How to Become an Editor: The Real Path from Words to Wisdom

The first time I killed someone's darling, I was twenty-three and terrified. Not literally, of course—I'm talking about that moment when you tell a writer their favorite paragraph needs to go. The author had spent three pages describing a sunset, and while it was beautiful writing, it added nothing to her memoir about escaping an abusive marriage. That's when I truly understood what editing meant: it's not about making writing pretty. It's about making it work.

Most people think becoming an editor means you're good at spotting typos. That's like saying a surgeon is someone who's good with Band-Aids. The reality runs much deeper, and the path to editorial work twists through territories that nobody really warns you about.

The Uncomfortable Truth About Editorial Work

Let me shatter a myth right now: loving to read doesn't make you editor material. I've met voracious readers who would make terrible editors because they can't separate their personal taste from what serves the text. Editing requires a peculiar kind of schizophrenia—you need to inhabit the author's voice while simultaneously standing outside it with a machete.

The work itself varies wildly depending on where you land. A developmental editor working on novels operates in a completely different universe from someone copyediting technical manuals. I've done both, and trust me, they require almost opposite skill sets. With fiction, you're part therapist, part story architect. With technical writing, you're more like a code debugger who happens to work with words.

Then there's the money question nobody likes to discuss at dinner parties. Starting editors often make less than retail workers, especially in publishing houses. I survived my first two years in New York by editing during the day and bartending at night. The bartending paid better. But here's what they don't tell you: once you develop a reputation and a specialty, the financial picture changes dramatically. Freelance developmental editors with established client bases can charge $75-150 per hour. Medical and technical editors often earn six figures. The key word there? Established.

Building Your Foundation (Or: Why Your English Degree Isn't Enough)

You need to read differently now. Not for pleasure, not for escape, but like a mechanic listening to an engine. Start noticing how paragraphs connect, why certain chapter breaks feel satisfying, what makes dialogue crackle or fall flat. Pick up books in genres you hate and figure out why they work for their intended audience.

The Chicago Manual of Style will become your bible, but don't make the rookie mistake of memorizing it cover to cover. Nobody does that. What you need is to know it exists and how to find answers quickly. Same goes for the AP Stylebook, the APA manual, and whatever other style guides govern your chosen territory. These aren't rulebooks—they're toolboxes. The art lies in knowing which tool to grab.

Here's something that might sting: your grammar knowledge probably isn't as solid as you think. I thought I knew grammar until I had to explain why "I feel badly" is usually wrong but sometimes right. Or why "they" can be singular but "themselves" still makes me twitch. Take a proper grammar course—not a refresher, but something that goes deep into the why behind the rules. Understanding descriptive versus prescriptive grammar will save you from becoming one of those editors everyone hates.

The Apprenticeship Nobody Talks About

Traditional publishing houses used to have editorial assistant positions where you'd learn by osmosis, fetching coffee and reading slush. Those jobs barely exist anymore, and when they do, they pay poverty wages in expensive cities. So you need to get creative.

Start with your own writing. Edit it brutally. Then find other people's writing—friends, online writing groups, anywhere you can practice. But here's the crucial part: don't just mark errors. Write editorial letters explaining your suggestions. Learn to articulate why something doesn't work and how to fix it. This skill—the ability to explain your editorial decisions—matters more than catching every comma splice.

I cut my teeth editing fan fiction. Yes, really. The writers were passionate, eager for feedback, and I could experiment without destroying anyone's career. Plus, fan fiction writers taught me something valuable: sometimes "wrong" grammar is right for the voice. A character who says "I seen it" isn't making a mistake if that's how they'd actually speak.

Consider starting a blog or newsletter where you analyze published writing. Not to tear it down, but to understand how it works. Why does this opening grab you? What makes that plot twist feel earned instead of cheap? This kind of critical analysis trains your editorial eye while building a portfolio that shows how you think.

The Specialization Trap (And Why You Should Fall Into It)

Every new editor wants to edit everything. Literary novels! Cookbooks! Academic papers! Children's books! This is like saying you want to be a doctor who performs brain surgery on Monday and delivers babies on Tuesday. Possible? Technically. Advisable? Hell no.

Specialization happens naturally if you let it. You'll find yourself drawn to certain types of work, and more importantly, certain types of work will be drawn to you. I fell into editing mystery novels because I understood the genre's conventions instinctively. The red herrings, the fair-play rules, the rhythm of revelation—it all made sense to me in a way that romance novel beats never quite did.

But here's the twist: your specialty might surprise you. The poet who becomes a brilliant technical editor because both require precision. The fantasy nerd who excels at academic editing because worldbuilding and theoretical frameworks aren't that different. Don't force it. Edit widely at first, then notice what feels like coming home.

Some lucrative specialties to consider: medical and scientific editing (requires subject knowledge but pays exceptionally well), cookbook editing (surprisingly complex and always in demand), and business book editing (where good editors are worth their weight in gold because so many business writers can't actually write).

