“I think we can cut the first four chapters ...”
“How about moving Chapter 17 forward, so the timing of the incident ...”
“I’m not sure about the direction of the story from the midway point onwards. It seems to switch from one genre to the next. I wonder if we could ...”
By the time I get to the end of the letter, I am questioning why Lindsay wanted to buy the book in the first place. Why bother acquiring a whole novel if you’re just going to ask the author to completely gut it? The changes she’s asking for are not just significant, they will require me to delete about 70 percent of my manuscript before hacking and slashing apart the remaining 30 percent to fit into a whole new manuscript. At this point, it might actually be easier for me to write a whole new manuscript.
Despair engulfs me. It really feels like I just slid down a rocky path and found myself at the bottom of a pit. Never mind my stomach; my entire body is knotted up, my palms sweaty and my throat dry. When I glance up, I find Annette openly glaring at me from her glass office, and I duck my head and go back to working on the latest batch of photos. But now, the grinning faces feel personal, like they’re rubbing their intense happiness in my face. Why is everybody allowed to be happy except me? Haven’t I gone through enough? Don’t I deserve justa moment of peace? I click and swipe furiously at their faces, overexposing their skin until it’s nothing but a pale blur. Then, sighing, I click “Undo” and start over. An hour later, I’m finally done uploading the folder to the cloud. I let Annette know that the file is done and ready for her to review, and her response is a scoff. I’m so wrapped up in my own misery that her rudeness barely stings, but I do make a mental note to bake something for her so she’s less mad at me. Admittedly, I have been a pretty crappy employee lately.
When I finally knock off, I grab all my things and rush out. I message Lisa and Jenna as I walk to the subway.
Fern:My edit letter just came in and it isHorrible
Jenna:Oh no! What did your editor say??
Fern:She basically wants me to rewrite the book, and I’m not even exaggerating
Jenna:
Lisa:WTF?? Have you spoken to your agent??
Fern:No, I literallyJustgot the edit letter and you guys were the first people I told!
Jenna:I’m so sorry to hear that! That is soooo shitty!!
Lisa’s and Jenna’s empathy is a strange experience for me. On one hand, I love it, savoring the sympathy and kindness flowing from them, lapping it up greedily because I’ve had so little of it my whole life. But on the other hand, it’s also surprisingly firing me up. I find myself feeling even more upset about the whole thing. I always thought that venting about your troubles to your friends would calm you down, but it’sinteresting to see that it’s having the exact opposite effect on me. And Lisa is right to bring up my agent. Poppy would definitely have something to say about this. People jostle me as they briskly walk down into the subway station. It’s a warm day, and the back of my neck is hot and itchy, but I was so upset at the office that I forgot to grab my hair claw before I left.
Lisa:I don’t think it’s right for an editor to buy a book, only to ask the author to change the entire thing! Wtf?? If you wanted a different story, then buy a different book!
Jenna:Riiiight? I totally agree!
They’re right. It’s total bullshit that Lindsay is asking me to change my whole story. Why did she even buy it in the first place? Oh right, the beautiful writing or whatever. My train screeches to a stop at the station, and I shove my way in. Just my luck, of course, that in addition to the shit show that is Lindsay’s edit letter, I’m now having to deal with subway rush hour. I make it into the train just in time before the doors close. It smells so bad in here. It always smells bad in these trains, but when the weather gets warm, it becomes almost unbearable. I breathe through my mouth, trying my best to ignore my surroundings as I stare at my phone. Lisa and Jenna are still ranting, though now they’ve moved on to how shitty publishing treats authors in general.
I open up Gmail and compose a message to Poppy.
Hi Poppy!
I hope you’re doing well ...
The train sways, and I bump against a man, who shoots me a dirty look. I grimace apologetically and stuff my phone into my pocket so I can hold on to the handrail. I’ll just compose it in my head first. I don’twant to be a huge burden on Poppy. I have to make sure my email is diplomatic, but also not wishy-washy. But what am I asking her in the first place? Am I asking her to intervene on my behalf and tell Lindsay that no, I am not doing all those edits because they’re too major? Am I just emailing her to whine at her so she can empathize with me? What is it that agents do when their clients are in this situation? God, why does it smell so bad in here? Doesn’t everyone know of the existence of deodorant by now?
By the time the train arrives at my spot, I stumble out and take huge gulps of warm subway-station air. It’s not the best air, but it’s still miles better than that stuffy subway odor I’ve just had to deal with for the last forty minutes. My head is pounding, and I feel nauseated. I can’t get inside my apartment fast enough. Once I’m in, I scramble to the kitchen and pour myself a cold glass of water. I chug it with the relief one might feel after a strenuous cardio session and then stand there for a moment, breathing hard. It takes a while for my breathing to slow down, and even then, when I try to go back to writing an email to Poppy, all my mind does is come up with a scrambled mess. I am barely coherent, and I sure as hell have no clue what to say to her.
Instead, I open the Slack and go to #commiserations. This is exactly what this channel is for, isn’t it? And sharing something like this, opening up about my vulnerability, will help me connect with others.
Fern:Guys, my editor just sent me her notes and it is so overwhelming. She basically wants me to rewrite most of the book. Sent me aTwelve-Pageedit letter! I don’t know what to do.
I hit Enter. Since it’s after work hours, there are quite a few people online, and to my relief, the words “Several people are typing ...” pop up. Moments later, I get my first reply.
Yuna:Whaaaat? That really stinks! I hate that for you.
Alicia:Omg worst nightmare. What did your agent say about it?
I quickly type back:I haven’t told my agent yet. I will, but I don’t really know what to say to her? What should I say?
Several people are typing again. Then it comes, a reply from the last person I expected to hear from.
Haven:How do you feel about her edits? Are they completely wrong or are they actually valid?
