For me, professional non-fiction editing isn’t about choosing between being detail-oriented or strategic, artistic or analytical – it’s about being all of these things simultaneously. Read about six contradictions that I embrace in my editing approach to respond to the needs of each individual client and project.
The expression ‘can’t see the wood for the trees’ refers to situations where the details take over and the big picture is lost. Like when you get so focused on whether to use yellow or green icing on a birthday cake that you get the date of the party wrong. Or, in the editorial world, when you get so absorbed in checking comma usage that you don’t notice an entire chapter is missing.
For several years I played on this expression in my marketing, using the phrase ‘the wood and the trees’. I never quite committed to it because of language differences (US English tends to prefer ‘forest’ over ‘wood’). But recently it’s been reborn afresh in the phrase ‘precision with perspective’, which is now my business tagline.
I want my clients to have the benefit of both sides – no compromises.
Why ‘precision with perspective’ benefits my clients
‘The wood and the trees’ and ‘precision with perspective’ sprang from my realization that I loved (and was good at) both ends of the editorial detail spectrum: the big-picture management of multi-stage projects (perspective) and the deep, nuanced, mediatory work of word-by-word editing (precision).
My forest-management (big-picture) skills extend to managing multi-million-word encyclopedias with hundreds or thousands of authors. But my clients also frequently comment on my attention to detail – or, as one client put it, my ‘instinct to pick up a writer’s tone of voice and rhythm and match it’.
What this means in practice is that regardless of how absorbed I get in the nitty-gritty of a manuscript, another level of my brain is always thinking about:
- The overall structure and flow of the text
- Formatting and design
- The author’s and publisher’s goals
- The budget and schedule
- What happened before the manuscript reached me
- What might happen after the manuscript leaves my hands
- Information others might need to know
- The project’s overall editorial style
- The impact of my edits on the client’s publishing programme, workflows and efficiency
- The impact of my edits on the author’s journey as a writer
- The impact of my edits on fellow freelancers’ livelihoods, reputation and wellbeing (if we’re working on the same project)
As a result, I’m drawn to deep, long-term partnerships with clients where I can truly get to know their processes and what they want to achieve. This lets me tailor my approach to be as supportive as possible.
I am neither a manager nor an editor. I am both. And I bring both skillsets to all my projects, regardless of their size.
Editorially inspiring contradictions
The phrase ‘precision with perspective’ took shape during a big rebrand I undertook in 2025. It was the clear stand-out among an assortment of possible taglines. However, what struck me about the candidates as a whole was that each one contained some sort of contradiction.
Here, then, is a list of five other contradictions (not necessarily candidate taglines) that have sustained me in my editing approach over the years, and why.
Dreams are built on boring foundations
I first used this phrase in a post called ‘How to keep your freelance dream alive’. I talked about how living your freelance dream – pursuing the spark of inspiration that first drove you to build something for yourself and your clients – relies on doing mundane, unglamorous day-to-day stuff such as protecting your time with careful scheduling.
But, since then, I’ve reflected on how this principle applies to my client work too. From onboarding to scheduling, checklists, pre-editing, file management, macros, handover notes, follow-up reminders and hassle-free invoicing, the boring foundations allow the dream – the magic of the edit – to happen.
As I wrote a few years back, a ‘love of language’ is not enough to become a professional editor. It can be enormously helpful, as it gives experience with the written word and appreciation of good syntax. But that’s no good if your onboarding flow is confusing, you lose or misname files, your process is so inefficient that you can’t make a decent hourly rate, or your invoices are missing key information.
If you’re familiar with this quotation from Henry David Thoreau, you’ll know what I mean:
If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.
(Walden, chapter 18)
Respecting my clients’ investment in my services means spending time on the boring foundations – without them, neither my nor my clients’ editing dreams will be fulfilled.
Thoughtful joy
Being edited can be a challenging process, especially if we’re not used to it. Writing makes us vulnerable, for two reasons. Firstly, from the words themselves: we all have different levels of confidence with written language, and grammar, spelling and vocabulary can be daunting.
Secondly, from the ideas behind the words – and this can be the truly scary bit. Writing isn’t just about filling a page with words. As I wrote in my copyediting and AI manifesto, writing is thinking. It means taking the risk of showing others an aspect of our mind and hoping those others deem it enough. We are changed by it and we hope to change others with its results.
But if writing can be scary and puts us in a vulnerable place, editing is the antidote.
I think of this as ‘thoughtful joy’ (and I’ve written about this in my article on why I, as an editor, love being edited).
Pure joy is not usually a cognitive process – it’s instinctive. But there’s a special type of ‘thoughtful’ joy that’s hard won: in relation to editing, it comes from striving to express ourselves as best we possibly can and then being open to the idea that there’s an even better way to let our thoughts shine.
And it’s reciprocal. When I sent Proof Pro Ayesha Chari a few suggested edits on her December 2025 piece about what the editorial community should be talking about more, her reply contained the words ‘I’ve been grinning ever since I saw your feedback last night’. And hearing that set me off grinning too.
Good editing is a meeting of minds. It sees someone where they are and joyfully, thoughtfully opens a door to new possibilities.
