What Happens When My Manuscript Gets Edited? Part Three: Developmental and Content Editing

Welcome to the third post of my guide to getting your story edited. I hope this explanation makes the process less intimidating by giving you an idea of what to expect. It might even make you excited to start work on your story’s next draft!

Today, I’m going to talk about developmental editing, also known as content or structural editing. Remember, this usually happens before line editing. It gets the story in shape before polishing it sentence by sentence. However, I discussed line editing first, in last week’s post, because such manuscript markup is often more familiar to people (and a source of “red pen anxiety” which I want to dispel).

That doesn’t mean developmental editing is an afterthought. Some authors find it the most valuable round of editing they do. Newer writers who have a first novel they’ve made as good as they can, but which they’re not quite sure what to do with, find it a wonderful resource to discover their next steps. Professional authors with dozens of books under their belt use it to make their next book the best one yet.

Developmental, Content, and Structural Editing

I’ve seen these three names used to refer to the same sort of editing. In my experience, it’s most often called “Developmental,” but that may be the least clear term compared to talking about editing a story’s content or its structure.

To put it simply, line editing works on how you say something. Developmental editing helps you figure out what to say (and when or where in the manuscript to say it).

The beauty—and the peril—of art is that, of course, expression and content are not completely separate. How you say something impacts what you’re saying about it. The shorter or more intense a piece of writing, the more entwined expression and content are. To change a single word in a poem may substantially change the poem. To change a paragraph in a short story may materially alter the plot arc, character arc, or theme. For this reason, developmental editing of short stories is sometimes (though not always) done line by line and even in combination with a line edit.

Still, there are many “text on the page” issues that a purely developmental edit isn’t concerned with. It doesn’t tackle punctuation or spelling (though you want to make sure these are correct enough that the story is easy to read and evaluate for plot and character arcs. If you change the spelling of your character’s name a few times, that might be considered a copy editing issue, but it could cause problems on the developmental side of things if it’s not clear that Sara Smith and Sarah Smythe are the same person!). This isn’t yet the point where you worry about beautiful phrasing, or even efficient phrasing. It’s okay if you misuse some vocabulary. Your developmental editor might let you know if you frequently use a particular phrase, but it’s not time to worry about particular instances of repetition. (Repetition of words, that is: if the same sort of event happens multiple times without it being a deliberate parallel, or the same information is given in a few different scenes, that’s something a developmental edit will flag.)

In fact, trying to polish individual sentences could be a fruitless effort if the developmental edit reveals that the scene those sentences are in should be rewritten to take place in a different location, at a different time, and between different characters!

Yes, the story can undergo some dramatic transformations with a developmental edit. If a subplot doesn’t seem to belong in the story or a character arc doesn’t go anywhere, this is where it gets cut. (It might become the seed of a new story!) Multiple side characters may be combined into a single composite character. Chapters may be removed or relocated. This is also a point where new characters or subplots are born if the editor helps the author spot gaps in the structure and opportunities to deepen the stakes or emphasize the themes of the story.

What sort of questions does an editor ask on a developmental edit?

Let’s start from what we discussed last week, because my line-by-line edits of individual scenes can include minor examples of content editing. For instance, I flag possible continuity issues or share concerns about realism and accuracy. I warn if a line of dialogue sounds “out of character.” These suggestions all deal with the words on the page, but also the content of the story.

In my previous post, I mentioned some considerations that are structural:

• Are readers getting enough information, but not too much, and in the order they need it?
• Does the scene move quickly or slowly? Would it be more impactful if it were quicker, or slower?
• What is the scene about? What is each character’s goal and motive? Are these made clear?
• How does each sentence and paragraph move the scene and story forward?

I described these as “Organization, pacing, and focus of scenes and chapters, as expressed through words and sentences.” That is, in a line edit I’m looking at the small scale within the scene: words, sentences, paragraphs. By the line editing stage, the author has made sure of the scenes they want to include in the story and how the plot develops; my work is to help them polish what they’ve got. In a developmental edit, however, we’re asking these questions on the scale of the entire story.

