By Elaine Viets
My condo looked like someone had a frat party in the living room. I’d barely said hello to my husband in a week. But I finished “Final Sail,” my Dead-End Job novel, on time.
Newly married private eyes Helen Hawthorne and Phil Sagemont investigate two cases undercover. Helen works as a stewardess on a 143-foot yacht to find an emerald smuggler. Phil signs on as estate manager for a trophy wife, Blossom, after her 80-something husband, Arthur Zerling, died suddenly. Arthur’s daughter is sure her father was murdered.
When I turned in “Final Sail,” I knew I’d written the perfect book. All I had to do was wait for the editorial letter to confirm it.
In the novel business, the editorial letter is the in-depth evaluation of your work. You only get one if your editor cares about your work.
Two weeks later, the letter arrived. “As usual you’ve written another fun, witty installment in the Dead-End Job series,” my editor wrote.
Yep, I thought. I’m a pro.
“Even though Helen and Phil have started their own agency, they’re still getting involved in plenty of dead-end jobs. Who would have known stewardesses go through so much on those yachts? Makes me want to cruise myself one day (but certainly not as ‘the help!’).
“Of course, as one of your first readers, I do have a few thoughts/suggestions on revision.”
Uh-oh. I had a sinking feeling.
“As always, take what I say with a grain of salt,” she wrote. “If it doesn’t resonate with you, don’t feel compelled to use it.”
That’s New Yorkese for “fix it.”
I was hit with a boatload of improvements:
Clarify the cause of rich old Arthur Zerling’s death.
Find a better motive for the trophy wife, Blossom, to kill her young lover.
Explain why Blossom killed her old husband in the first place.
Could I also intermingle the two cases? Oh, and that couple on the yacht – the fat, cigar smoking gambler and his blond wife – tone them down and “redefine” their relationship.
Wait! One more thing. Could I “strengthen the end of the book.” Switch the sections so it ends on a happy note?
“So now it’s just a little more revising,” my editor wrote. “I think your readers are so going to enjoy this book!”
She’s served me a love sandwich – two warm, tasty chunks of praise wrapped around really tough meat.
I had two weeks to tear up my perfect book and revise it.
I knew most editors don’t give novels in-depth criticism. I knew I was lucky mine cared.
So how did I react?
Like someone who’s just heard she has a fatal disease. You know Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief? I went through them all: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
First, denial. There’s nothing wrong with this book, I told myself. It’s good. No, great. My editor is ruining it. I won’t do it. So there.
I wasted a whole day in denial, before I switched to anger. Now I was furious. What does my editor know? She lives in New York. She doesn’t even know any real people. She hasn’t been to Florida in years. I live here.
Next came depression. I reread her note and realized how much work I was looking at.
After two days of this war raging in my head, I reached acceptance.
Maybe she’s right after all. Better to have her criticize my novel than let the reviewers rip it.
I now had twelve days to rewrite “Final Sail.” The more I worked on the rewrite, the more I saw my editor was right.
I finished the rewrite on deadline.
And the New York Times reviewed it.
“One way for a fugitive to hide in plain sight is to work at low-wage jobs,” Marilyn Stasio wrote, “which is what Helen Hawthorne has been doing in Elaine Viets’ quick-witted mysteries.”
Thanks to my editor, I have this terrific Times quote for the jacket cover. That turned out to be a delicious love sandwich.