Structure loves chaos
I love a good project plan, and I love it when a project goes to plan (with due credit to Hannibal of The A Team).
But there’s also a part of me that loves it when a project is hit by an unexpected development. Yes, it can be stressful when an author needs to update a chapter thanks to new legislation or an art history catalogue simply must have a new entry to discuss a recently unearthed artwork. Changes like this can be enormously disruptive.
But they are also an opportunity to test my systems (some of those boring foundations I mentioned above) – and there’s a part of me that rubs her hands with glee at the prospect.
Because if the fundamental structure of the project has been set up properly – the file management, the style sheet, the lines of communication – then a moderate dose of chaos shouldn’t stress a project to breaking point. And, if cracks do show in any parts of the process, it’s an opportunity to refine my systems for the future (my Editorial Project Review Template, which is free when you sign up to my newsletter, can help you do this for your projects).
I’m not saying I can always avoid a delay in the schedule – depending on the size of the change, a delay may be inevitable (although I have pulled off the odd miracle or two over the years!). But there may be an enormous difference to the client in reducing that delay from, say, one week to two.
Well-structured projects thrive on a bit of chaos. They chew it up, spit it out all shiny and tidy, and then use the experience to prevent more of the same type of chaos in the future.
Functionality and flair
Some of my clients’ projects might seem purely functional – for example, assessments intended to allow a committee to decide whether the project should be funded.
But I don’t think any bit of text is purely functional – or, at least, I think every bit of text is enhanced by a little bit of flair.
What I’m calling ‘flair’ comes in many forms, and it could just as easily be called ‘identity’. Here are some ways that my clients inject a bit of flair or identity into their documents:
- Using precise, non-generic language
- Honing their own unique voice
- Developing their own frameworks or motifs
- Having their own bespoke editorial style guide (if your organization needs one of these, I can help you develop one)
- Including well-chosen quotations
- Using contractions (can’t, shouldn’t) where appropriate
- Using metaphors or analogies
- Incorporating case studies that bring examples to life
- Including memorable illustrations
- Choosing striking headings
- Varying paragraph and sentence lengths
- Varying syntax
- Using touches of humour
- Judiciously breaking grammatical rules
But for this flair not to fall flat, it requires the functional aspects of the text to work as well. For example:
- Consistent and accurate spelling and punctuation
- Excellent grammar basics
- Sound overall ‘thesis’ or argument
- Clear flow of ideas
- Appropriate use of terminology and jargon
- Appropriate calibration of reading level for the audience
- Accurate facts and data
- Correct calculations
- Appropriate choice of formats (e.g. presenting findings as text, a table or a chart)
- Thorough referencing, with a suitable system and consistent implementation
- Ethical and legal compliance (e.g. copyright and permissions)
If these functional aspects aren’t in place, any attempt at flair is likely to fall flat. The publication will seem confusing or haphazard, and therefore unusable and untrustworthy.
Functionality and flair are a spectrum, but almost all writing has at least some of both.
Artsy spreadsheetoholic
Up until I began freelancing, I considered myself entirely on the arts side of the arts–sciences equation. I played the cello and piano. I sewed in my spare time. My A Level (high school) subjects were English Literature, History, Music and Art. During my time at Durham University, UK, I continued with English Lit and two of my three closest friends studied an assortment of English and History (the other – who studied the impossibly grown-up subject of Business – initially had us producing expressions of captivation and terror normally only found on the faces of startled guinea pigs).
But when I began working at Elsevier in 2007, I was introduced to spreadsheets, and it was a revelation. I can still remember the day I learned the glorious power of VLOOKUPs. I also did some supply chain analysis and saved my unit quite a large amount of money in annual shipping fees.
Then, soon after I went freelancing, I realized that I had, in fact, started a business. This led to the inescapable truth that I would need to continue to acquire some skills with numbers.
Over the next couple of years, in a manner I still can’t quite explain, one thing led to another and I found myself building a custom business-management database in Microsoft Access. With calculations. And coding.
Since then, I’ve come to relish copyediting and line editing reports packed with data. I’m especially proud of when I spot shaky calculations, giving the client the opportunity to correct them before publication. I’ve also wholeheartedly embraced macros and have recently built the third version of my database in Notion.
The point of this is that I believe my artsy and spreadsheety sides are at their best when I’m editing. Case in point: art history. When I’m editing this topic, clearly I need to be extremely sensitive to the art content, historical and cultural nuances, and of course the author’s voice and style. But it’s vital never to get lost in that lyrical world and to retain sight of the technical data at all times, as I argued in a recent article.
Non-fiction editors need both sensitivity and objectivity; fluidity and focus; mastery of words and mastery of data.
Have your editing cake and eat it
‘Precision with perspective’ implies having your cake and eating it. And I love that: I don’t want my clients to be forced into a compromise.
Excellent editing is comfortable with contradictions. Unlike AI, an editor knows (and, more importantly, feels) that there is often no right answer. Every precise edit requires the perspective that comes from understanding the client, the context and the wider industry.
Get in touch if you’d like precision with perspective for your non-fiction editorial project.
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