Avoiding writing and editing disasters
After hundreds of freelance writing and editing jobs, I’ve begun to see that they fall into three categories:
- Successes. Client and I agree on the work, I deliver, the results are good, and they’re happy (and sometimes, ecstatic).
- Challenges. Client and I agree on the work, but there are difficulties that require me to work harder or longer than I expected. But in the end, the results are good, I get paid, and everyone is satisfied, more or less.
- Disasters. Things go off the rails, nothing gets done right, client becomes a terror (if they weren’t already), it’s hard to get paid, the result is either lame or never gets finished, and everyone is upset.
Of course, I prefer successes. And to be honest, I’m fine with challenges, although I often take away lessons from them about planning, pricing, and communication. My workload is not so overwhelming that a few extra-challenging projects can derail it. And since we’re working together towards a good result, often the clients involved in challenges will be open to negotiating extra payments for the expansion of scope of the project.
But today I want to talk about disasters, because disasters not only take extra work, but swallow up your emotional energy and damage your reputation. And worse yet, from my perspective, they don’t generate results I can’t be proud of. I’m still stuck on the idea that everything I work on should be something to admire.
Anatomy of three disasters
There have been exactly three disasters in my nine years of freelance writing and editing work. That’s less than 2% of all my projects, but they have taken up a disproportionate amount of my mindspace.
Disaster 1: The author who ghosts me during proposal development
I conduct an idea development session for a potential first-time author who has a popular podcast. I travel to a midwestern city to do the brainstorming. That goes moderately well. Then we get to work on writing a book proposal so he can pitch publishers. Things then go poorly. He fails to provide the information I need to help build out the proposal. He sends sketchy critiques the parts I’ve already created, based on feedback from a trusted friend of his; the critiques are about grammatical errors rather than content. Eventually, he ghosts me. After my repeated inability to get responses from him, I offer to return most of his money, which he accepts. Eventually, without further help from me, he signs with a publisher and publishes his book.
Disaster 2: The author who doesn’t understand narrative
I help an author to write a book proposal, which a hybrid publisher picks up. Then the hybrid publisher retains me to coach the author. The results are a complete failure; no amount of my instruction or coaching causes the author to generate much that’s useful. There’s plenty of text, for sure, but he just has no idea what a narrative is, a shortcoming I’ve never seen in another human being. Eventually, in shame, I give up. Months later, the publisher comes back to me; they have managed to get him to generate about 1.5 books worth of text, but it’s a mess and the publisher doesn’t know how to fix it. Out of sympathy for having failed the publisher earlier, I agree to complete the book editing for the remainder of my original fee. This becomes the most massive editing job I’ve ever undertaken, including rearranging chapters and sections, rationalizing lots of duplicated content, extensively editing sentence and paragraphs, and basically turning a pile of lumps of content into an actual book. I manage the book through production; the author continues to suggest late changes that inevitably drive the production staff insane and generate more errors. The book is published and achieves many of the author’s goals. While the fee I get is sadly inadequate for the amount of work I’ve done, I end up doing subsequent work for the author’s publicist, ghostwriting bylined articles about the book content, which pays well. The publisher, the author, and the publicist are all happy with the results; I’m unhappy with the amount of heartburn I had to put up with.
Disaster 3: The author whose ideas I can’t stomach
An author who has already worked with two ghostwriters and exhausted their efforts wants to hire a book doctor to get the book across the finish line. An agency reaches out to me and asks if I can take the project on for a high fee on a tight deadline. Needing capital, I agree. They ask me to edit a chapter for a fair rate of payment as a test. I read the chapter and find the author’s perspective at odds with my own ethics. (To be clear, I work on all sorts of books with all sorts of points of view; it’s very rare that I get asked to work on anything I’d hate to be associated with.) Further, the edits to this content are presented in the form of three separate files from different reviewers; one consists of edits dictated by the author client and noted on the draft by his assistant. Although I’ve already signed a contract with the agency to do the work, I tell them I have to back out. Although this likely damages my reputation with the agency, they continue to work with me based on the other successful projects I’ve done with them. As far as I know, the book has never been completed or published.
The key is not to do the work better; it is to avoid the disasters
The challenging projects I’ve worked on have taught me better ways to quote, to communicate, and to work effectively.
The disasters, on the other hand, haven’t. Once the projects were begun, I would have behaved no differently given the knowledge I have now. None of these projects was salvageable, nor could they have been managed better. I don’t regret what I did on any of them.
Putting it simply, I don’t feel much responsibility for contributing to these disasters, but I do feel regret for taking them in the first place.
That’s why I say the key for experienced freelancer professionals is not to do disaster projects better, it is to avoid them.
The first lesson is to develop a spider-sense for when you are about to be working with a client from hell. All experienced freelancers have this sense. It’s what got me to parachute out of the third project and avoid what could clearly have been a soul-destroying engagement. If someone feels like a bad partner, pay attention to your instincts.
Google is your friend. So is LinkedIn. Do not work with anyone unless you have checked them out thoroughly. How do they describe themselves? Are they serious about content, or are they a huckster? Another warning sign is the lack of content; real authors write and publish substantive content on blogs, Substack, Medium or elsewhere and you can see who they are and how they think.
