How to Make Edits: The Art of Transforming Raw Footage into Visual Stories
I've been cutting video for nearly two decades now, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that editing isn't just about knowing which buttons to push. It's about understanding rhythm, emotion, and the invisible thread that connects one moment to the next. When someone asks me how to make edits, I usually pour myself a coffee and settle in for a long conversation, because this craft runs deeper than most people realize.
The first time I sat down at an editing station—back when we were still using tape-to-tape systems—I thought I'd be done learning in a few months. That was in 2004, and I'm still discovering new techniques, new ways of seeing, new methods of manipulating time and space to create something that didn't exist before. Every project teaches you something if you're paying attention.
The Foundation Nobody Talks About
Before you even touch your footage, you need to understand what you're trying to say. This sounds obvious, but I can't tell you how many editors I've watched struggle because they jumped straight into cutting without a clear vision. Your edit starts in your mind, not in your software.
I learned this the hard way on a documentary about street musicians in New Orleans. I had 47 hours of footage, and I spent three weeks cutting together what I thought was a masterpiece. When I showed it to the director, she watched quietly for about ten minutes before stopping the playback. "What story are you telling?" she asked. I couldn't answer. I'd been so focused on finding beautiful shots and smooth transitions that I'd forgotten the heart of the piece.
That project taught me to always start with intention. Now, before I import a single clip, I write down—actually write, with a pen—what emotional journey I want to take the viewer on. Sometimes it's as simple as "make them laugh, then make them think." Other times it's more complex, like "show how isolation transforms into connection through shared struggle." This becomes your North Star when you're lost in the wilderness of footage.
Software Is Just a Tool (But Choose Wisely)
People get hung up on software. They'll spend hours debating Premiere versus Final Cut versus DaVinci Resolve, as if the program makes the editor. That's like saying a particular brand of hammer makes you a carpenter. Still, you need to pick something and learn it well.
I started on Final Cut Pro 7 (rest in peace), moved to Premiere when Apple decided to reinvent everything with Final Cut X, and now I bounce between Premiere and Resolve depending on the project. Each has its personality. Premiere feels like a Swiss Army knife—it does everything pretty well. Resolve is like a Formula 1 car—incredibly powerful but you need to know what you're doing. Final Cut X... well, it's gotten better, but I still have trust issues from that initial release.
For beginners, I actually recommend starting with something simpler. iMovie or even the editing features in social media apps can teach you the basics of timing and flow without overwhelming you with options. I know editors who create stunning work on their phones. The tool matters less than understanding the principles.
The Mechanics of Cutting
Alright, let's get into the actual process. You've got your footage imported, you know what story you're telling, and you're staring at an empty timeline. This is where most people freeze up. The blank canvas is intimidating.
Start rough. Really rough. Don't worry about perfect cuts or color correction or any of that. Just get the basic structure down. I call this the "sketch edit"—it's like a pencil drawing before you paint. Throw your clips on the timeline in approximately the right order. Watch it through. It'll be terrible. That's fine.
Now comes the real work: refinement. This is where you start paying attention to the rhythm. Every cut has a feel to it. Some cuts want to be quick and jarring, others need to breathe. You develop an instinct for this over time, but at first, you have to think about it consciously.
Here's something they don't teach in film school: count music beats. Even if you're not cutting to music, everything has a rhythm. Dialogue has rhythm. Action has rhythm. Even silence has rhythm. When I'm cutting a conversation, I often tap my foot to find the natural cadence of the speakers, then cut on that internal beat.
The Psychology of the Cut
Walter Murch wrote that editing is like surgery—you're manipulating time and space in ways that shouldn't be possible, and if you do it wrong, the patient dies. He's not wrong. Every cut is a small act of violence against continuity, and your job is to make that violence invisible or, when necessary, meaningful.
I once spent six hours on a single cut in a short film. It was a simple moment—a character looking from a photograph to a window—but something felt off. The timing was technically correct, the continuity matched, but it didn't feel right. Finally, I realized the problem: the cut was too clean. The moment needed friction. I added three frames of overlap, creating a tiny jump cut that most viewers wouldn't consciously notice but would feel. Suddenly the character's emotional state clicked into place.
