Estimated reading time at 200 wpm: 14 minutes
This post is really a note to myself. The guide is me teaching myself as a new author. The bottom line is that ‘writing’ books is not just about making sentences and having them make sense. It’s about thousands of words painting pictures. This is very different to writing a journal paper or some academic piece or a court report. Yes those need a certain kind of coherence for sure but they’re not spanning say over 100,000 words. Writing a book is not easy – I discovered in my second book, now in the final stages. This is much larger than the first book The Kael’Nyrin Scrolls: Our Children of Starlight (already on Amazon and Inaudio). The metafiction of that book feeds into The Kael’Nyrin Scrolls: The Atlas Edict and then has to work through to book 3: From Starlight to the Age of Restraint. So, it is a much more intricate task.
Whether or not you agree our Fat Disclaimer applies
Ask what the editorial passes are, and the answer depends on where the source sits. The American tradition names four distinct levels — developmental editing, line editing, copyediting and proofreading — each a separately defined service with its own price tag. The British tradition works with three main stages: developmental editing, copy-editing and proofreading, with the sentence-level craft work folded into the copy-editor’s territory rather than given a level of its own. Even the spelling cannot agree: copyediting in one tradition, copy-editing in the other.
Neither tradition is wrong. They are different maps of the same terrain, drawn for different markets. The American model suits a freelance market where authors buy editing by named service. The British model suits a publishing workflow where one editor sees a text through several stages. Each is internally consistent, and each serves the people it was built for.
This guide is a fusion, and it says so up front. It borrows from both traditions because it serves neither a publisher nor a journal. It is written for the writer who drafts and edits their own work — the person who is author, editor and proofreader in one, working to a personal sequence rather than a production schedule set by someone else’s house.
If you come here looking for the single correct definition of each pass, you will be disappointed. The definitions that follow are the ones that proved useful in practice, assembled into a workflow that one writer can actually run from first draft to finished file. Publishers, journal editors and professional bodies all have their own, stricter definitions, and they should — their money and their reputations depend on precision. This guide has a different job.
That job is protecting the one thing that must never fail. Structure, pacing and the rest can be argued over, revised and improved; they are matters of judgement, and judgement can be exercised at leisure. But no work goes out with the basics wrong. Typos, spelling errors and broken punctuation are not a quality problem; they are a competence signal, and no amount of careful structure redeems a page the reader cannot trust. Whatever the passes are called on whichever side of the Atlantic, that is the gate nothing passes through unclean.
This guide to myself explains what I’ve learned about the three main types of editorial work and what each involves. I think of them as working at different altitudes: developmental sees the landscape, line examines the path, and proof checks the signposts. I unpack each below.
Developmental Pass
The developmental pass looks at the big machinery of the story. It asks whether the structure works, whether the reader stays engaged, and whether the narrative delivers what it promises.
Structure
Structure is the architecture of the story. Does each scene earn its place? Do chapters build towards something? Is there a clear progression from beginning to end?
Example problem: A novel opens with a detective investigating a murder, then spends three chapters on the detective’s childhood, then returns to the murder. The flashback breaks momentum before the reader is invested. Better to hook them with the investigation first, then reveal backstory when they care about the character.
Structure also means checking whether you have too many scenes doing the same work. If your character doubts their decision in Chapter 3, doubts it again in Chapter 5, and doubts it once more in Chapter 7, two of those scenes probably need to go.
Stakes
Stakes are what the reader cares about. What will be lost if the protagonist fails? What drives them forward?
Example problem: A character is trying to win a baking competition, but we never learn why it matters. Is their bakery failing? Is this their dead mother’s recipe? Without stakes, the reader doesn’t invest emotionally. The developmental editor asks: “Why should we care if she wins?”
Stakes can also escalate badly. If the first chapter threatens the destruction of Earth, where do you go from there? The developmental pass checks whether your stakes build sensibly or peak too early.
Beat Logic
Beat logic is the cause-and-effect chain that moves your story forward. Each scene should create a consequence that leads to the next scene.
Example problem: Chapter 4 ends with a protagonist discovering their partner is lying to them. Chapter 5 opens with them going shopping for curtains, never mentioning the lie. That’s broken beat logic. The discovery should trigger the next action.
Beat logic also catches “convenient” plotting. If your character needs information and a stranger randomly appears with exactly that information, the beat doesn’t earn its place. The chain of logic feels contrived.
Character Leverage
Character leverage asks whether each character is doing real work in the story. Are they shaping events? Do they have agency? Or are they just reactive?
