Editorial Notes = clarifying information, additional insight, annotations

Hiya Reader,

I can be an annoying person to watch movies and series TV with because I am rarely surprised by the supposed twist and not exactly quiet about it. A perfect example was last century's (ha! I picked an old one so as not to spoil a current one for you) M. Night Shyamalan movie The Sixth Sense. I kept waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for the promised SHOCKER at the end which, when it came, was a massive letdown given how obvious the situation was to me from the beginning.

Interestingly, I do this less often with books. Why do you think that is? Hit reply and give me your theory!

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Example of the Week

Sometimes this is a good example—or a great one. Sometimes this is a bad example—or just a funny blooper. Sometimes a combination. You never know.

A great plot twist should feel both surprising and inevitable. Examples include:

• The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie
• My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult
• Atonement by Ian McEwan

(Note: Like the above Bruce Willis example, I have so many examples of bad/flawed plot twists...but I don't want to alienate by inadvertently choosing your favorite book, so I will refrain.)

Surprise that deepens rather than disrupts applies to more than fiction. For example, the twist might be a reframing of your own story or a moment where the piece pivots from exploring a question to revealing an unexpected answer or connection.

Your reader should be surprised, but also recognize the inevitability and just plain rightness of the twist. No one enjoys a jump scare.

Actionable Tip of the Week

A trick to add to your self-editing toolbox right now!

If you're a writer who thrives on time management (or, let's be honest, really shouldn't have let this one fall off your New Year's resolution list) you've encountered the Eisenhower Matrix: urgent vs. important, four neat quadrants for your daily tasks. Proofreading that article due tomorrow? Urgent and important — top left box. Scrolling through writing memes? Neither urgent nor important — bottom right, delete with prejudice.

But here's the thing about self-editing: it rarely feels urgent until it's a crisis, and then it feels like everything is urgent.

Enter the Covey Matrix, Eisenhower's philosophical cousin. Instead of "What's due today?" Covey asks, "What matters for my future?" It's the long game, the strategic view, the difference between fixing typos and fixing your voice.

Both Eisenhower and Covey have something to offer us. Here's how you use them.

Make two lists of your editing tasks. First, your Eisenhower list, i.e. the daily grind:

• Fix typos in Chapter 3
• Cut 500 words from the intro
• Check all the dialogue tags
• Format the manuscript
• Read it aloud one more time
• Catch repetitive words

Now, your Covey list, i.e. the big-picture stuff:

• Strengthen my character arcs
• Develop my unique voice
• Learn to kill my darlings
• Build better opening hooks
• Master pacing across scenes
• Trust my instincts as a writer

What happens if you swap the time frames? For example, what if you treated "fix typos in Chapter 3" like a long-term investment? You'd learn patterns in your mistakes, build a personal style guide, train your eye to catch errors before they happen.

Conversely, what if you treated "develop my unique voice" like an urgent daily task? You'd spend fifteen minutes each morning reading your work aloud, noting what sounds like you and what sounds like someone you're imitating.

This doesn't work for every task, of course. Formatting the manuscript is probably still just... formatting the manuscript, no matter which list it's on. But consider the larger principle here. Self-editing isn't just about cleaning up messes but building your writing practice and strengthening your craft. Shouldn't the work be undertaken with intent and purpose?

Reader Question of the Week

Libby wrote: What human-level editorial thinking can't be replicated in the age of AI?

Libby! Yes, AI can handle certain mechanical tasks: grammar checking, consistency review, basic structural analysis. But it fundamentally cannot do what skilled editors do: understand subtext, recognize when a piece is arguing against itself, or help a writer discover what they're trying to say beneath what they think they're saying.

Proofreading does not equal copy editing. Copy editing does not equal development editing. And AI, while undeniably helpful for certain finite and structured tasks, cannot truly edit. That's because editing isn't just about catching errors; it's about being a sophisticated reader who can identify connections or articulate why something isn't working and suggest viable alternatives for consideration.

Many good writers believe that their skill automatically makes them good editors, but that’s not the case at all. An analogy is that Michael Jordan, an elite athlete and the greatest basketball player of all time, did not have much success in his short-lived baseball career. The skills for each sport are completely different. Even further, good proofreaders are not necessarily good developmental editors and vice versa. We need to recognize what we do well and what we need to strengthen (or hire out to a professional — which is always a human).

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Link of the Week

​What time is it in literature? (This is NOT an affiliate link. But it's on my gift wish list if anyone wants to get me one!)

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Thanks for reading!

~Helene, your writing sherpa

P.S. Sad but True: 95% of Manuscripts Get Rejected Immediately

Your opening ten pages aren't just important — they're everything. As a seasoned editor who knows exactly what agents and publishers demand, I'll tell you the brutal truth: does your hook grab immediately? Is your voice distinctive? Does your opening promise a story worth reading?

Expert editorial analysis with decades of industry insight. Get the professional feedback that separates published authors from the slush pile.​

Don't query blindly. Know your opening works before agents see it.