The mobster’s son, who spent his youth avoiding the family business, is transformed when his father is the target of an assassination–and becomes even more ruthless when he takes over”).
- Clear, simple expression in every sentence, with specific and unpretentious words–most notably, active verbs.
- A pleasing rhythm and style, with at least an undercurrent of narrative drama.
- Statement and development of one idea in each paragraph.
- Getting all the important grammar, punctuation, spelling, quotes, and other details right.
- A clear and logical journey from the beginning to the end, with plenty of signposts along the way for orientation.
- Making reading as pleasant, valuable, and enjoyable as possible.
So, you see, Fran Liebowitz is right. All writing is editing. The hardest work might be to write that first draft–to put down ideas and words, however imperfect. But no piece is “done” until its been worked over, again and again, with fresh eyes.