10 Editing Mistakes That Ruin Otherwise Great Books

Gary Smailes | 5 November 2025

The Structural Killers

Strong sentences will not save a weak spine. If readers do not know what the book promises, or why one scene follows another, they slip away. Two fixes give you a backbone. A crisp logline, and a clean chain of cause and effect.

Mistake 1: No clear story promise or genre expectation

Readers want a promise up front. Who drives the story, what they want, what stands in the way, and why it matters. Without this, everything feels fuzzy.

Write a one-sentence logline:

• Protagonist
• Goal
• Stakes
• Opposition

Formula to try:
When [protagonist] pursues [goal], [opposition] blocks the path, and if they fail, [stakes] follow.

A few quick examples:

• Romance: A guarded pastry chef enters a national bake-off to save her family shop, but one judge is her ex, and losing means foreclosure.
• Thriller: A burned-out paramedic must deliver a witness across the city before midnight, while a crime ring hunts them, or the witness dies and a case collapses.
• Mystery: A small-town librarian investigates a locked-room death, while a mayor pressures the police, or an innocent teen goes to prison.
• Fantasy: An orphan mapmaker vows to chart a forbidden forest to save her village from erasure, while old spirits test her every step.

Now sanity-check against genre.

• Romance expects a central couple and a satisfying ending. Your logline should point to both.
• Mystery expects a puzzle and a reveal. Name the sleuth and the risk of failure.
• Thriller expects a ticking clock and rising threat.
• Fantasy expects a specific world rule and a personal stake woven into larger stakes.

Post the logline above your desk. Use it like a compass. Any scene without a path to the goal, the stakes, or the opposition, loses its passport.

Mini exercise, five minutes:

• Draft your logline. One sentence only.
• Read chapter one. Does that opening align with the logline? If not, adjust the scene or adjust the sentence.
• Skim your midpoint and climax. Each should pay off words in the logline. If a word feels empty, build toward it or cut it.

Quick checks:

• The goal is concrete, not a mood. “Find the killer,” not “find purpose.”
• The opposition moves. A storm, an antagonist, a system, not a vague vibe.
• Stakes hurt. Money lost, love lost, life ruined, community harmed.

Mistake 2: Episodic plotting with weak causality

Episodic plots read like errands. Breakfast. Meeting. Car ride. Scene after scene, and nothing compels the next beat. Readers feel “and then.” You want “therefore” or “but.”

Run a causality audit. Make a scene list, one line each. After every line, write one of three links.

• Because X, therefore Y.
• Because X, but Y.
• If none fits, you likely have an “and then” link.

A tiny example, two versions.

Episodic:

• Mia misses her train.
• She meets a stranger at a cafe.
• She goes home and calls her sister.

Causal:

• Mia misses her train, therefore she waits in the cafe.
• The stranger steals her wallet, but she snatches a claim ticket from his pocket.
• The ticket leads to a locker, therefore she opens it and finds a gun.

See the difference. Each event forces the next. Either a consequence or a complication.

How to fix a flat chain:

• Replace tasks with decisions. A choice creates fallout. Errands do not.
• Tie outcomes to stakes in your logline. Miss the train, lose the job. Open the locker, trigger a manhunt.
• Let the antagonist move. A living force creates “but” beats.
• Merge soft scenes. Two weak breaths often equal one strong beat.
• Reorder for force. If a reveal explains a previous mystery, place it after the setup, not before.

Audit steps, practical and fast:

1. List your scenes on cards or a spreadsheet. Include location, who wants what, and the outcome.
2. Write a link between every pair. Use “therefore” or “but.” If you write “and then,” mark it red.
3. For each red link, choose one fix:
   • Add a consequence in the current scene.
   • Move the scene to follow a setup.
   • Fold the scene into a stronger neighbor.
   • Cut it.

Mini drill, ten minutes:

• Pick any three consecutive scenes.
• For each scene, write three lines: cause, decision, effect.
• If a line feels soft, rewrite the scene summary until the decision drives the effect.
• Update your outline to reflect the new chain.

Scene endings matter here. End on a decision, a new risk, or a reveal. “She went to bed” sends readers to bed. “She deletes the only copy” forces the next page.

Watch for common symptoms:

• Reset scenes. Everyone starts calm after fireworks.
• Wandering chats. Two pages of talk with no shift in power or knowledge.
• Repeated beats. Three visits to the same informant with no new cost.
• Travelogs. Miles covered, nothing gained.

