The next step to self-publish your written masterpiece is Editing. So, what’s the big deal about editing?
Well, apparently it’s not just sprinkling in a few periods, deleting rogue commas, and clicking spellcheck like you’re casting a magical spell. If only! If that were true, every toddler with an iPad would be a senior editor by age three.
Seriously, no—real editing is a craft. A skill that takes years of practice, gallons of coffee, and the ability to rearrange sentences for hours without losing your will to live. Editors train themselves to hear the exact moment a paragraph goes off the rails, spot plot holes the size of sinkholes, and gently (or not so gently) tell authors that their favorite line is actually… not that great.
For new authors, the whole editing process can feel like walking into a hardware store for the first time. You know you need “something,” but there are 47 types of hammers and none of them look right. Developmental edit? Line edit? Copyedit? Proofread? Are these different things or just synonyms invented to confuse you?
One of the most baffling parts of editing is simply figuring out which type of edit your manuscript needs. It’s like choosing a haircut: do you want a trim, a full transformation, or someone to tell you honestly that the bangs were a mistake?
Once you know the difference, the whole process feels a lot less intimidating...and you can finally get the kind of edit that makes your book shine instead of leaving you wondering why the editor keeps talking about your “narrative arc.”
TYPES OF EDITING:
A. Manuscript Critique
A manuscript critique is basically the “general checkup” of the editing world. Think of it as your story’s annual physical—minus the cold stethoscope and awkward small talk. It’s the bird’s-eye view of your entire manuscript, where your editor swoops in like a literary eagle, scans the terrain, and points out everything from breathtaking mountains… to the suspicious plot potholes you didn’t notice.
Your editor then gathers all these insights and bundles them into an editorial memo, a document that says, in the nicest way possible, “Here’s what’s working, here’s what’s not, and here’s how to fix the thing where your main character mysteriously changes eye color every three chapters.”
Inside an editorial memo, you might find things like:
• An examination of your narrative voice and how to enhance it. (Translation: “Let’s make your writing sound intentional… not like you drafted half of it at 2 a.m. while eating cereal.”)
• Specific advice on improving the plot so readers stay engaged. (“Maybe don’t resolve your central conflict by having a random wizard show up on page 312 unless you actually have wizards.”)
• Feedback on missed opportunities for character development. (“Your protagonist cries a lot. Maybe let them do something else occasionally—like grow, decide things, or eat a sandwich.”)
A manuscript critique doesn’t rewrite your book for you, but it gives you the treasure map you need. X marks the spot, and the editor kindly circles all the places you accidentally buried your storyline alive.
B. Comprehensive Edit/Line Edit
While a manuscript critique is the “dip your toes in the pool” level of editing, helpful, clarifying, and unlikely to make you question your life choices - a comprehensive edit is the deep dive. This is the most in-depth edit offered, the literary equivalent of inviting an editor to move into your manuscript, open every cupboard, and politely ask why you’re storing emotional stakes next to a subplot that hasn’t been dusted since chapter three.
A comprehensive edit covers all the structural issues you’d see in a critique, yet it also includes a line edit. A line edit is where things get serious. This is where your editor zooms in so close on your sentences that they can see your metaphors’ pores.
A line edit focuses on how you use language, not on correcting typos, but on polishing the experience of reading your story. Editors at this stage are basically part stylist, part therapist, part sentence-level detective.
They ask questions like:
• Is your language clear, fluid, and pleasurable to read? (Or does it feel like the literary equivalent of walking through wet cement?)
• Does it convey atmosphere, emotion, and tone? (Because if your dramatic breakup scene reads like a grocery list, we have a problem.)
• Are your word choices precise, or are you relying on vague generalizations and clichés? (“He ran really fast” may be fine… unless you’d like it to not sound like a middle-school book report.)
A line edit doesn’t just make your writing correct. It makes your writing sing. Or at least hum in tune. And when paired with structural feedback, a comprehensive edit gives your book the full spa treatment—exfoliation, deep tissue work, hot stones, the whole deal.
C. Copyedit
Ah, the copyedit - the stage where your manuscript meets the Grammar Police, and the Grammar Police come armed with style guides, magnifying glasses, and an unshakable belief that commas have feelings too.
Many authors mix up line edits and copyedits, which is understandable because both involve someone poking around in your sentences with a highlighter. But despite the similar vibes, these two edits are not interchangeable. Think of it like this: a line edit is interior design; a copyedit is building code. One chooses the perfect curtains, the other tells you your staircase is illegal.
A copyedit focuses on the technical side of writing—ensuring your manuscript doesn’t break any industry rules or set off alarm bells for readers who know the difference between “affect” and “effect.”
A copyedit:
• Corrects spelling, grammar, punctuation, and syntax - (Yes, including that one comma you’ve been placing wrong since 1998.)
• Ensures consistency in spelling, hyphenation, numerals, fonts, and capitalization - (“Email,” “e-mail,” and “E-mail” all appearing in the same chapter? Not on the copyeditor’s watch.)
• Tracks macro concerns like internal consistency - (If your character’s eyes change from blue to green to stormy gray “because vibes,” the copyeditor will catch you.)
There is some overlap between a line editor and a copyeditor. Line editors can’t help pointing out technical errors when they leap off the page and attack them. Editors are, by nature, perfectionists. If they see a typo, they pounce like a cat on a laser pointer.
But in the grand scheme of things?
• An editor’s job is to help you tell a better story.
• A copyeditor’s job is to make sure the grammar doesn’t burst into flames.
Both are essential. One polishes your voice; the other prevents your manuscript from being chased down by the style-guide authorities.
D. Proofread
Proofreading is the final frontier. The last checkpoint before your book marches bravely into the world to be judged by readers, reviewers, and that one aunt who “doesn’t usually like fiction.”
In traditional publishing, proofreading happens after the manuscript has been typeset. By this point, your book looks like an actual book, complete with page numbers, chapter breaks, and at least one sentence you now regret writing but are too tired to change.
A professional proofreader then steps in. Their mission? To examine the final proof and catch anything that slipped past every other round of editing. Think of them as the person who straightens the paintings right before guests arrive.
A proofreader:
• Fixes awkward words and unfortunate line breaks - (Because no one wants a sentence split in a way that creates accidental innuendo.)
• Performs some light copyediting - (If a glaring typo is staring at them like a wounded animal, they’ll patch it up.)
Traditional publishers insist on proofreading as a quality assurance step—because nothing screams “professional” like a book that doesn’t refer to the main character by three different spellings of their name.
Self-published authors, however, often skip the post–copyedit proofread, usually because their wallets have started whimpering softly. And technically, if your manuscript has been through a solid copyedit, there shouldn’t be many errors left.
If you’re on a budget, you can try proofreading your own work. Just be prepared for the experience of reading your own sentences so many times that they stop looking like English. At this stage, even the word “the” might start to feel suspicious.
However, catching those last tiny mistakes? Totally worth it—especially if you want your book to shine instead of leaving readers wondering why Chapter 14 starts halfway down the page for no apparent reason.