• Do readers get enough information about the world of the story takes place in, the characters, and the plot events? Do they ever get so much information close together it might become overwhelming? Do they get information just when they need it—not so early that they forget it, and not too late? Should they learn some things before they learn others?
• Along with being delivered in the most effective order, is information given in the most engaging way? Are explanations clear, memorable, and entertaining in their own right? Is it realistic for the information to come up at this point for the characters (no “As you know, Bob, our mother’s name is Martha and she’s an esteemed biology professor)? Is the author able to avoid “infodump,” where the story grinds to a halt while things are explained to the reader? (If you’re curious about how to convey information fluidly, here’s an interesting article by Charlie Jane Anders sharing examples of effective exposition in novels.)
• Does the story move quickly or slowly? Would it be more impactful if it was quicker, or slower? If certain chapters, scenes, or subplots moved more quickly or slowly?
• What is the story about? What is each character’s goal and motive? When and how do these change over the course of the story?
• How does each scene and chapter move the story forward?

Additional questions to consider in a developmental edit:

• Are there any errors in logic or continuity? Questions of realism? Would the plot seem to require characters to be in two places at once or to teleport out of a room (in a way that isn’t permitted by any technology or magic they have available)? Does a character have two older sisters in one chapter and three younger brothers in a later chapter?
• I’m not a professional fact-checker, but I might do some brief research, especially if concerns about plausibility arise. For example, if a character in a murder mystery is killed by poison, I might read a bit on how that poison works so I better understand what’s happening in the story. If something happens that seems unlikely to me—maybe a character drops dead seconds after licking the frosting off a poisoned cupcake, which seems like a rather rapid and “clean” death compared to what I know of how most ingested poisons work—I’ll double-check how fast-acting the poison in question is in real life, and let the author know if it seems unrealistic. If my research uncovers poisons that do work instantaneously once ingested, I’ll let the author know what I found in case they want to use those instead (to write the story, that is!!).
• Does suspense hold the reader’s attention? There doesn’t have to be a ticking time bomb, but unanswered questions keep a reader turning the pages. What does each chapter leave unresolved? What’s at stake? Why do the characters care about what happens in the story, and why are they committed to seeing it through? (I’ve seen this put as “Why can’t the characters just call it quits and go for pizza?”) A more subtle but equally important question: Why is the reader invested? What’s at stake for us? Why and how are we emotionally engaged? (The answer, by the way, doesn’t have to be “because we like the characters.” Some of the most compelling characters are not very likeable or relatable. What they are is interesting to read about because they show us something significant or new.)
• Are there too many unanswered questions? Having too much to guess about, wonder about, and remember can leave readers confused and disengaged. So are the characters, the world, and the stakes made clear enough for the reader to get invested in them?
• Do particular scenes feel too fast, too slow, or possibly unnecessary? Is there a sense of “missing scenes” that could be added to clarify the plot, heighten the stakes, and deepen emotions?
• Are the stakes not only made clear and compelling, but do they keep rising over the course of the story? Does the story not only remain engaging, but become increasingly intense and “un-put-downable”? (Some stories may climax with a courtroom judgment or a ticking time bomb; some may resolved based on a few quiet words said in a private sitting room. Whatever the scale or the drama, the important thing is that the stakes are significant to the characters and vivid to the readers.)
• Is the ending satisfying for your target audience? Could they find it too predictable? Or does it seem to “come out of left field” and leave readers uncertain if they missed something or misunderstood what they read? Are there any loose ends?
• What are the characters like? How do they express themselves? What do they want? What sort of things are they capable of, or incapable of? Which of these change over the course of the story, and why?
• Do characters’ choices and motivations make sense, or do they need more grounding and explanation? Are they ever over-explained?
• What tense is the story told in? What is the POV? Would changing either of these make the story (or particular scenes or subplots) stronger?
• What themes does your story have? These don’t need to be grand or world-changing, but every story has its own point of view, a message at the core of it, regardless of whether it’s explicit. That message could be anything from “Love conquers all” to “Might makes right.” Whatever the theme, is it handled in a consistent and satisfying way? Underlying themes can provide a subconscious sense of completion to your story—or an itch of dissatisfaction if they’re contradicted. (For instance, if a technothriller’s theme has been “brains over brawn,” the climactic showdown shouldn’t be resolved with pure force in a “might makes right” message unless you intend a subversion—and the subversion will probably annoy some would-be fans. Meanwhile, romance novels often have the theme “love conquers all” and they always end with the lovers being happy together.)
• Does the manuscript fit into its genre while adding something unique?
  • In fantasy or science fiction, are the speculative elements richly developed and integrated into the plot?
  • Does the romance novel prioritize the romantic relationship and conclude with a happy ending?
  • In a mystery, do you keep the reader guessing whodunit right up until you reveal the answers at the end?
  • In memoir, is the real-life experience related to readers in a clear and compelling way, with a beginning, a middle, an ending, and a theme (without any lessons feeling flat or packaged)?
  • Does the literary novel delve into the characters’ psyches (and perhaps the readers’)?
  • Does the young adult novel prioritize a young adult’s viewpoint and concerns, such as developing identity, resisting peer pressure, or navigating conflict with authority figures?

