Whether we admit it or not, editing comes with a certain measure of power. With a stroke of the proverbial red pen, we can dash writing dreams and topple empires full of plot holes. But with great power comes great responsibility, not so?

Power is a fickle thing. What happens when the tables turn? What happens when the editor becomes the edited?

Sitting at the head of the table

The typical editor–writer relationship has an innate dynamic: the writer approaches the editor with their work and asks the editor to review it and point out areas for improvement. The editor does this, much to the writer’s joy or dismay.

It’s then up to the writer whether they listen to the editor or not. Mostly, they do, because if they don’t, society will wag a finger and say, ‘You should’ve listened to your editor.’

This dynamic puts the editor in a position of authority, at the head of the table. The thing is, editors often don’t see the full impact of their feedback until they’re on the receiving end.

Unwittingly trying on the writing hat

At the encouragement of a fellow editor, I entered a writing competition last year. The topic was The best writing tip I’ve ever received. I thought: I work with writers and text all the time; I can come up with a great idea and submit a competitive piece. Daydreams of sommer winning the competition started materialising (spoiler: I didn’t).

Once my draft was done, I happily sent it to two editors and one writer for feedback, expecting them to fuel my daydream – and boost my ego, if I’m being honest.

They didn’t.

Adverse reactions to editing feedback

25+ comments.

Track changes everywhere.

Paragraphs of suggestions at the bottom of the document.

I. Was. Stunned.

I thought I had done a good job. I revised the document multiple times. The text flowed and there shouldn’t be typos or missing words. I mean, I edited the thing. It’s good!

Then came the annoyance and denial. Who did these people think they were, anyway, to critique my work? No, I don’t think I will change that, thank you. You obviously didn’t understand what I was trying to say. And so on and so forth.

Thank goodness computer screens facilitate our work and interactions. I could take a step back and then return to the edits with a better mindset. In the end, I didn’t implement all of the suggestions. But the ones I did implement made a huge difference.

What I took from the experience

Editing isn’t actually an exercise in power; it’s one in humility.

Writing is personal. You’re communicating a thought. And revealing that thought to the world makes you vulnerable because you want people to like it. Even if they don’t like it, you want them to acknowledge, at least, that the thought has value.

This doesn’t really hit home until you’ve experienced it. As editors, I think we sometimes underestimate the impact of our actions. Granted, writers are also responsible for how they react to feedback. But that doesn’t mean editors should be careless about it. We should all sit at the receiving end of the table at least once.

The benefits of being edited

Since the ‘writing competition incident’, I’ve actively asked for more input from my peers. It hasn’t really become easier, but the benefits have been immense.

Sharper editing skills

Being edited keeps me humble. I don’t know everything and never will. However, I can keep learning. Whenever another editor reviews my work, I learn a new technical trick, identify a bad habit or appreciate a different perspective.

Better communication with writers

Now that I understand how the other side feels, I can improve how I give editing feedback to writers: better explanations, more positives and a focus on solutions. I also appreciate their need for clarity more.

So, while we might be sitting at different seats, we’re still at the same table. We’re on the same team with the same goal: producing the best content we can.