Why I’m glad I didn’t listen to my developmental editor

Okay, I listened to her. I just didn’t make all the changes she proposed.

I hired a developmental editor through Reedsy for my children’s book, The Dog and the Flower. She had an incredibly positive outlook on my story when she first read it. In fact, she gave me such a good testimonial after reading my manuscript that I asked if I could use her quote on the back cover of my book. She said that once she received an advanced reader copy (ARC), she would be happy to give me a blurb. Upon spending more time with my manuscript, she took out my favorite scenes and added in her own character that would have changed the entire meaning of the story. I expected suggestions for word changes in the dialogue, narration, and plot, but I wasn’t quite expecting her to rewrite my story. Maybe this is because I’m new to this. 

Upon reading her version of the story she wanted to publish, I realized that we had different ideas for where we wanted the book to go. I wanted to preserve as much of the first draft as possible as long as it worked, and when she sent me beautiful words about the version I gave her, I felt encouraged. She’s a New York Times bestselling editor who has worked with authors published through Penguin Random House and Disney-Hyperion. I hired her because she loved my story so much, I trusted her, and I got a warm vibe from her. I also thought it was generous of her to allow me to use her blurb whether I went with her or another editor. So I accepted her offer, paid the fee, and off we went. 

Now, I want to say that I greatly appreciate the time she spent on my story. I can tell she’s deeply invested in it, and that kind of passion is not lost on me. She said it was an honor being chosen to work on my story, and I was excited to support a contractor who also cares about consent. I think she is a wonderful person who takes her job seriously and put a lot of thought into helping me shape my story into the best version of itself. And to her credit, there were many helpful suggestions she made that I agreed with and applied. But some of the changes she made felt wrong, and I internally fought back on them, and it took some trust in myself to listen to that little voice that resisted. 

What was shocking to me was the 180° turn she took upon spending more time with my manuscript. After she submitted her edits, I was puzzled by her sudden change in tone, opinion of my story, and revocation of her offer to let me use her quote. The only thing that changed was me sending her some feedback I received from an illustrator, which was the only negative feedback my story had received thus far. Everything else had been accolades and roses, so I wanted to explore why this one specific person thought my book was problematic. Because of the incredibly sensitive subject material, I wanted to make sure I got the story right. This is when I started getting in my head about it. 

Even though I am a rape survivor and I wrote the story, I still began to fear people’s reactions to it. I began having intrusive thoughts about an author’s worst nightmare—one-star reviews on Amazon, BookTokers warning people not to read my book, or book returns. I’m not sure if I was awake or asleep when this onslaught of terror flooded my mind, but either way, it’s a reflection of how badly I want this book to succeed. I am handing people my trauma in the form of a 32-page picture book, dying of panic, and hoping they handle it with the care it deserves. It isn’t just a story. It is my story. And when I open it up to criticism, I am opening up myself to criticism. I hope publishing this isn’t a terrible mistake and that I can survive the potential storm of angry readers and that I can stay true to myself amidst any backlash I may receive. I think most people will love it. I hope most people will love it. 

Because this one illustrator had concerns about the messaging, I gave it a lot of thought and ultimately decided that their commentary was a subjective interpretation based on a context they assigned to it. I don’t think my story is problematic. I think the world is problematic, and not every real-life situation translates well to a fictional children’s book. I will go more into detail in a future post about the discussions that were had following this illustrator’s assessment, but for now, I’d like to describe the series of events that followed.

After reading my letter from the editor, I called my friend who heard the same draft of the story I sent her. I told him I was unraveling because I was suddenly unsure about a story I was once so confident in and excited about. I initially thought, “If I—of all people—don’t take issue with this book, no one will.” One person did, and it rattled me, and it clearly rattled my editor. We started second-guessing, doubting, and asking questions. I didn’t know when we hopped on the phone that he, too, is a survivor. I just thought I’d see if he thought it was problematic. 

He shared with me that as a child, he experienced unwarranted sexual advances from another child. We chatted on the phone for quite a while, and not only did he not think the book was problematic, but he also restored in me the belief in my story. He told me that little him needed this book, which was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. He reminded me that kids will get it, it feels right, and that not all victims can leave their situation like my editor insinuated. He even joked that I’ve written something good if someone else is already writing fan fiction about it. His words gave me so much reassurance that I ended up writing a letter TO my editor in response to the letter FROM my editor. 

I stood my ground, but it was hard to stand there naked while people looked at my most vulnerable work and turned their heads in disapproval. But I reminded myself of all the people who read it and loved it. My therapist, who is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, said it’s “definitely not problematic.” I shared the story with a teacher who has her Master’s Degree in Diversity and Equity in Education, and she did not mention any concerns of problematic messaging. My friend, who is also a survivor, said, “Aw, I think it’s precious.” One parent, after hearing the story, immediately preordered a copy for his kids. Overall, I got incredibly positive feedback from a comprehensive pool of trusted sources.

There is a book called Don’t Believe Everything You Think by Joseph Nguyen, which has helped me immensely throughout this process. It basically teaches that there is a difference between thoughts and thinking. Thoughts are direct downloads from the universe that feel light, whereas thinking is the heavy reaction to those thoughts that causes suffering. The author teaches that our emotions help us see how much thinking is going on. When we feel like our best selves, we’re having thoughts but are not really engaged with our own minds. When we feel most consumed by unwanted feelings, that is when we are most engaged in the process of thinking.

I only felt stuck when my editor felt stuck, and I think my editor only felt stuck when the illustrator felt stuck. It was a chain reaction that involved way too much thinking. I suffered greatly when I overthought the story, and I think the story would have suffered greatly had I allowed my overthinking to change it. When I got the inspiration for this story, I was in the bath having thoughts about how I wish my perpetrators would have responded upon being confronted with my pain. A light bulb in my brain flickered on, and I quickly got out of the bath, dried off, and went downstairs so I could get the story down on loose-leaf paper. 

This story was written when I was inspired. That’s why I want to preserve as much of the original manuscript as possible. It wasn’t written when I sat there and thought about every experience I’ve ever endured and if every context and every interpretation applies to this one specific dog and flower. The whole thing is a metaphor, and it’s written for ages 4-8, so my adult perspective feels a little irrelevant anyway. But even from the perspective of someone who has experienced assault, the original story was written by my free-flowing thoughts. I wasn’t in distress until I started overassessing my own story, being hypercritical of it, and judging it. 

If I am going to trust one version over another, it’s going to be the version I wrote when nothing was standing in my way—not even my own mind. It’s going to be the version I wrote when I wasn’t afraid, when no one else had access to it, when it was just the page and me. The editing process is necessary, but I’m only making the suggested changes I agree with. If I published her changes, I would have to put her name on the book—not mine. I thought about making the changes she suggested so that everyone will love it, but then I realized that it wouldn’t be my story anymore. Maybe I would then take issue with it because it isn’t true to my experience. And that’s when it hit me. There will be people who don’t like my book, but at least it is mine, and no one can take it away from me without my permission. I would rather my story be hated for what it is than loved for what it is not.