Choosing an editor is one of the most important steps of book-writing. Besides correcting all the little and big mistakes, rewording sentences that appear funky, and acting as overall cheerleader, editors are, I've discovered, little extensions of ourselves. Like us, without the baggage of being us.
Not having embarked on this journey before, I chose my editor based upon a recommendation. It wasn't until I met my editor in person that I truly realized what a gem I had hired.
She's a mom; to a young toddler, in fact, and that alone is reason enough to keep her around. Not only is she smart, creative, and utterly unflappable, she's also understands my life.
We met last night at a local coffee shop filled with young, smartphone-immersed young people who were only pretending to study for finals. Normally we meet during the day, but both she and I, and our children, had been sick, so there we were at 7 p.m. playing catch-up.
As our time together progressed and ideas began to flow thick and fast, I wanted to scribble some notes on my hard copy outline. Dang, no pen in my cluttered messenger bag. Mountains of tissue, a small dog collar (don't ask), notebook, mints, but no pen. Here's where it gets good. I asked Editor if she had a pen in her messenger bag.
"Um, let me see," she replied, opening up the flap and proceeding to take out a onesie, socks, plastic bags, one mitten, and a wallet with no money. See why I like her?
She didn't have a pen, either.
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