Cross-genre stories play by multiple sets of rules at once, and creative writers innovate on genre standbys. While acknowledging this flexibility, your genre is a promise you make to your readers: “This is the sort of experience you can expect.” I pick up a mystery when I want to solve a puzzle and see justice done, I pick up science fiction to explore other worlds, and so on. If you’re not meeting reader expectations for the genre…that may be a sign you’ve written a different genre than you think! A developmental editor can help you realize this and decide which genre you’d like to make your story. (Just as the same content can be written in many different styles, the same plotline might work as a thriller, a mystery, a literary novel, or a fantasy novel—or a combination like “upmarket romantic suspense”—depending on what elements the author chooses to emphasize.)

Many of my clients write across multiple genres and subgenres. So it helps that I read widely (over 200 books each year—thank you, libraries!) keeping abreast of current developments as well as historical influences. This reading can also help me spot cliches—ideas that have been done so frequently, or with such high-profile examples, that they’re no longer fresh or exciting to readers. (A paranormal thriller with the twist that “he sees dead people” is probably dead on arrival, no matter how well written.) But the line between tired cliche and beloved trope can be thin. Some romance readers never want to read another surprise pregnancy plotline. Others can’t get enough of them. No book is written for every reader in the world: it’s written for the readers who want it.

Developmental memos

As I’ve referred to, developmental editing isn’t necessarily done with the same tools as line editing. That’s not to say I never use Tracked Changes and Comments in developmental edits: they can be very useful to offer particular examples or point to significant moments in the story. (Sometimes an entire plotline turns on a single line of dialogue.) With some authors, especially those who are experienced and on a tight timeline for their book release, I’ve done developmental editing purely line by line. Usually this is when the manuscript was written from a careful outline and/or has already received feedback (from workshops, critique partners, beta readers, possibly even another editor), which minimizes the chance of giving too much line-by-line feedback on scenes that aren’t going to make it into the final draft. (However, in any edit, your editor might have suggestions for a section you ultimately decide to cut or substantially rewrite. The editing process is flexible, not to say unpredictable, like all creative work. You can still learn from the feedback.)

Many authors find it easier to receive large-scale feedback on their manuscript in a written summary. I call these summaries Developmental Memos. These are letters I write describing the main strengths of the story and opportunities to improve it. They run between 3 and 8 pages, usually, but may get longer depending on the complexity of the story and the nature of my suggestions. A longer memo does not mean the story is in poor shape—it might even be a sign that it’s very well-developed, giving me a lot to talk about! At the same time, a shorter memo doesn’t mean a story is dull, simply that its opportunities for improvement can be described concisely.

