Editing from Feedback:
How to Incorporate Critique
I’ve been a published author for more than 20 years, and I still have to peek at editorial critique from behind my hands.
For most of us*, if we’re sending our work out for feedback, it’s because we’ve polished and tweaked and revised for so long that we could recite chunks of our story on demand. By definition, therefore, we have this quiet conviction in our heart of hearts that the work is, in fact, no longer in need of any more stupid revision.
And then we get feedback that… disabuses us of this notion.
But think of it this way: you’re en route to an important meeting. You’ve nipped into the bathroom to check your appearance. Your hair is looking good. Your clothes are free of any obvious stains. You have no spinach stuck between your teeth. You leave, confident you’re about to make a good impression.
Wouldn’t you want some kind soul to point out the fact that you’ve got toilet paper stuck to your shoe?
And — hear me out — wouldn’t you then remove the toilet paper from your shoe and be eternally grateful for the chance to do so before it crashed your carefully cultivated professional appearance?
Here’s how to do that with editorial critique instead, so that the good impression you make is with your meticulously crafted words.
* I see you, brave writers who send your rough first or second drafts to beta readers for an early critique, and I gently raise my hand in silent tribute to your courage.
Contents
Understanding the Value of Feedback
First things first: yes, you absolutely do need to get independent feedback on your work before you send it out. No exceptions. No, it doesn’t need to be from a professional editor — it can be from your best friend, your parent, your significant other, your colleague; anyone with a good eye, experience of reading in your genre, and the confidence to tell you when they think something’s not working. Because the fact is, you’re just too close to your story to be objective. Also: everyone goes typo-blind after a while, especially when the material has become so familiar.
Let’s break this down further. You know what you meant by a particular turn of phrase, so it reads clearly to you — that might not be the case for a reader who isn’t you. You wrote the draft with that superfluous character who’s since been snipped from the narrative, so if he suddenly and randomly reappears for half a page in Chapter 22, your brain may not register that as disjunctive. Somebody who’s not you will spot it straight away, though. That chapter you fell in love with because the descriptive prose is some of the best you’ve ever written? You’re not in a position to tell if it’s sucking the life out of your pacing — you’re too invested. That plot twist you’re so proud of? You know it’s coming, so you’re less able to see if it feels earned by the narrative set-up. There comes a point when, because every aspect of the text is so familiar, it no longer reads as “wrong” to you. Exhibit A: I once wrote a sequence in which a character came home, kicked off his shoes, puttered about for a couple of minutes, and then walked straight back out the door. My beta reader’s feedback was: “Has he just left without his shoes?”
He had, in fact, just left without his shoes.
The enduring value of feedback is its ability to offer new, fresh perspectives, ferret out the blindspots, query alternative spellings of a character’s unusual name, and — sometimes — to make sure none of your characters leave their apartment barefoot. And much, much more besides.
Preparing for Feedback
Look, feedback is always going to sting just a little bit. Sometimes it’ll sting more than a little bit (ask me about the time I was advised to transpose an entire piece from second to first person POV), but it’ll never not sting at all. That’s just the nature of the beast. Writing is an intensely vulnerable, personal activity. Feedback feels a bit like baring your soul to someone and having them answer “…Meh.”
Knowing this going in is half the battle.
I’d suggest that the best way to prepare for the sting is to approach critiques with curiosity rather than defensiveness. Think of yourself as an explorer charting unknown territories instead of a warrior defending your fortress.
Friends can be great — if they’re honest and constructive — but sometimes fellow writers or professionals can offer insights that friends might shy away from. And when soliciting feedback, create a constructive environment by asking specific questions. Instead of saying, “What do you think?” try something like, “Does my protagonist make you want to throw the book across the room?” This directs their focus and saves you from vague comments that leave you scratching your head.
But always, always — and above all else — remember this: choose your feedback-givers with care. Do not buy into the myth that brutal critique is necessary to your growth as a writer. It’s pervasive and horrible and utterly untrue. If you enjoy brutal critique — if it energises you and pumps you up for the next round of revisions — fair play to you. Ask for that. But there’s no shame in admitting that you don’t — and absolutely no shame in protecting your peace. Never, ever give your work to someone who insists you allow them to feed back their way, if you know that their way is going to make you give up writing. Constructive critique is essential — but it can be delivered with a gentle hand just as easily as with a big stick.
“Choose your feedback-givers with care. Do not buy into the myth that brutal critique is necessary to your growth as a writer. It’s pervasive and horrible and utterly untrue.”
How to Analyse Editorial Feedback Like a Pro
Once you’ve received feedback (cue the sweaty palms), it’s time to analyse it. What, you thought I was going to tell you to just suck it up and make all the changes they suggested? Nope, not even nearly. You are the writer. The decision is always yours. Feedback is about gaining new perspectives on your writing and understanding how it reads to someone who is not you. It’s not about blind compliance.
