The Truth About Manuscript Assessments

& some common features of the assessments I write

Manuscript assessments: for when you can’t see the forest for the trees.

In a manuscript assessment (sometimes called a structural edit) an editor studies every aspect of a novel: structure, story and style. I was writing manuscript assessments long before I became a published author because early in my career I was an in-house children’s book editor. I trained at Penguin Books (London) in the 1990s. Working for a major publishing house meant that I was sent on a bunch of fancy courses. These covered every editorial skill from the “big picture” structural edit through to the sensitivity of a copy-edit and the precision of proofreading. For some years my editorial role involved neither novels nor living authors, so the acquired skills were applied somewhat differently. But later on, in other publishing houses and then as a freelancer, I learnt about the relationship between editor and writer and fast-tracked my experience of the structural edit in particular. It became my favourite. I discovered the commonalities as well as how to evaluate each story tactfully, practically and creatively. These days I write 10-30 assessments a year as a freelancer.

A couple of decades down the line, now the author of several books, it’s strange to think of all those manuscript assessments I wrote without first-hand knowledge of writing a novel (or, more to the point, rewriting a novel). But a good editor certainly does not need to be a novelist and some novelists are not good editors (but they may be good teachers; I’m not so sure that I am). For me the tension between being an editor and a writer has dominated my career. But I bring to each manuscript assessment the direct experience of how tough it is to process that level of critique and set one’s mind to a major rewrite.

Have I ever paid for a manuscript assessment myself? Oh yes, they were an important part of my route to publication. A few years before my debut was published, when I was still in London, I got two manuscript assessments in one go from the Hilary Johnson Authors’ Advisory Service, now retired. Oof, big day reading both of those reports.

One manuscript was the first draft of Steal My Sunshine, back then set in the UK, and the other was the first draft of the novel that became my UK debut, Girl, Aloud. Those assessments did their job: they made me determined to rewrite significantly and they also make me determined not to quit. As I wrote about in my post Upcycling For Writers, once I emigrated to Australia I made Steal My Sunshine Australian, too, starting the research from scratch and reimagining the setting and characters. Upon finishing that new draft I had a further manuscript assessment on it by an Australian writer. Then I packed its kit bag and sent it on a perilous journey to The Slushpile.

So when I say I know manuscript assessments, I know them from both sides. Today I want to explain what it’s like to write one.

It’s crucial that writers find a good fit, with a confident and experienced editor, so I only take on assessments of children’s fiction. When a writer comes to me with picture books or adult fiction, I refer them to someone else that I trust.

Before I read a manuscript, I’m nervous. Every time. No matter how many scores of reports I’ve written, how many times I believe I’ve provided a useful roadmap to a rewrite or how many positive responses I’ve had, I always start out thinking: will I be able to diagnose the problems, and will I imagine a set of solutions that will encourage and nourish this writer? The nerves are a good thing, I reckon. Every manuscript deserves that fresh start.

I’m old-school so I print out the manuscript, making notes all over it as I read. Often I’ll have detected some major problems by the end of chapter three. But I always write them down with an open mind: these notes are a conversation with myself (perhaps this issue improves, perhaps this character develops soon, perhaps this problem resolves, give it time . . . ). I test each diagnosis thoroughly. My job is to be receptive; to read a story as both a reader and an editor. For this reason, the reading and note-taking is time-consuming. That’s where the work is done. When it comes to actually composing the report, my brain is bursting with their story and the next step is to present my findings. And, importantly, to invite them into their next draft.

Often a writer will explain that they’ve had a few rejections. Usually these rejections come with vague excuses: “not quite right for our list”, “didn’t grab me enough” and the like. These phrases are shorthand for: we don’t have the time or energy to help you to fix the problems or even to name them. My job is to give a writer something concrete to work with. I’m all about the solutions.