I use headers in the memo to set off particular topics and suggestions. A header might say anything from “Vivid Historical Setting” to “Consider Stephanie’s POV for the Flashback Scenes.” There is a lot of variability here based on the writer’s particular goals and concerns as well as what I see in the manuscript. An author might share their opening chapter and want to know if it would also work as a standalone short story. Another might seek help finding opportunities to condense the first 100 pages.

I look at what the client asks me to look at, but I also bring in my own expertise. In a purely made-up example, imagine a science fiction writer asks me for help ensuring their characters are more likable to the target audience. I’ll look at that and give a report in my memo—however, if it turns out the characters are perfectly likable, but the reader isn’t sure which planet they’re on for each of the first five chapters, my memo will address that confusion, and might prioritize it over the characterization.

Especially for newer writers, the memo can explain particular writing techniques and strategies and recommend further resources. One of my editing clients once said “The memo alone is like a writing seminar targeted at my particular story.” (Praise that honors me; my goal with every edit is to give the author more tools than they had before.)

If the author requests it and tells me a bit about their plans, my developmental memo can also offer advice for publication: magazines that might be interested in a short story, small presses looking for books on this topic, ideas for what to highlight in a query letter to agents and possible comparative titles, tropes and marketing hooks, places to self-publish and reach an audience.

Ultimately, it’s the authors’ choice how much of my advice to take. I don’t expect them to ever agree with me 100%, and I’m not offended when they do something differently. (I would be concerned if they disregard crucial advice like “If you’re going to market this story as a YA romance, you need to rewrite the ending to be happy and rewrite the characters as teenagers rather than thirty-year-olds,” but this is fortunately rare!) Often—and this may be the most fruitful part of editing—they agree with me that something about the story could be changed, but have their own ideas about how to change it, drawing on their distinct perspective and creativity to create something uniquely theirs while benefiting from my observations.

Opening that developmental memo can be scary. What if it turns out the manuscript has huge issues, problems that can’t be fixed? Or maybe the issues can be fixed, but they’ll take a lot of time and effort? What if the editor thinks I’m a fool who can’t write?

The editor does not think you’re a fool who can’t write. If you can’t write, who wrote the story I just read and wrote several pages evaluating? Nor do we think you’re a fool because this draft isn’t perfect. No draft is ever quite perfect (but after a few drafts, you can reach one that’s great enough to publish). Don’t be embarrassed if there are continuity errors or missing scenes. This is exactly what a developmental editor is here to help you fix.

Receiving a thorough developmental edit should leave the author feeling supported and even excited to take next steps. It can provide reassurance that an educated and caring editor has read every page and spotted the issues that might have troubled readers. It offers suggestions to polish the story so it shines at its best. It inspires plans for the next draft—although I don’t recommend jumping right into the next draft immediately after you read the developmental memo. Take some time to think about it. Be gentle with yourself, because this can be a vulnerable and stressful part of the creative process no matter how much your editor loved the book and how much you believe in it! Rest or do something fun or work on a new story, letting your subconscious mind digest the feedback. When you bring the story back into your consciousness, you may be pleasantly surprised by the new ideas that come to you.

And let’s face the worst: if it turns out the manuscript does have problems too big to easily fix (I think just about anything is in theory fixable, but it depends how much you’re willing to change before a story loses its spark for you and how much time you have for writing a new version), your effort still wasn’t wasted. Writing that story taught you a lot about your creative process and yourself. Perhaps elements of the story—a character, a subplot, the description of a room, the title—can be used in a new story, stronger for all that you’ve learned.

But the goal is for a developmental edit to give you what you need to revise the story to be a more effective version of itself. Then it’s on to line and copy editing, and eventually, to readers!

This concludes my planned three-part series on the editing process. However, writing has a tendency to expand, so you can look for a surprise fourth part next week, on what happens when you disagree with an editor’s suggestions (spoiler alert: the world doesn’t end).