Secondly, don’t just accept referrals. Ask the referrer questions. Who is this person? What are they like? What are their strengths and weaknesses? I thought I knew the author in Disaster 2, but clearly I was counting too much on recommendations from the people who brought him to me. I should have paid more attention to the warning signs from the agency in Disaster 3.
Thirdly, don’t get seduced by contracts with big numbers on them. If you are in the midst of a disaster, it won’t feel worth it. And in my experience, you may also have trouble getting paid.
Fourthly, pay close attention to process. In all three of the disasters, the process was irregular and the clients didn’t understand what a book drafting process normally looks like. While it is the freelancer’s job to explain this process — after all, we are the experts — it is also the freelancer’s job to notice when the client seems unable to understand why things are done the way they are.
And finally, for very large projects, always start with a pilot. A smaller, less expensive project allows both the client and you to determine if there is a fit. A disaster in the pilot is recoverable; it helps you to escape before you become mired in a huge, soul-sucking, futile effort.
Freelance writers and editors are optimists. We are prone to being seduced by fascinating ideas. But smart writers and editors are also a tiny bit paranoid. Ask yourself, if this goes wrong, is it going to be a challenge, or is it going to be a disaster? And if it is a disaster, what will it do my psyche and the rest of my business?
Avoiding disaster is a crucial skill for writers and editors, because one disaster can ruin your whole year. It may not look like it on your balance sheet, but disasters leave scars.
What disasters have you encountered? Were they your fault or the client’s? And what have you learned about avoiding disasters that my other readers can benefit from?
Hi Josh: Very helpful observations and advice. I find interesting that you mention a “pilot” for a book before going fully into the full book. What, to you, are great examples of a pilot project for a client?
Thanks.
For a big writing project, I start with the idea development session, which is a good way for me and the client to get to know each other. For editing, I usually start by editing a chapter.
Hi, Josh,
This was one of your best essays. Thank you for writing it.
I’m in the midst of what could become a disaster. Though I spoke with the author before taking the project and talked with others who know him, including the person who recommended me, the optimism that you mentioned in your article struck me.
The conversation with the author was encouraging. He had a lot to say and seemed interesting. However, when I asked for writing samples he refused, saying they weren’t very good and that he had removed them from the internet. That was a fairly large yellow flag, but the writer and editor optimism you wrote of and pre-payment resulted in my accepting the project.
I should have insisted on seeing writing samples. Failing that, I should have required that he send me a chapter or two of the book before I accepted the assignment. While the fee is in the bank, it’s far too low for the hours I am spending correcting basic grammar, punctuation, spelling and inserting missing words.
In sum, I hope our fellow editors heed your essay. You are in charge. Perform your due diligence before accepting work (if you can afford to) and temper the optimism that a new project sparks.
I hear you, Seth:
I should have insisted on seeing writing samples. Failing that, I should have required that he send me a chapter or two of the book before I accepted the assignment. While the fee is in the bank, it’s far too low for the hours I am spending correcting basic grammar, punctuation, spelling and inserting missing words.
It’s for this very reason that I can’t bring myself to quote fixed-price writing projects. The last time I did, things did not go well.
Sometimes there are those less-than-satisfactory projects, with problems arising only when you get to the end. One of my clients, whose historical novel I edited, claimed that I had rewritten the bulk of her manuscript in my voice and had deleted and added scenes. Her book was very well written and needed very little editing. (I found it a compelling and enjoyable read; she dealt compassionately with issues that are, today, politically and culturally sensitive.) When I asked for specific instances of my rewriting and of my adding and deleting scenes, she couldn’t provide any. She said she spent weeks comparing every jot and tittle (commas and periods) with her original manuscript to see what I changed, which were mostly jots and tittles. Evidently she didn’t trust me to do the job she hired me to do. It’s clear that she wouldn’t have trusted anyone. She paid my fee, but I didn’t press her for a copy of her book after publication (that detail is in my contract). I bought her book later, just to have a copy on my shelf. I know what I did, and I’m not ashamed of it. Some clients are just that way – there’s no pleasing them. But it did dent my confidence for a while, because it bothered me so for my professional integrity to be so spuriously challenged.
How is it difficult for a client to identify the changes you made? Don’t you use MS Word or Google Docs markup?
Yes, I used MS Word and its Track Changes. I just didn’t highlight Track Changes for every jot and tittle (and she admitted that the jots and tittles I did add or subtract were necessary). Any suggested sentence rewrite or shift of a paragraph to a different location was shown in Track Changes, as were notes, questions, and other suggestions. Apparently she was compelled to compare every text character between the two documents – her original and my edited one – because she didn’t trust me, or like I said, anyone else she could or would have hired. I have no idea why she would make such claims as rewriting and adding and deleting scenes, since that amount of work would have required a much higher fee, because it would have taken me a lot longer to do the job, even if I had wanted to do that kind of work. Why would anyone make such accusations with nothing to back them up? All this woman did was make pointless work for herself and stress herself out. Like my mother used to say, “People are funnier than anybody.” And she didn’t always mean in an amusing way.
My friend who had recommended me (whom I’ve known for about ten years and whose political-thriller books I’ve beta-read) was disappointed to learn what had transpired between this client and me. I only told her because I hoped she could provide any insight into why it happened, in case I had failed my client somehow. She was as puzzled as I was.