Example problem: A protagonist spends the whole novel being told what to do by other characters, going where they’re sent, and reacting to events they didn’t initiate. They have no leverage. The story happens around them rather than because of them.
Leverage also means checking whether characters bring distinct value. If you have three friends who all give the same advice and serve the same function, you probably only need one.
Foreshadowing
Foreshadowing plants seeds early that pay off later. It makes plot developments feel earned rather than surprising in a cheap way.
Example problem: A character reveals in Chapter 20 that they were trained as a sniper, which solves the climactic problem. But there was no hint of this in Chapters 1-19. It feels like a cheat. Better to have them mention military service early, show them instinctively check exits, or have them clean a rifle in the background of an earlier scene.
Foreshadowing can also be too heavy. If a character keeps mentioning the locked attic and strange sounds from above, the reader knows exactly what’s coming. The developmental pass checks whether you’re signposting too clearly or not at all.
Exhaustion
Exhaustion means the reader gets tired of the same thing happening repeatedly. It’s related to structure but specifically about variation and surprise.
Example problem: Every chapter follows the same pattern: character receives a clue, investigates it, gets attacked, escapes. After five chapters, the reader knows the rhythm too well. There’s no surprise left. The developmental pass identifies these patterns and suggests where to break them.
Exhaustion also applies to emotional beats. If your character has the same anxiety spiral in every chapter, the reader becomes numb to it.
Hidden “Ore”
Hidden ore is the valuable material that’s already in your manuscript but buried or underdeveloped. It’s potential waiting to be mined.
Example problem: In Chapter 3, a character makes a throwaway comment about their grandmother’s compass. In Chapter 8, they mention navigation stars. In Chapter 15, they’re good at orienteering. These scattered details could become a meaningful motif about finding direction in life, but currently they’re just random. The developmental editor says: “This ore exists. Do you want to dig it out and make it central?”
Ore can be thematic threads, character connections, or symbolic objects that appear but aren’t fully developed. The developmental pass spots them and asks whether they should be amplified.
Line Pass
A line pass (or line edit) works at sentence level. Where a proof pass catches surface errors — spelling, punctuation, missing words — a line pass is about craft: whether each sentence says what it means, in the right words, at the right pace, in the right voice. It sits above copy-editing and below a structural (developmental) edit.
The core elements, by heading:
Clarity and precision
Every sentence should mean exactly one thing on first reading. The line editor resolves ambiguity, dangling modifiers, vague pronoun references, and constructions the reader has to reread to parse.
Economy and concision
Cutting dead weight: filler phrases, hedging, redundancy, and words that repeat what a neighbouring word already says. Tightening happens without flattening the voice — the goal is fewer words with more load, not clipped, colourless sentences.
Diction and word choice
Choosing the precise verb or noun rather than an approximate one, and removing clichés, inflated vocabulary, and words that promise more than the sentence delivers.
Rhythm and flow
How sentences sound in sequence: variety in length and structure, avoidance of monotony or mechanical alternation, and control of the rise and fall across a paragraph. This is where choppiness, sprawl, and the “everything once, nothing twice” problem get addressed.
Voice and tone
Keeping the narrator’s voice consistent and the register appropriate. No sentence should sound like an editor, or like a generic narrator, rather than like the person actually speaking or narrating.
Dialogue and attribution
Whether speech sounds like the character, dialogue tags and action beats are handled naturally, and awkward attributions or repeated tag patterns are smoothed. Italics-versus-quotes conventions also get regularised here.
Imagery and metaphor
Checking figurative language is fresh, consistent, and not mixed; deciding whether a passage earns its metaphor or would be stronger told plainly. Converting telling into showing only where showing adds something.
Pacing and emphasis
Using sentence shape, length, and placement to speed the reader up or slow them down, and to put weight on the right moment. What ends a paragraph or a scene matters as much as what starts it.
Transitions and linkage
How sentences and paragraphs connect — through cause, time, or logic — guiding the reader without visible signposting (“Then…”, “Next…”). Weak links make prose feel like a list; strong links make it feel like a current.
Sentence Rhythm
Rhythm is about variation in sentence length and structure. Too many similar sentences create a monotonous reading experience.
Example problem: “He walked to the door. He turned the handle. He stepped outside. He felt the cold air.” Four sentences. Same length. Same structure. The rhythm puts the reader to sleep. Better: “He walked to the door and turned the handle. Outside, cold air hit his face.“
Rhythm also means knowing when to use a long, complex sentence and when to use a short, punchy one. Action scenes need shorter sentences. Reflection can breathe more.