This is what separates competent editing from great editing. It's not about following rules; it's about understanding when to break them. The 180-degree rule? Important, but sometimes crossing the line creates exactly the disorientation you need. Match cuts? Beautiful when done right, but sometimes a jarring transition serves the story better.
Sound: The Invisible Editor
If I had to choose between perfect picture editing and perfect sound editing, I'd choose sound every time. Bad audio will kill your edit faster than anything else. But beyond just making sure things sound clean, audio is where you can really manipulate emotion.
I learned this from an old television editor who'd worked on everything from soap operas to prestige dramas. He showed me how adding a tiny bit of room tone before someone speaks can create anticipation. How cutting audio slightly before or after the picture edit can smooth transitions or create tension. How the absence of sound can be louder than any explosion.
On a recent project—a piece about urban beekeeping—I spent more time on the sound design than on the picture edit. The gentle hum of bees became a musical element, rising and falling with the emotional beats of the story. I layered in city sounds that gradually gave way to nature sounds as the beekeeper found peace in their rooftop hive. The pictures told one story; the sound told another, deeper one.
Color and the Emotional Palette
Color grading used to be the domain of specialists in expensive suites. Now everyone has access to powerful color tools, which means everyone thinks they're a colorist. Here's the thing: just because you can push those curves doesn't mean you should.
I've seen so many edits ruined by overzealous color grading. That orange and teal look that was everywhere for a while? Please, let it die. The best color work is invisible—it supports the story without calling attention to itself.
That said, color is incredibly powerful when used thoughtfully. I worked on a piece about memory and aging where we slowly desaturated the present-day footage while keeping the flashbacks vibrant. It was subtle—maybe a 15% shift over the course of 12 minutes—but it unconsciously reinforced the theme of life draining away. Several viewers mentioned feeling increasingly melancholic without knowing why.
The Workflow That Saves Your Sanity
Organization isn't sexy, but it's what separates professionals from amateurs. I learned this after losing three days of work to a corrupted project file early in my career. Now I'm borderline obsessive about project management.
Create a folder structure and stick to it. Name your files logically. Use bins or folders within your editing software. Color code your clips. Make detailed notes. Future you will thank present you when you need to find that one specific take at 2 AM.
I use a modified version of the Hollywood assistant editor system, even for small projects. Raw footage goes in dated folders. Selects get pulled into a separate bin. Sequences are numbered and dated. Audio files have their own hierarchy. It seems like overkill until you're dealing with hundreds of hours of footage and multiple revision rounds.
Dealing with Feedback (Without Losing Your Mind)
Here's something nobody prepares you for: handling client feedback. You'll pour your soul into an edit, crafting each moment with care, and then someone will say, "Can we make it more... punchy?" What does that even mean?
I've developed a system over the years. First, I never show a first cut to a client. I show it to someone I trust—usually my partner, who has suffered through enough of my edits to give honest feedback. This initial reaction helps me identify problems before the client sees them.
When gathering feedback, I ask specific questions. Instead of "What do you think?" I'll ask, "How did you feel during the middle section?" or "Was the ending clear?" Specific questions get useful answers. Vague questions get vague responses.
And here's a hard truth: sometimes the client is right, even when they express it poorly. That "make it punchy" comment might mean the pacing is dragging. "It needs more energy" might mean the music isn't supporting the emotional arc. Your job is to translate their feelings into actionable edits.
The Technical Stuff You Actually Need to Know
Let's talk specs and formats for a moment, because this trips up beginners constantly. You don't need to understand every codec and wrapper format, but you need to know the basics.
Frame rate matters. Shooting at 24fps gives you that cinematic look, 30fps feels like video, and 60fps or higher is great for slow motion. But here's the catch: mixing frame rates carelessly will give you stuttery playback. I once had to re-edit an entire project because someone delivered footage in 29.97fps when everything else was 23.976fps. Yes, that 0.1% difference matters.
Resolution is simpler than people make it. Edit in the resolution you'll deliver in, unless your computer can't handle it. Editing 4K for a 1080p delivery is usually overkill unless you need to reframe shots. And please, understand the difference between resolution and quality. I've seen beautiful 720p edits and garbage 4K ones.
Export settings are where people really get lost. Here's my rule: H.264 for anything going online, ProRes for anything that needs more processing, and ask what format they need for everything else. Bitrate matters more than most other settings. For YouTube, I export at about 16-20 Mbps for 1080p, 35-45 Mbps for 4K. Yes, YouTube will compress it again, but starting with quality gives better results.
