By Carrie Lofty *This is the third blog post in a three part post by Carrie Lofty.* After I finish a first draft, I do a start-to-finish read and finish as many revisions as I can identify on my own. Then I send the completed second draft to my critique group, which I've already extolled here. The ladies in my critique group are exceedingly good at spotting potential flaws and bringing them to my attention. Plot holes, inconsistent characterization, frustrating finales--they zap them all. After integrating their feedback, I send the polished third draft on its merry way, be that to my editor or agent. For my editor, it's all about the man. The man sells the book. Memorable heroes bring readers back for more. And I can't say I disagree with her. When recently comparing two books by the same author, I was hard pressed to identify why I preferred one over the other--until I admitted that one hero caught my fancy. Same author, same writing style, same emotional and resilient heroines, but one hero made me all shades and happy. So I'm a recent convert to my editor's way of thinking. Growing up, my heroes were actually heroines: Sigourney Weaver in Aliens, Linda Hamilton in The Terminator, and Carrie Fisher in Star Wars. The resulting stories I write feature strong, smart women. When I sit back and reread a manuscript for revisions, I find the heroine is almost exactly how I imagined. But the man... With my editor's advice in my head, I've worked to revise my menfolk and make them more desirable. I actively play up their charm, deepen their angst, and highlight the physical perfection that can only be found in a romance novel hero. The plot remains intelligent and engaging, and the heroine remains uncompromising, but I've learned to bring the hero up to this vaulted place of worth. But if one day I find myself working with a different editor, the emphasis of my revisions may change. One thing I've had to internalize is that while writing is a solo venture, publishing is a group effort. From editors to agents to marketing, the people we work with influence our stories, subtly altering what eventually finds its way into readers' hands. And as with all group projects, negotiation is key. My editor lets me get away with a great deal, and in return, I actively and honestly integrate her hard-earned perspective. Sometimes, however, I already have a nagging suspicion of what's wrong with an idea or story. But maybe I can't put my finger on it. I need to hear it reinforced. Recently, I presented a synopsis to Caren and asked her opinion. And what were her thoughts? Too much action. Not enough room for emotional development. Hmmm... Caren offered recommendations on how the plot could be tightened and which scenes to cut. I spent two days mulling over her suggestions. While I didn't agree with every recommendation, almost everything she said held a kernel of truth. Developing a rationale to defend my decisions--what to keep and what to change--helped put me in tune with my story very quickly. Editors and agents can be the most useful voices coming from outside a writer's head, and seeing as how I still consider myself a newbie, I value that heavy dose of perspective. As for disagreements, I'm not the right person to ask. This fearsome author-agent-editor love triangle of mine is still in its honeymoon phase. So I'll throw the question out to you. What do you do when an agent or editor's perspective does not help, but hinders the revision process? What strategies to use? And how can you tell when someone else's advice does not ring true?