When I return a manuscript evaluation to a writer, I include a developmental edit on the opening chapters, line by line, alongside the high-level assessment. And every time I hit “send” on that feedback, I get anxious because I know what’s about to happen on the other end. A writer opens that document and sees it. All of it. Every tracked change. Every comment and margin note stacked one on top of the next.
It’s overwhelming. Even for a writer who’s already addressed everything they could see themselves, or everything critique partners may’ve flagged in a select scene. They’ve been so close to this story for so long… and now here’s a document full of someone else’s comments. It’s tough to consider it all objectively. It’s often disheartening (or demoralizing).
It can feel almost impossible to even know where to start.
I want every writer to know something before they open that document: that pile of notes is not a revision plan. It’s raw data.
I spent twenty-five years in biomedical research administration and grant writing before I became a book coach, and I like to think about manuscript feedback like it’s a dataset. Researchers don’t gather data points and then just call it a day. They study them. Look for trends. Cluster the individual data points into something that tells a story, an analysis, a report, a poster presentation. The data collection is the necessary first step, but it’s the analysis that tells you what to actually do next.
A pile of margin notes works the same way. The comments are your data points. What you need next is the analysis, the thing that turns “here are forty-two things I noticed” into “here’s what to do about it, and in what order.”
Build that analysis yourself
- Separate the structural notes from line-level ones. Before you react to anything, read them all. Does this note change what happens in the story, or does it change how something is written? Those are two different categories of work, and they don’t belong on the same list.
- Categorize them. Once you’ve sorted them, look for clusters. Individual notes rarely point to individual problems. Three separate comments about pacing in three separate chapters are likely indicative of one more significant problem. A “this feels boring” note about a passage sitting next to a “this character’s choice doesn’t make sense” note, might actually be pointing at the same root cause. Clusters are where the real diagnosis starts to take shape.
- Rank notes by impact. Ask yourself which fix(es) would make the other notes easier to address (or resolve entirely). Do that fix first. Then work through them in order by completing the structural fixes first, then scene-level work like setting and tension. Complete line edits last (no matter how much those line edits are calling to you!).
- Check your work. Before you move to the next cluster of notes, confirm the previous fix works. A scene that reads beautifully on the line level doesn’t matter much if the structure underneath it just changed.
Beware of getting off track
Don’t treat every note as equal. Don’t start with line edits because they feel easier, and because it feels like real progress. (I know this temptation, and have to fight it every. single. time. You’re not alone.) And most importantly, don’t let any comment make you feel like your manuscript is “less than”.
A note is just a diagnostic clue. One data point.
None of this makes opening that reviewed manuscript with its editorial letter any less overwhelming, but know that a pile of notes and a revision plan are not the same thing. Reading through and assessing the feedback is worth doing before you revise a single line.
Trusting someone else’s eyes on your story, even when it’s a lot to take in at first, is often how you learn to trust your own again.
Before you send your manuscript off for outside eyes, here are a couple things that may help:
- If just opening the document feels like too much, start with a read-through before you do anything else: The Calm Way to Begin a Revision
- If you’ve already gone through your manuscript, made all the notes, and you know something’s wrong but you’re not quite sure what it is (or how to fix): When You Know What’s Wrong But Can’t Fix It
Hi, I’m Rebecca Davis, developmental editor and book coach, mystery lover, and former research administrator. I traded grant proposals for plot twists and now I get to help writers find their way through the maze of story and structure. I live on the South Carolina coast, and believe every story needs both a map and a little mystery. Explore Coaching Services →