Finding Your Voice as an Editor
Every editor develops their own style eventually. Mine tends toward longer takes and motivated camera moves—probably because I started in documentary where you can't manufacture coverage. A friend of mine cuts everything like a music video, with rapid cuts and dynamic motion. Neither is wrong; they're just different voices.
Finding your voice takes time and lots of bad edits. I cringe watching my early work, but each project taught me something. That over-edited corporate video showed me the value of restraint. The wedding video where I used every transition in the book taught me that simple cuts usually work best. The documentary where I fell in love with my footage and couldn't cut anything taught me to kill my darlings.
Watch everything with an editor's eye. When a scene in a movie affects you, ask why. What combination of shots, sounds, and timing created that emotion? I keep a notebook of editing moments that inspire me—not to copy, but to understand the mechanics behind the magic.
The Reality of Making a Living
Let's talk money, because passion doesn't pay rent. Editing can be a viable career, but it's evolved dramatically since I started. The good news is there's more work than ever. The bad news is everyone expects Hollywood quality on a shoestring budget.
When I started, you needed expensive equipment and software to edit professionally. Now anyone with a decent laptop can cut 4K video. This democratization is wonderful for creativity but challenging for rates. I've seen job posts offering $50 to edit a 10-minute video. That's insulting, but people take those jobs, which drives down rates for everyone.
Here's my advice: specialize. Become the person who edits cooking videos brilliantly, or who understands how to cut for social media, or who can turn boring corporate interviews into compelling stories. Generalists struggle; specialists thrive.
And learn business skills. The best editor who can't manage client relationships, meet deadlines, or price their work appropriately will struggle more than a mediocre editor with solid business sense.
The Evolution Never Stops
The tools and techniques keep changing. When I started, HD was revolutionary. Now I'm cutting 8K footage and experimenting with AI-assisted editing tools. Some old-timers complain about these changes, but I find them exciting. Each new technology opens creative possibilities.
But the fundamentals remain constant. Story still matters most. Rhythm and pacing still make or break an edit. The emotional journey of your audience is still your primary concern. The tools just give us new ways to achieve these timeless goals.
I recently worked with an editor fresh out of school who knew every keyboard shortcut, every effect, every technical specification. But their edits felt mechanical. We spent a day just talking about story, about emotion, about why we make cuts where we do. By the end, they were creating more compelling work using half as many cuts and effects.
Final Thoughts from the Timeline
If you've made it this far, you're serious about learning to edit. Good. This craft needs people who care about more than just making quick content. It needs storytellers who understand that editing is writing with images and sounds.
Start simple. Cut something every day, even if it's just rearranging clips on your phone. Study the work you admire. Develop your instincts by making mistakes and learning from them. Be patient with yourself—I'm still learning after all these years, and that's part of what keeps it interesting.
Remember that every edit is a series of choices. Each cut, each sound, each color decision shapes the final piece. Make those choices consciously at first, and eventually they'll become instinct. But never stop questioning why you're making them.
The best editors I know aren't just technicians; they're psychologists, musicians, and poets. They understand that editing is manipulation in the service of truth—or at least emotional truth. They know when to be invisible and when to make their presence felt.
So yes, learn your software. Understand codecs and frame rates. Master the technical side. But never forget that you're not just pushing pixels around a screen. You're crafting experiences, shaping time, and if you do it right, touching something human in your audience.
That's how you make edits. Not just by cutting clips together, but by understanding the profound responsibility and possibility in every decision you make between "in" and "out."
Authoritative Sources:
Murch, Walter. In the Blink of an Eye: A Perspective on Film Editing. 2nd ed., Silman-James Press, 2001.
Dmytryk, Edward. On Film Editing: An Introduction to the Art of Film Construction. Focal Press, 1984.
Dancyger, Ken. The Technique of Film and Video Editing: History, Theory, and Practice. 5th ed., Focal Press, 2010.
Oldham, Gabriella. First Cut: Conversations with Film Editors. University of California Press, 1992.
Pepperman, Richard D. The Eye is Quicker: Film Editing: Making a Good Film Better. Michael Wiese Productions, 2004.