Diction
Diction is word choice. Are you using the right word for what you mean? Is the language appropriate for the character and moment?
Example problem: A medieval peasant says, “I need to optimise my grain storage methodology.” Wrong diction. The words are too modern and technical. Better: “I need to store the grain better.”
Diction also catches words that sound similar but mean different things. “He was disinterested in the trial” (means impartial) versus “He was uninterested in the trial” (means bored). Small difference, big impact.
Compression
Compression means cutting unnecessary words without losing meaning. Tighter prose is usually stronger prose.
Example problem: “She was of the opinion that the plan was not going to work successfully.” This is 15 words for a simple idea. Better: “She thought the plan would fail.” Six words. Same meaning.
Compression also targets redundancy. “He nodded his head in agreement.” Nodding is always with your head and usually shows agreement. “He nodded” is enough.
Repetition
Repetition identifies overused words or phrases within a paragraph or scene. The reader notices when you use the same word three times in two sentences.
Example problem: “The room was dark. The dark walls pressed in on her. In the darkness, she felt for the door.” The word “dark” appears three times in three sentences. Varying it helps: “The room was dark. Shadowed walls pressed in on her. She felt blindly for the door.”
Repetition isn’t always bad. Sometimes repeating a word creates emphasis or rhythm. The line pass catches both good repetition (intentional) and bad repetition (accidental).
Dialogue Mechanics
Dialogue mechanics covers how speech is constructed and tagged. Does it sound natural? Are the tags clear? Does each character have a distinct voice?
Example problem: “I am going to the shop to purchase some bread,” said John. “I am also going to buy some milk whilst I am there.” Real people don’t talk like this. Better: “I’m going to the shop for bread,” John said. “Might get milk too.”
Mechanics also includes tag variety. If every line is “said” or “asked”, that’s fine. If every line is “exclaimed”, “hissed”, “breathed”, “interjected”, it becomes distracting. The line pass checks for overuse of fancy tags.
Proof Pass
The proof pass catches mechanical errors. It assumes the content is solid and the sentences work. It’s looking for mistakes.
Punctuation
This includes commas, full stops, semicolons, quotation marks, and apostrophes. Are they correct? Are they consistent?
Example problem: “Its a beautiful day the sun is shining.” Missing apostrophe in “It’s”, missing full stop or semicolon between clauses. Should be: “It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining.” or “It’s a beautiful day; the sun is shining.”
Punctuation also includes style consistency. If you use the Oxford comma in Chapter 1 (red, white, and blue), you should use it throughout, not drop it in Chapter 8 (red, white and blue).
Hyphenation
Hyphens connect words or prefixes. The rules can be fiddly, but consistency matters.
Example problem: “She re-evaluated her twenty five year old plan.” Inconsistent. Should be: “She re-evaluated her twenty-five-year-old plan.” The compound adjective needs hyphens throughout.
Some words change meaning with hyphens. “Re-cover” (cover again) versus “recover” (get better). The proof pass catches these.
Consistency Tokens
Consistency tokens are specific terms that must appear the same way every time. Names, places, specialised terms, or invented words.
Example problem: In Chapter 2, you call a character “MacLeod”. In Chapter 7, he’s “McLeod”. In Chapter 12, he’s “MacLeod” again. A reader will notice. Pick one spelling and stick to it.
This also applies to invented terms. If you’ve established “warp-drive” with a hyphen, don’t later write “warp drive” without one. Consistency builds reader trust.
Typos
These are simple errors: wrong letters, missing letters, duplicated words.
Example problem: “He walked inot the room and sat sat down.” Should be: “He walked into the room and sat down.”
Most typos are caught by spellcheck, but some aren’t. “Pubic” instead of “public” is a real word, so spellcheck won’t flag it. Human eyes catch these.
How These Passes Work Together
The three passes happen in sequence for good reason:
- Developmental fixes the architecture. No point perfecting a sentence if the whole scene needs cutting.
- Line polishes the prose. Once the structure works, make the sentences sing.
- Proof catches the errors. When the content and style are solid, clean up the mechanics.
Trying to do all three at once creates overwhelm. You end up fixing typos in scenes that should be deleted or worrying about word choice when the real problem is structural.
For new authors, understanding which level you’re working at helps focus your effort. If your beta reader says “this chapter dragged”, that’s developmental. If they say “this sentence confused me”, that’s line. If they spot a typo, that’s proof.
Each pass serves the reader in different ways. Developmental keeps them engaged. Line keeps them immersed. Proof keeps them trusting that the author is in control.
