During my full-time stints as an editor at various editing companies, there were strict processes to follow, and rightly so. As profit-making businesses, those companies were offering something specific to clients. And such a targeted service (to carefully targeted clients) inevitably had restrictions. Editorial restrictions. For example, a proofreading assignment should only be proofread. If we raise other, non-proofreading queries to clients, they could then expect more from a service that is meant to be strictly proofreading. As much as editors have difficulty accepting this, it’s a fair policy from the service provider’s perspective. Why such policies exist (and why they actually work with the clients these companies target) is another matter.
Suffice to say it is very difficult for an editor to work within such a framework. It takes weeks, if not months, to get used to editing with this mindset. Imagine editing while making sure we don’t do even a tiny bit more than the client has paid for, over and above the usual pressures an editor works under (like failing a quality check if they have indeed gone beyond the scope of the service).
As an editor, I’m a big proponent of defining the scope of an editorial project, and therefore, I’m very aware of the negative impact of scope creep. However, I also think that flagging something glaring, even if it’s beyond the scope of the project, isn’t as bad as it is made out to be. If it’s something very obvious, if it’s something an editor would notice had it been within scope, then there’s no harm in querying it. A simple flag would be more than enough: Hey, I noticed this, I know this is beyond this project, but perhaps you’d like to double check. Editing is a conversation, remember?
Coming back to my point, my trainees found it very challenging to work with such editorial limitations. Fresh graduates, excited about getting into editing in their very first job, so much excitement and awareness flowing… Completely understandable. During training, when I pointed out these service benchmarks and limitations, they would often tell me “But I feel like that doesn’t make sense, and it can and should be improved, even though the client has not chosen that service.” I would respond “Your feelings have nothing to do with that.”
As I transitioned from working full-time for editing companies to working as an independent editor, I came to own my processes. I make my own policies, and these are policy decisions are based on simple and logical preferences of most of my clients. These are also decisions intended to make my life easier, which in turn makes the projects easier, which in turn makes the clients’ lives easier. Equally important is the fact that my processes and policies reflect my values, something which big editing companies may not always take as seriously as, say, generating profits.
I often think back to those conversations today. In that work setting, within the framework of those processes and services, my response was valid. But it makes me think that it’s horribly wrong on its own. We are language professionals, and language is an intrinsic expression of how we feel and what we think. So yes, feelings matter, especially in a profession like mine, because language matters. Words matter. Sure, we shouldn’t flag things beyond the scope of a project, but if something is really bothering me, I would flag it and be done with it. At the most, it will spark a new conversation with my client, and I’m always up for that. I’m always looking to learn from each client, from each project, whether it’s to do with editing, my processes, or the subject matter itself.
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