Let me begin with an assertion: Literary editing is both profession and practice. I use the word literary but I mean this in the broader categorical sense, rather than the bookshop genre sense. I say profession because it is a job: an editor works, usually, in exchange for some sort of wage. But it is also practice because it involves creative work, too. The editor works in service—to the author, to the publisher, to the reader. At the same time, editing involves its own sense of artistry. Plenty of others before me have written about the various characteristics of this artistry, and editing practice in general—especially its invisible, self-effacing nature and its likeness to certain types of care labour. So I will try not to cover too much well-trodden ground.

What I want to highlight at the outset is two things. One, that editing requires a high level of technical knowledge: of language and grammar conventions and style, and how to work with an author specifically, but also knowledge of the publishing process, and what is involved in a book’s making, which includes knowledge of other roles that participate in the its production. The second thing is that in some instances editors also acquire a manuscript. But today I am interested primarily in the editor who does not acquire the manuscript they work on. The broader topic for tonight’s talk is the future of editing, but in order to approach this, I will be focusing on the work of the editor, on work itself, and how this informs our thinking of the future of editing.