I have never been confused for a handyman. My greatest accomplishment working with tools involved hanging a flatscreen without incident. For years, I peeked into that room with trepidation, fearing to discover the television in its final resting place—splattered across the floor.

Despite my limited exposure to tool sheds, when asked what editing a novel was like, I immediately thought about woodworking. Even with my brief exposure to the process, it seemed like a perfect example. The process begins with rough chops at a slab of timber with an axe. When the wood approaches the desired size, the carpenter may switch to finer tools like chisels to shave off excess material. Eventually, sanding the piece makes it feel polished and complete.

Editing a novel is an analogously structured process. Working through the first draft is akin to hitting a slab of timber with an axe to create a wedge of text that can be molded into the desired shape. In the subsequent drafts, pieces of the story are pared, and paragraphs are chiseled down and crosscut. I journeyed through sixteen Superhighway drafts, experiencing this process firsthand. Over time, instead of focusing on chapters and paragraphs, the attention turns to sentence structure and word choice. Working on “how to say” versus “what to say” is comparable to sanding the woodwork.

Once the project is complete, the carpenter can identify imperfections others may not notice because of her profound familiarity with her creation. Similarly, an author, even when the novel is in print, can spot opportunities for improvement.