13 Things I’ve Learned as a Picture Book Editor
If I had to draw a line from reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar as a toddler to making picture books as an adult, it would be the most twisty-turny line, at times veering off in several directions at once; at other times, turning invisible. But whatever path led me there, in 2017, I joined the editorial team of a picture book publishing house in India. I quickly grew obsessed with the wholly unique literary form (it’s not a genre!) that is the picture book—what the art says that the text doesn’t, the space that the words leave open for the reader to fill, how the physical act of turning the page can become an emotional act—the possibilities were endless and I would be part of a team that was responsible for them. I knew I would have to work extra hard to do this job well. After all, a good editor is invisible, and I was very much not the keep-my-thoughts-to-myself sort.
Ultimately, I edited picture books full-time for four years. I still don’t know if I managed to get good at it (I did get good—that was my half-hearted attempt at humility) but these are a few things I do know:
Editors are not invisible. We may be invisible to the readers, but to writers, to illustrators, to the teams of people working on a book, we’re the loudest, meanest, kindest, most present, most persistent voices.
It’s OK for editors to pat themselves on the back. I’ve always championed the books I’ve edited but it took me some time to learn how to be proud of them. Yes, the words are the writers’ and the pictures the illustrators’ but someone thought of this particular writer to tell this story, and someone believed this was the illustrator who would make the words sing. It’s all right for those someones to, privately at least, congratulate themselves.
The people we work with will become our lifelong friends, not unlike brothers in arms. We have been through something intense together—the knowledge of a parallel universe where you decided to sign with that other illustrator who later happened to have a significant hard drive crash, the embarassingly long debate about the right way to address that one unpredictable author, or the glaring spelling error you only caught in the final final (absolutely final) draft of the book—these bonds are hard to shake.
Knowing when to step out of the way is important. Looking at a story and bypassing yourself to be able to imagine it in the hands of a reader is a particular skill. It’s different from discerning a good story or a wonderful concept. It’s the wisdom to say “I trust you, and I'll help you get your work into the hands of your readers.”
Knowing when to butt in is important too. It’s easy to fear being overbearing or nitpicky but editors have instincts, and trusting those instincts is necessary. It’s a fact that stories come from writers but it’s also a fact that everyone thinks they can write. It falls on the shoulders of editors to not only suss out those who have chops, but also to not let good authors get too comfortable to push themselves.
Most manuscripts that rhyme make an editor want to change their identity and go on the run. After they calm down, they might perform it like an unexciting rap song.
Asking someone why a book is five months late by saying “just checking in” can still make an editor feel guilty.
Editors keep one round of edits exclusively to make our feedback polite enough for public consumption.
The world of kid lit is special. Despite the vast chasm between the temperaments of an editor and that of a writer or illustrator, everyone shares a sense of wonder, and a slight open-hearted madness that forms the faith in the power of children’s literature. There are illustrators who will redo an entire spread because of an offhand comment, and also authors who will argue with you for weeks over the placement of a preposition but everyone speaks the same language—of stories and childhood, and of making good art for all children.
An editor may be the surliest person on the planet but she will know the name of her illustrator’s cousin’s cat.
Working on hundreds of books and reading each of them hundreds of times cannot dull the feeling of holding a newly printed book we’ve worked on.
Children’s books creators should be rated R.
Editors will have perfectly serious conversations about what word would best indicate the sound of an alien yawning.
I’ve worked on over a hundred books, sent innumerable contracts, argued with proofreaders, written reminders with increasing desperation, watched my books win awards, and made friends for life. Despite the contracts, there is so much to love about being a picture book editor: seeing a child hug a book I’ve worked on, picking the perfect cover, author-illustrator matchmaking, and watching a manuscript take shape as extra words are whittled away. Most of all, I love being a loud, mean, kind, present, persistent voice.