A simple template helps while revising:

• Goal: what the viewpoint character wants in this scene.
• Obstacle: who or what stands in the way.
• Turn: a yes but, or no and worse.
• Outcome: a change that pressures the next scene.

Tie it back to the promise. If the logline says “save the shop,” show steps toward saving or losing it. Money raised. Permit denied. Rival wins round one. Each scene tilts the balance.

One more example, from romance, compressed.

Weak string:

• They meet. They flirt. They go to dinner.

Stronger string:

• She trashes his cafe in a review, therefore he confronts her at a tasting.
• Sparks fly, but he discovers her role in a rival’s smear campaign.
• He pulls the plug on a joint event, therefore she risks her job to fix the mess.

Simple, clear, driven by choices. That is the opposite of episodic.

Do this pass before line work. You save hours later. Nail the promise. Build the chain. Then polish sentences, knowing every scene earns its place.

Character and POV Missteps

Readers bond with people, not plots. Voice helps. Structure helps. Agency and perspective do most of the heavy lifting.

Mistake 3: Passive protagonist with no real agency

A reactive lead drifts from scene to scene. Events shove the story forward. The hero does not. Middle chapters sag. Climaxes feel unearned.

Run a fast test. Flip to three major turns. Early disruption. Middle reversal. Final showdown. In each spot, name the choice your protagonist makes and the cost paid. If no choice exists, or no cost lands, you have a passenger.

Build a spine of choice with three moments.

• Door opens. The hero accepts or refuses, with consequences either way.
• Stakes rise. The hero chooses between two losses, not between safe and safer.
• Endgame. The hero sacrifices something valued to reach the goal.

A quick before and after to show the difference.

Reactive version:

• A storm floods the town. The boss orders Sam to fetch records. Thugs ambush Sam. A friend rescues Sam.

Active version:

• Sam proposes saving the records to keep whistleblower proof alive. The boss refuses. Sam goes anyway and sneaks into the basement. Thugs corner Sam. Sam pulls the fire alarm, draws a crowd, escapes without the file, and sets off a citywide hunt.

Same world. New engine. Decisions produce fallout. Fallout forces new decisions.

Agency means meaningful pressure, not control. Give the lead a plan that collides with other plans. The world pushes back. The hero still chooses.

Tools that fix soggy middles:

• Give the protagonist a private stake that hurts. Job loss. Custody loss. Reputation loss. Tie outcomes to that wound.
• Put a clock on progress. A vote on Friday. An eviction in two weeks. A wedding on Sunday.
• Let the antagonist move on the page. Strategy drives “but” beats and hard reversals.
• Replace tasks with dilemmas. “Go to the bank” turns into “rob the bank or watch the shelter close.”
• Lock doors behind choices. After one path, the other path disappears.

Mini drill, ten minutes:

• List every scene. Beside each line, write one letter. D for a decision by the protagonist. C for a consequence that changes trajectory.
• Any stretch longer than two scenes without a D needs surgery. Merge two soft scenes. Or insert a choice with teeth.

Three genre snapshots:

• Mystery. The sleuth stops waiting for lab results and breaks policy to test a theory, risking the badge.
• Romance. The lead stops pining and tells the truth, risking the job or the friendship.
• Fantasy. The mage stops hiding power and reveals it in public, saving a child and triggering exile.

A hero who moves the plot earns the finale. Readers feel that payoff.

Mistake 4: Head-hopping and unstable psychic distance

Point of view anchors trust. Jump heads within a scene and readers lose footing. Switch distance without intent and readers drift.

One viewpoint per scene. Mark a clean break before switching. Make the current lens unmistakable in the first lines.

Head-hopping example, broken:

• Jade slid into the office, heart pounding. Mark frowned, wondering why she looked guilty. He planned to ask later.

Two minds in one paragraph. Readers wobble.

Fixed version, Jade’s lens:

• Jade slid into the office. The air felt stale, printer toner and old coffee. Mark frowned at the window. Her neck prickled. Did he know about the missing file?

Fixed version, Mark’s lens:

• Mark watched Jade slide into the office. That stare held too long on the window lock. Guilt? Hard to tell. He shelved the question for the staff meeting.

Both versions work. Each honors one mind at a time.

Choose a distance. Far gives summary and commentary with little interiority. Close third tracks breath, thought, and diction like a camera pressed to the character’s shoulder. Pick a lane for a given project or at least for a given scene, then stay consistent.

