Forty years ago, while taking a college course in children’s literature, I set out to write a children’s book. But my career as an elementary school teacher interfered, and my publishing dreams evaporated. When I became a mother of a child with a disability, the next twenty years blurred the boundaries between order and chaos.
By the time I took another creative writing class, my children were teenagers, and I was in my late forties. The teacher wielded his pen like a sword, a grizzled old guy who yelled at students when they couldn’t explain where to place a comma in a sentence. Still, he walked around the room cajoling us with, ‘write what you know.’ I wrote about my chaotic life. The idea for my book jelled with a theme that revolved around raising a child with disabilities.
I joined writing groups to help develop my skills. I learned about first, second, and third persons, first, second and third drafts, how to identify weak verbs, how to self-edit, how to revise, and the differences between passive and active voice. Fast forward another two years.
I attended my first writing conference, ready to query my manuscript. I met an editor who taught the craft of memoir. After I described my book, she told me the next step should be a developmental edit.
I did not yet understand what an editor could do and, unwilling to make the financial commitment, I relied on my writing groups and scores of beta readers for feedback on whether my book was ready before I researched agents. Responses bounced between form rejections and silence. After fifty queries, I got one request for a full manuscript and within two weeks, a rejection.
Would I ever get my book published? I thought my story about how I faced an internal struggle to accept my child with intellectual disabilities, had a universal interest. The theme: learning acceptance. I had fought my child’s diagnosis until I gradually came to the realization that my daughter did not need to change; I did. Perhaps I had revised the story so many times that I had become shortsighted. Maybe it was time to find an editor.
The one I found appreciated the story I was trying to tell, and with her help, I revised and sent out a new round of queries. A well-known press showed interest with a request for the full manuscript. It was quickly rejected, and I am still astounded that I emailed them as to why.
Their response?
Too much reporting about doctors and specialists.
I sought out a new editor. This time I asked writer friends for recommendations. The person I chose, Monica, taught creative writing at a university and had published a memoir about a difficult subject, the imminent death of her baby. Although her editing wouldn’t guarantee I’d get published, I believed her insight could add a new perspective to the narrative arc of my story.
Two weeks later, I received the revised manuscript. The sculpting almost made me cry. The opening scene disappeared; the one everyone told me had to remain for my hook, the one where the doctor labels my child profoundly retarded.
In her editorial notes, she wrote: Don’t give the whole story away in the first chapter.
She moved scenes and pointed out where I needed to build scenes or add dialogue, but she hadn’t twisted my voice into her own words. What she had done was fiddle with structure. That’s when I finally understood the power of a good editor. Monica was the surgeon, I was the intern. She taught me what to cut away to repair and restructure.
I sent out the newly edited version in my next batch of queries, surprised when I received multiple requests for the full-length manuscript. None of this would have happened without my writing community, the previous editors, my beta readers, and the editor with eagle eyes. Last week, I signed a contract to have my memoir, The Shape of Normal, published with Vine Leaves Press. The book will be out in the fall of 2023.
Bio: Catherine Shields writes about parenting, disabilities, and self-discovery. In her debut memoir THE SHAPE OF NORMAL A Mother’s Journey from Disbelief to Acceptance, (Vine Leaves Press 2023), Catherine explores the truths and lies parents tell themselves. Her stories have appeared in Newsweek, Bacopa Review, Mother Magazine, Kaleidoscope, Write City, and Manifest-Station, and her work was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2019. She resides in Miami, Florida with her husband who she’s been married forever. They enjoy taking long bike rides and kayaking in Biscayne Bay.
This essay is a reprint, 1st published in June 2022 on Brevity Blog at
https://brevity.wordpress.com/2022/06/13/power-of-the-editor.
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