The Freelance Question

At some point, every editor faces the freelance temptation. The freedom! The variety! The pants-optional workday! Let me inject some reality: freelancing is running a business where you happen to edit. You'll spend at least 40% of your time on non-editing tasks—finding clients, sending invoices, chasing payments, doing your own taxes.

The successful freelance editors I know treat it like any other business. They have contracts, set boundaries, and don't undercharge just because they're working from their kitchen table. They also have multiple revenue streams—maybe they edit, teach workshops, and do manuscript evaluations. Diversification isn't just smart; it's survival.

Building a client base takes time. Years, not months. You need to be findable (yes, you need a website), referable (your work should make people want to recommend you), and reliable (meet your deadlines even if the apocalypse is nigh). Most importantly, you need to be willing to say no. No to projects outside your expertise, no to clients who want miracles for pennies, no to deadlines that would require a time machine.

The Technology Reality Check

Modern editing happens on screens, not paper. You need to master Track Changes in Word like a pianist masters scales. Google Docs, Scrivener, various project management tools—fluency in these isn't optional anymore. The faster you can navigate the technical side, the more time you have for actual editing.

But don't become so dependent on tools that you lose the ability to edit on paper. Some problems only reveal themselves in print. I still print out full manuscripts for final reviews, and I catch things I missed on screen every single time. Old school? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely.

Learn basic HTML and content management systems if you want to edit web content. Understand metadata and SEO if you're editing online articles. The digital shift in publishing means editors need technical skills our predecessors never imagined.

The Human Side Nobody Mentions

Editing is emotional labor disguised as intellectual work. You're not just fixing sentences; you're handling someone's baby, their dream, their vulnerability made manifest in words. Writers will project their fears onto you. They'll argue about commas when they're really scared about whether their story matters. Learning to navigate these emotional currents matters as much as knowing when to use "that" versus "which."

You'll develop a thick skin by necessity. Writers will ignore your brilliant suggestions and blame you when readers hate the parts you told them to cut. You'll watch books you improved succeed without anyone knowing you existed. Your name might appear in microscopic print on the acknowledgments page, if you're lucky.

But then there are the moments that make it worthwhile. The author who emails you years later to say your edit letter changed how they approach writing. The reader who found hope in a book you helped shape. The sentence you suggested that becomes someone's favorite quote. These moments are rare, but they're real.

The Money Talk, Revisited

Let's get specific about income, because nobody else will. Entry-level editorial positions at publishing houses start around $35,000-$45,000 in major cities. Freelance rates vary wildly—from $20/hour for basic proofreading to $100+/hour for specialized developmental editing. Project rates for book-length works range from $500 for a light copyedit to $5,000+ for developmental editing.

The editors making real money have usually done one of three things: specialized in a lucrative niche, built a reputation that lets them charge premium rates, or moved into editorial management. Some combine editing with related work—manuscript consulting, writing coaching, or teaching.

Don't undercharge. New editors often price themselves into poverty, thinking low rates will attract clients. Instead, you attract clients who don't value editing. Price yourself professionally from the start, even if it means having fewer clients initially.

The Path Forward

Becoming an editor isn't a destination; it's an ongoing transformation. The industry keeps shifting—self-publishing created new opportunities, AI is changing the landscape again, and who knows what's next. The editors who thrive are the ones who adapt while holding onto the core truth: good editing makes writing better.

Start where you are. Edit something today. Join professional organizations like the Editorial Freelancers Association or local editors' guilds. Take courses from established editors. Read books about editing, but more importantly, read everything else with an editor's eye.

Most of all, remember that editing is service work. You're not the star; you're the person who helps the star shine brighter. If you need constant recognition, if you must have your name in lights, editing will eat you alive. But if you find satisfaction in making something good become great, if you can find joy in invisible improvements, then welcome to the profession.

The sunset paragraph I cut from that memoir twenty years ago? The author fought me on it for weeks. Then her book won awards, touched thousands of readers, and she thanked me for saving her from herself. She never mentioned the sunset again.

That's editing: killing what doesn't serve the story, even when it's beautiful. Especially when it's beautiful.

Authoritative Sources:

Einsohn, Amy, and Marilyn Schwartz. The Copyeditor's Handbook: A Guide for Book Publishing and Corporate Communications. 4th ed., University of California Press, 2019.

Norton, Scott. Developmental Editing: A Handbook for Freelancers, Authors, and Publishers. University of Chicago Press, 2009.

Saller, Carol Fisher. The Subversive Copy Editor: Advice from Chicago. 2nd ed., University of Chicago Press, 2016.

The Chicago Manual of Style. 17th ed., University of Chicago Press, 2017.

Mackenzie, Janet. The Editor's Companion. 2nd ed., Cambridge University Press, 2011.