Signals that hold distance steady:

• Vocabulary that matches the viewpoint character’s education, mood, and bias.
• Sensory data available to that character only. No calling a motive “obvious” unless the character would think so.
• Interior thoughts formatted the same way throughout. Italics or not, choose once and keep that choice.
• Filters trimmed where possible. “Cold crept up her arms” beats “She felt cold creep up her arms.”

Anchoring moves for openings:

• Name the viewpoint character in the first sentence or two.
• Plant a thought, a judgment, or a body sensation that only this person would have.
• Place the camera. “Kitchen radio hissing behind the toast,” not a god’s-eye tour of the neighborhood.

How to revise a wobbly scene:

1. Decide who owns the page. Circle every line that reflects that mind. Cut or convert the rest to observable action.
2. Replace mind reading with tells. Not “He feared she would leave.” Try “He blocked the doorway. Fingers white on the jamb.”
3. Keep track of knowledge. If the viewpoint character did not witness a key event, avoid summarizing it as fact. Let another scene reveal that truth.
4. Use clean scene breaks for a head switch. One blank line with a centered symbol or a chapter break. Then a fresh anchor.

Mini exercise, fifteen minutes:

• Print one scene. Grab two highlighters. Pink for internal thoughts that belong to the viewpoint character. Blue for lines that report another mind. Everything in blue shifts to action, subtext, or a line in a later scene that carries that other viewpoint.

Common symptoms to watch:

• Ping-pong emotions within a single beat. “She felt small. He hated her for it.” Choose one mind.
• Telepathy tags. “He knew she wanted out.” Replace with observable clues.
• Sudden narrator voice in a close scene. “Little did she know” shreds immersion.

A steady lens earns trust. Trust buys patience through setup and payoff. Keep the reader in one head long enough to care, then switch with intention.

Scene Craft and Pacing Problems

Momentum lives at the scene level. If scenes move, the book moves. If scenes sit there, the book sags and readers drift.

Mistake 5: Scenes without a goal, conflict, or outcome

A scene needs pressure and change. Without them, you have people standing in a room trading information. Readers feel the stall.

Use this four-part checklist for every scene.

• Goal. What the viewpoint character wants right now.
• Obstacle. Who or what pushes back.
• Turn. The status shifts. Yes but, or no and.
• Change. The situation or plan at the end is different from the start.

Flat version:

• Nina meets her brother at the diner to talk about Dad’s will. They order pie. They review paperwork. They agree to meet a lawyer.

Working version:

• Goal. Nina wants the deed before the auction tomorrow.
• Obstacle. Her brother already promised the house to his wife’s cousin.
• Turn. He agrees to hand over the deed, but only if Nina signs a confession that harms her in court.
• Change. Nina refuses, steals a photocopy, and bolts. Now the brother calls the cousin, who sends muscle to stop her before morning.

Feel the pull. Movement breeds more movement. If the scene ends with the same plan and the same stakes, you are treading water.

Quick fixes for limp scenes:

• Raise the price. Want the clue, lose the job. Want the kiss, risk the friendship.
• Shorten the fuse. A deadline forces rash choices.
• Bring a live opponent on the page. A policy is not as vivid as a person who wants the opposite thing.
• Switch the setting to add friction. Hospitals, courthouses, kitchens during dinner rush. Distractions press on choices.
• Replace talk with action. Instead of chatting about the break-in, try the break-in, then force the talk on a fire escape.
• End earlier, on the turn. Let the fallout hit at the top of the next scene.

Audit drill, ten minutes:

• List your scenes. For each, jot G, O, T, C on a sticky note. Write the answer after each letter.
• Any blank gets a fix or a cut. No excuses.

Causality matters inside scenes too. Action beats reaction, then a new action. Thought leads to choice, choice leads to consequence. If a beat does not force the next beat, you have a loose link.

Pacing tweaks that help:

• Short paragraphs read faster. Use white space during chase, fight, argument, or negotiation.
• Let sensory detail do quick work. One sharp detail, not a catalog.
• Keep stage directions lean. Readers track intention more than hand placement.
• Trim throat clearing at the top of scenes. Start at the first turn of the screw.

One more example, micro scale.

Soft beat:

• He asked for the password. She gave it. He thanked her.

