The conference room buzzed with tension. Five round tables filled the space, each packed with five team members hunched over stacks of documents, their voices rising over one another in an unproductive back-and-forth. Papers rustled, pens tapped against notepads, and someone let out an audible sigh of frustration.
I stood at the front of the room, facilitating what was supposed to be a collaborative working session. Instead, it had devolved into a tug-of-war over language, with everyone defending their own version of a document. The air was thick with frustration—no one wanted their words changed, and every suggested revision felt like an attack.
Then, over the noise, I heard it.
A manager, seated near the back, leaned toward his team and said, “There’s no such thing as good writing. Only good editing.”
The words cut through the chaos like a reset button. A few people glanced up. A few others exhaled, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. Slowly, the energy in the room shifted.
I let the moment hang for a beat before addressing the group. Exactly, I thought.
“This process isn’t about proving who’s right,” I said, stepping forward. “It’s about making the final product better. Writing is rewriting. Editing isn’t about tearing things down—it’s about building them up.”
That simple shift in perspective made all the difference. The tension eased, and the group started working together instead of against each other. A few months later, I overheard the same manager using Barbara’s quote with another team member. Her wisdom had taken on a life of its own, passed down like a gift.
And that moment took me back to 2010, when I was on the other side of the editing process.
Back then, I had just finished the first draft of The Dog Story—124,319 words of my heart and soul. Every sentence felt painstakingly crafted. I agonized over every phrase, believing each one mattered. Then I got my manuscript back from my editor, Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D.
It was 62,000 words.
Half my book was gone.
I was gutted. A whole side story about my upbringing? Deleted. Entire chapters? Gone. The focus of the book had shifted to my hospital journey—the medical mystery of my diagnosis and recovery. Barbara had tightened it up, and deep down, I knew she was right. The book was better. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
I couldn’t let it go, so I called her. Why had she cut so much? Why did she take out the backstory I thought was essential?
Barbara’s response stuck with me: “Matt, there’s no such thing as good writing. Only good editing.”
At the time, it felt like she was ripping my heart out. But as I went back through what she cut, I realized it wasn’t necessary. It was rambling. It took readers down rabbit holes and never brought them back. Barbara had given me the hard truth every writer needs to hear: not all of your words are sacred, and not all of them serve the story.
That lesson—painful as it was—changed me. It shaped how I approach writing, collaboration, and problem-solving. Years later, standing in that conference room, watching an entire team wrestle over edits, I saw the same battle playing out.
And I saw the same lesson land.
So to Barbara, wherever you are: thank you. Your tough love turned a scared, rambling young writer into someone who understands that every story—whether on the page or in life—needs a good edit.
And to everyone else—remember this the next time you bristle at an edit. There’s no such thing as good writing. Only good editing. (Put that on a coffee mug.)