

Mar 2, 2021
Updated: 6 hours ago

Once we have mastered the technical aspects of copyediting through reading, training, and experience, we will begin to notice that certain non-technical elements are equally important. Sometimes, it is our missteps that make us aware of these important elements, which can make or break our relationship with the author. In this piece, I'll explore some of these elements.
Often, the only communication we have with our authors is through comments in the manuscript. This is almost always the case when an intermediary (e.g., an editing company, a production editor) sits between the copyeditor and the author. Therefore, the tone of our comments is critical in establishing a healthy professional relationship between the copyeditor and the author. The following are some techniques that have served me well in writing comments over the years.
Comments could be either telegraphic in style or full sentences, and one factor in deciding which style to adopt is the part of the world your author is from. When I began copyediting, I worked on books from a US publisher, and we were encouraged to use an abbreviated, telegraphic style in our comments to authors. We used truncated sentences such as "OK as changed?" and "Insertion OK?".
However, when I began working with an editing company whose authors were from East Asian countries such as China, Korea, and Japan, we were required to use full sentences, a very polite, formal tone, and liberal doses of "please." It took some time for me to adjust to this change.
Nowadays, I make it a point to include "please" in some comments, even with authors who are not from East Asia. A polite and respectful tone will help smooth the relationship with sensitive authors who might take umbrage at mistakes in their writing being corrected or pointed out to them.
I also use the collective pronouns "we" and "us" to signal to the author that we are in the same team and working together. Hopefully, this signaling will have a positive effect on the author. So, for example, I write "We could insert an explanatory footnote here" rather than the peremptory "Insert an explanatory footnote here" or even the polite "Please insert an explanatory footnote here."
I use questions in a similar way to signal to the author that she is the final decision-maker and that my role is primarily advisory, e.g., "Should we insert an explanatory footnote?" These questions serve as gentle nudges; they are suggestions disguised as questions. Of course, I'm not advocating for turning all suggestions into questions. Not at all! (The Malayalam proverb "adhigam ayaal, amritham visham" [even ambrosia becomes poison if consumed in excess] comes to mind here.) But I ensure that every document has a sprinkling of suggestions disguised as questions. This puts the onus squarely on the author, reminding her that she is the final arbiter of the document's destiny—and that I, the copyeditor, acknowledge this truth. One can combine questions and collective pronouns to double the psychological impact (as in "Should we insert an explanatory footnote?").
Another little psychological device I use sometimes is to smuggle in the reader as an agent in the comments. For example, rather than saying "This is unclear," I'll sometimes ask, "Will the reader understand this"? and "Can we insert a footnote here to help the reader understand this"? ("we" plus "the reader" doubles the psychological impact) rather than "I think an explanatory footnote should be inserted here." The reader can also serve as a convenient scapegoat: Rather than saying "I think that's too obscure a word" (which might offend the author), I'll say, "Some readers may not understand metamorphized. Can we use a simpler word?"
The above techniques help smooth the harsh fact that a lot of editing boils down to correcting mistakes, which can be an ego-bruising experience for some authors. Many of my authors are senior-level researchers and professors. So, I do not, for example, give my authors grammar lessons. Nobody likes being lectured to, especially researchers and professors, for whom the shoe is usually on the other foot.
Some authors respond badly to corrections. I remember one case where I changed a UK English word to the US English equivalent because the mandated style called for US English. When the reviewed document was returned to me, I saw that the author had quietly restored the original word. I once again changed the word, this time commenting that we were using US English. The document was returned with the word once again Britishized! This time the covering email from the intermediary asked me to retain the British English word as a special case. Naturally, I complied.
Sometimes I will flag a blatant mistake and simply comment that "This does not work," partly to dissuade the author from stetting the correction, especially if I know that English is not the author's strong suit. But I never give a grammatical justification unless the author asks for one; the author may think I'm lecturing her or talking down to her. I remember one such case where I corrected a few terrible grammatical errors and attached bald "This does not work" comments to the corrections. In my covering email, I softened the blow by commenting that I had learned a lot of the terminology of the field from the document.
If an author does ask for supporting grammatical evidence for a correction (some authors may believe popular grammatical myths), don't assume she'll want to read an entire article: quote the relevant part or insert a screenshot of the relevant part in addition to providing the link. I remember one author who actually wanted a couple of grammar lessons; she was an exception.
In general, it's advisable to use a moderate tone in comments. Unless you are cornered, avoid absolute statements. I remember a comment to the author of a mathematical paper that boomeranged on me. The author's grasp of English was tenuous, and one statement in the paper seemed technically incorrect. I arrived at this conclusion after Internet research backed up by the opinion of a subject matter expert. I wrote that the statement was incorrect, because X can never be Y, and suggested an alternative. The reviewer in the editing company disputed that "X can never be Y," citing an authority. I learned my lesson. I should have just suggested that the author consider the alternative without claiming that "X can never be Y." After all, I'm not a mathematician. Why stick my neck out?