Sharper beat:

• He asked for the password. She laughed, then slid her thumb drive into his laptop. “You first.”

Same goal. Added obstacle. Immediate turn. New power balance. Now the scene moves.

Mistake 6: Info-dumps and misplaced backstory

Information without pressure smothers tension. Readers want a reason to care now. Give facts at the point of need, in the smallest dose that lets the moment work.

Signs you slipped into an info-dump:

• A block of text longer than three lines that looks like a lecture.
• History shows up before a question appears on the page.
• The present action pauses while a narrator voice explains how the world works.

Point-of-need test:

• Does the reader need this fact to understand or worry in this exact beat? If yes, keep it. If not, save it for later or cut it.

Cap exposition to 1 to 3 lines, and weave it between action or dialogue.

Dump, wrong place:

• The town of Westbridge was founded in 1889 by miners who struck silver. The boom brought saloons, brothels, and a small opera house. After the flood of 1902, the town rebuilt on higher ground. The opera house burned down in 1911, which is why the town hall sits where it does today.

Reworked in scene:

• The mayor pointed at the map. “If we move the stage here, we block the fire exit.”
• “The old opera house burned,” Mara said. “No repeats.” She shifted the pushpins higher on Main, near the hall. “Plenty of room. And sprinklers.”

Same facts, present stakes, two lines, then back to the problem.

Backstory wants conflict. Give it a job. If the past does not change the choice in the scene, move it or cut it.

Three delivery methods that keep tension alive:

• Object trigger. A scar on a forearm, a chipped trophy, a letter. One line of memory, then a new decision tied to the pain.
• Argument. Two characters fight over logistics. An old wound slips out as a weapon. The scene goal still drives the fight.
• Consequence. A past action interrupts the present. An arrest warrant. A former ally blocks access. The history arrives as a wall to climb.

Mini rewrite, from dump to drama.

Dump:

• When Carrie was nine, her mother left without a note. Carrie spent years learning to never rely on anyone, which is why she struggles to accept help.

Drama:

• “I brought a spare key,” Tom said.
• “Keep it,” Carrie said. She reached for the deadbolt.
• “You lock everyone out.” He set the key on the counter anyway.
• Her hand stalled. The last time a door opened, the person on the other side never came back. “I said no.” She turned the bolt, then flinched at the sound.

We learn the wound. We feel the rule she lives by. The past shapes a choice, not a paragraph.

Practical triage for heavy chapters:

1. Highlight every expository line. Different color for world lore, history, and motive.
2. Move each fact to a card. Next to it, write the scene that needs it and the moment it changes a choice.
3. Limit yourself to three data points per scene. The rest wait.
4. Convert two-sentence summaries into beats of action, thought, or dialogue. “He grew up poor” becomes “He counted singles twice before ordering coffee.”
5. Read the scene aloud. If breath runs out before something changes on the page, the hose is kinked. Cut or break up the block.

A final rule of thumb. If you feel tempted to explain, try a reveal instead. Put the character under pressure, then let the fact fall out of their mouth or their mistake. Readers meet truth at the speed of story.

Prose and Dialogue Pitfalls

Line by line work decides whether readers lean in or skim. Your voice lives in sentences and in speech. Clean lines carry story. Sloppy ones throw gravel under the wheels.

Mistake 7: Overwriting and filler language

Overwriting hides meaning. Filler smears voice. Readers want clarity, rhythm, and a fresh image in the right place.

Three fast targets:

• Adverbs. -ly words often patch weak verbs.
• Filters. Verbs that sit between the reader and the experience.
• Clichés. Dead phrases that say nothing new.

Adverbs

• Overwritten: He quickly ran across the lot.
• Stronger: He sprinted across the lot.

• Overwritten: She softly whispered the secret.
• Stronger: She whispered the secret.

You do not need an adverb when the verb carries the force. Pick the right verb, then cut the helper.

Filters

Common filters: seemed, felt, saw, heard, noticed, realized, thought, wondered, decided, began to, started to.

• Filtered: She felt cold on her skin.
• Direct: Cold needled her skin.

• Filtered: He heard footsteps behind him.
• Direct: Footsteps clicked behind him.

Direct lines drop the lens. Readers step into the body, not a report of the body.

Clichés

• Cliché: He let out a breath he did not know he was holding.
• Specific: Air left his chest in a thin hiss.

• Cliché: Her heart pounded like a drum.
• Specific: Her pulse kicked in her throat.