Start by breaking down critiques into categories: what resonates with you versus what feels off-base. Not every piece of advice will suit your vision, and not every point of confusion evidences an issue with the text. Readers miss things; it happens.
Look for common threads in multiple critiques. If three different people mention that your character’s motivations don’t make sense, it might be time to reevaluate. If two are confused and one understands just fine — it might be time for a bit of a tweak to make a few points clearer. If one finds his character arc utterly baffling and the other thinks it’s a work of subversive genius — you’ve got a decision to make. (This is why I always advocate for having an odd number of beta readers, by the way.)
How to Implement Editorial Suggestions Without Losing Your Voice
Now comes the fun part—making the changes. And by “fun” I mean… okay, sometimes fun. And sometimes the opposite of fun.
The best critiques question without instructing, and flag issues without telling you how to fix them. But that kind of “hands off” critique is often the result of a lot of beta reading, and less experienced critiquers will sometimes feel like their job is to not only show you where they’re having trouble with your narrative, but also to tell you what they think you should do about it.
Always approach this kind of instruction with care. It almost certainly comes from a good place. They’re almost always just trying to be as helpful as possible. But (a) if they’re telling you to incorporate specific actions and plot points and you do what they’re suggesting, then you run the risk of muddying the authorship waters (not necessarily in a legal sense, because it’s not possible to copyright an idea — which is what they’ve provided you with — but in the sense that they might feel as though they’re entitled to some kind of credit for their input into your work). And (b) this is your story. The way they think you should fix it is unlikely to be the way you approach the fix. And the only opinion that counts is yours.
Ultimately, once you’ve identified the changes that need to happen, the goal is to integrate the feedback notes while preserving your unique voice and style. It’s okay to take some time to consider these fully and to work out a game plan. Sometimes, the suggested change will have a clear pathway forwards. Sometimes it’ll need a bit more thought. And not all feedback has an obvious solution either.
For example: say you have a sequence where you know the pace lags a bit. You were worried about it going in, and feedback confirms your suspicion. Maybe one beta reader says, “I found this sequence really hard to follow.” Maybe another one says, “The dialogue just didn’t feel quite right?” And another says, “This sequence would be so much better if Mark and Julian argued over what Julian’s mum said at the wedding that time, and Julian told Mark about the thing with Rosemary — I think you should also make it happen in Lucy’s house rather than at the pub, and I feel like maybe there should be a fistfight to keep things interesting.”
Beta Reader #3 has actually done you a bit of a favour here, because they’ve identified key areas that are dragging the pacing down a bit, but they’re also actively telling you what to write in your story, which is less helpful. However, it means that you have a few points to consider: the sequence is hard to follow, so you need to work on making the characters more clearly articulate what they mean. The dialogue doesn’t “feel quite right” so you might start by reading it out loud in your normal speaking voice to get a feel for where the syntax and word choices aren’t giving “natural” like they should. And you know that the content of the argument itself isn’t quite delivering — you need to give it some more substance, tighten up the scope of their discussion to keep it focused on moving the narrative forward, and consider whether or not the current scene location makes sense, or if moving it elsewhere introduces any new and more exciting narrative possibilities. As for incorporating a fistfight — well, that’s entirely dealer’s choice.
“The best critiques question without instructing, and flag issues without telling you how to fix them.”
The Art of Re-Evaluation
After making edits based on feedback — take a breather. Seriously, step back and reassess before diving into another round of revisions. Sometimes less is more, and you want to avoid over-editing at all costs. Over-editing is where a piece has been rewritten and rewritten and rewritten to the point where the life has been sucked clean out of the prose. It feels like something that’s been stretched too hard, like a face frozen into a rictus rather than an effortless smile. Readers can usually spot that. They’re like sharks that way, scenting blood in the water and all.
To avoid the urge to over-edit, let your manuscript sit for a bit after you’ve made your changes. Like a fine wine, it needs time to mellow — and like an author necking a bottle of fine wine, you need time to forget (or at least blur) the new writing, so that when you come back to it again you can read it with fresh eyes. Ideally, you’re looking for zero evidence of any joins between old and new writing. You want it to feel as though the edits were always there.
This is also a great moment to trust your gut. If a change doesn’t sit right with you, don’t be afraid to revert back or tweak it further. Remember, you’re the captain of this literary ship: you get to steer it where you want to go.
Final Thoughts: Making the Most of Editorial Critique
Feedback is not about fixing problems. Okay, it’s also about fixing problems, but at its heart, feedback is about your growth and evolution as a writer. Every suggestion you receive is an opportunity to refine your craft. Every moment of confrontation between what you thought you were saying and how someone else understands what you’re saying is a step closer to making your story shine as brightly as it can.
And, hey, remember that every novel in existence could do with another round of feedback, another round of edits, another few tweaks. Art, as they say, is never truly finished; only abandoned. So, let’s get you closer to abandoning your final draft in all its perfect imperfection.
Happy writing, and may your edits be ever in your favour.
What’s the most unexpected critique you’ve ever received? Let me know in the comments!
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