My First Edits

Shannon Dittemore is the author of the Angel Eyes trilogy. She has an overactive imagination and a passion for truth. Her lifelong journey to combine the two is responsible for a stint at Portland Bible College, performances with local theater companies, and a love of all things literary. When she isn’t writing, she spends her days with her husband, Matt, imagining things unseen and chasing their two children around their home in Northern California. To connect with Shan, check out her website, FB, Twitter, Instagram, or Pinterest.

Do you remember the first time you were edited?

I do.

I was young. Second or third grade, maybe. We were at church (so all you writers brainstorming during the sermon, take heart, you're in good company) and it was one of those especially long services. Something was different. A guest preacher, maybe? I don't know, but things weren't trucking along like I thought they should. I decided to break things up a bit with a trip to the ladies room. 

And that's when it happened. I'm sitting on the pot, kicking my Saltwater Sandals back and forth, and WHAM! Inspiration in the form of the toilet paper dispenser. (Eyes open, friends. Ideas are everywhere.)

I hurried to my seat and grabbed the offering envelope tucked in the seat back in front of me, flipped it over, and started writing. It was a song. My very first. And I could just imagine my eight year old self singing it before the congregation. The song went something like this:

Roll Master

Roll

Roll into my heart

There were verses too, but I can't remember them now. I do remember being far too proud of myself when I passed the scribbled up offering envelope to my dad. He had one of those red Bible-marking pencils. You know, so he could underline verses without ink bleeding through the thin pages.

Anyway, he took that red pencil and he EDITED my song.

He edited ME.

I remember we were supposed to stand up then, so my dad pushed the envelope into my hands and smiled. He stood but I did not. I was too busy taking in the red slashes now skewering my words.

Roll Come Master Lord

Roll Come

Roll Come into my heart

Now, in all fairness to my dad, he was just helping. I don't think he ever put two and two together. He had no idea that my inspiration came from the toilet paper dispenser in the ladies. Nor did he care. He just knew that my words didn't make a whole lot of sense to him. His red marks made my song better and, as my de facto editor, that was his job. 

I never did stand up and sing my song to anyone, but I did learn not to hand my work out willy-nilly. If you do that, you just might get more feedback than you're ready for.

Roseanna's post the other day on How to Love an Editor's Suggestions was right on. Being edited can be a terrifying, devastating experience, but it doesn't have to be. In fact, the very purpose of editing is to prevent you from putting out anything less than your best.

I was at a disadvantage there on that blue pew; I had no idea I was about to be edited. But you, you'll know. When the time is right, you'll hand off your work to someone you trust--work that probably wasn't inspired by a toilet paper dispenser--and you'll remember that there is no malice involved. You'll remember that this person, this editor, just wants to help.

And you'll be excited. Know why? Cause not everyone makes it to edits. Not everyone has a story to offer an editor. When you get there, celebrate. And when you get your skewered words back, take a deep breath and dive in.

You're a writer. 

And this is what writers do.