Attention to detail is what can separate you from your peers, and I'm not referring to language (let's assume for the sake of argument that you and your peers are equally matched in the language department). Here are a few examples of what I mean:
You read "The following discussion can be divided into three parts," but notice that the table summarizing the discussion shows only two parts.
Speaking of tables, check column totals and percentages — within limits. Don't go overboard! The aim is to catch glaring mistakes. If you round the numbers, the calculations will be simplified. Obviously, leave large tables well alone. But if, for example, figures are mentioned in running text as well as percentages linking the numbers, check that the percentages are correct. I've found quite a few such mistakes.
In a sentence such as "The following six research questions will be addressed," check that six questions—and not five or seven—are listed. This type of mistake is rather common.
Here are a few more examples of similar errors:
Inconsistent reporting, for example, the use of both percentages and fractions or different units to report the same kind of data. How can data be compared if different units are used?
A document I edited had the following sentence: "Ramesh was asked to prepare a report to be presented to the managing director a week later ..." However, I noticed that neither Ramesh nor this report was mentioned again in the document. After I pointed this out, the sentence was deleted by the authors.
The author of another document stated that X's family members did not sign the agreement. However, I remembered that it was mentioned earlier that X's daughters did sign the agreement. The author was grateful for the correction.
Another example: in a family tree, one node was a man aged 40, and below him were listed his daughters—aged 43, 46, and 55 years! After I pointed this out, the author made the correction: As I'd guessed, they were his sisters, not his daughters!
Did you spot the error in "The new policy was implemented in five states, including Haryana, Punjab, Kerala, West Bengal, and Tamil Nadu"? The word "including" gives the impression that only a subset of the five states is listed, but all five are listed. This is another common error that can easily be overlooked if the copyeditor is not alert. The fix is easy: "The new policy was implemented in five states: Haryana, Punjab, Kerala, West Bengal, and Tamil Nadu."

Recently I've come across several examples of authors writing the opposite of what they mean:
In the sentence fragment "... which are feasible in the long run due to high costs," the author meant "infeasible."
In "Although one can change the reserve price if required, it is advisable to change the quoted price," the author meant "inadvisable," which I inferred from the transition signaled by "Although."
In "Diode replacement is not a plug-and-play solution like transistor replacement," the author meant "Unlike transistor replacement, diode replacement is not a plug-and-play solution." This kind of ambiguity-generating misuse of "like" is surprisingly common.
The authors greatly appreciated these corrections, which is not surprising because the original sentences would have confused the readers.

No copyeditor can give an assurance that her work is 100% error free. Because this is work done by humans, even with all the care in the world, it's possible that a few errors lurk in the final document submitted to the author. Most authors understand this and will forgive the occasional copyediting error, but here's the thing: if you have earned the author's respect by spotting easily overlooked—and usually overlooked—errors that had escaped the author's notice, it is more likely that the author will forgive the occasional copyediting sin.
I do a lot of work outside my field (engineering and applied math), and despite my vast experience and all my precautions, I have been guilty of the occasional howler—not just mistakes but howlers, terrible blunders. A couple of examples follow.
In a report on the environment, I encountered WASH and changed it to "wash," wondering how on earth that word got all-capped. When the document was returned by the author, I found that my change had been reversed, together with the comment "WASH is an acronym that stands for Water, Sanitation, and Hygiene." I flushed a beetroot red on reading that.
In a business report, I was wondering what to make of a word I'd never seen before: digitalization. The term I was familiar with was digitization. A quick Google search turned up a medical meaning from Webster's: administration of the drug digitalis. Convinced now that the author (or her autocorrect) had made an understandable mistake, I smiled knowingly and changed all the occurrences of digitalization to digitization. I also included an explanatory note that digitalization was a medical term. When I received the document from the author, I was shocked to find that digitalization had been quietly restored, without comment. It took me just a few seconds to dig up the truth, and never have I felt more ashamed of myself. That humiliation taught me the difference between the two terms so well that I now suggest digitalization when I see digitization when I know from the context that the author means the former.
Fortunately, these authors did not rub it in, and the digitalization author did not even comment on my howler; she quietly and diplomatically fixed my mistakes herself. I like to think this is because overall, these authors liked my work. These slipups have taught me that the golden rule is an excellent guideline to follow in copyeditor-author working relationships: treat the author respectfully, and it's likely that the author will treat you with respect. Produce strong work that speaks for itself, and you will earn the author's respect — and gratitude. The occasional copyediting error discovered by the author is then likely to be readily forgiven.




A very interesting piece ... loved reading it.