Specific beats feel true because they belong to this person, in this moment.

Line edit drill, twenty minutes:

1. Run a search for -ly. Replace broad verbs plus adverbs with precise verbs. Leave the few that earn their keep.
2. Run a search for filters. Swap for direct sensation or action.
3. Highlight any phrase you have seen in three books this year. Replace with a detail from the scene. Smell, texture, shape, or number.
4. Read the page aloud. Anywhere your tongue trips or the sentence feels swollen, cut a word.

Tight style does not mean thin. You still want voice. Aim for clean edges and bold choices, not clutter.

A quick before and after, full sentence level.

Overwritten:

The tall, imposing, ancient mansion loomed ominously in the pitch-black darkness, and rain was pouring down relentlessly as thunder crashed loudly overhead.

Tightened:

The mansion loomed against a moonless sky. Rain hammered the roof. Thunder rolled.

Same scene. Clearer signal. Stronger verbs. No filler.

Mistake 8: On-the-nose or indistinct dialogue

Dialogue carries story, character, and subtext. When speech states facts or every character sounds alike, attention drifts.

Signs of on-the-nose lines:

• Characters say exactly what they want.
• Backstory arrives in neat paragraphs.
• Greetings and small talk clog the open.

Cut the warm-up. Start where pressure starts.

On-the-nose:

“Hi, Dan.” “Hi, Maria.” “How are you today?” “Fine. As you know, our mother died three years ago and we never talked about the will, which is why I am here.”

Sharper:

Maria slid a manila folder across the table. “You took the cabin.”

Dan did not touch the folder. “I kept the taxes paid.”

“You also kept me out of the conversation.”

Same information, now paired with a power shift and a goal. The scene moves.

Give each voice a fingerprint. Word choice, rhythm, and what each speaker notices.

Indistinct:

“I do not know,” Ben said. “I do not know,” Rosa said.

Distinct:

Ben scratched his jaw. “No clue.”

Rosa folded her list in half. “Then we ask the neighbor.”

Fingerprints grow from life and background.

• One speaker leans on short words and fragments.
• Another prefers full sentences and qualifiers.
• One uses slang or regional references with care. A hint, not a wall of phonetic spelling.

Tips for better dialogue:

• State a goal for each speaker before the scene. Win the argument. Hide a fear. Extract a promise.
• Add a tactic. Charm, bluff, threaten, redirect.
• Plant a secret. Something held back. The secret colors every line.
• Trim greetings, weather, and recaps. Readers know how hellos sound.
• Prefer said and asked. Invisibility helps. Save barked, snarled, or spat for rare moments, if at all.
• Use action beats to carry emotion and subtext. Hands, posture, gaze, objects. Keep beats lean.

Subtext in action:

On-the-nose:

“I am angry you missed my show,” Quinn said angrily.

With subtext:

Quinn unhooked the lanyard. Dropped it on the counter. “Third row sat empty.”

Mara’s smile thinned. “Traffic.”

The lanyard and the thin smile do more work than any angry tag.

Keep speech tight on the page:

• Strip filler words in dialogue too. Real conversation drifts. Written conversation needs aim.
• Break long speeches with a physical beat, a question, or a new angle.
• Let silence do work. A withheld answer tells a story.

A quick polish checklist for dialogue pages:

1. Underline any line that exists to inform the reader. Move that fact to action or to a later beat under pressure.
2. Delete the first exchange in the scene unless something changes in those lines.
3. Give two characters opposite aims. Mark where each aim shifts.
4. Check tags. Convert decorative tags to said or asked. Replace some tags with action beats tied to a choice.
5. Read aloud with a timer. If breath runs out before a shift, split the speech or cut the fluff.

Last thought. Dialogue should surprise the speaker a little. A true voice leaks out when a character risks something, an admission, a joke, a threat, a plea. Write toward that edge. Then trim until only the live wire remains.

Copyediting, Consistency, and Packaging Errors

Readers forgive a slow chapter faster than a sloppy one. The tiny things stack. One wrong date, a crooked quote mark, a name spelled two ways. Trust drops. You worked too hard on story to lose readers on surface errors. This is the easy win. Treat it like a system, not vibes.

Mistake 9: Inconsistent details and style choices

When details drift, readers feel the wobble. Tuesday turns into Friday. Jon becomes John. The city is five hours away early on, then three hours later. A capital here, lowercase there. It reads like no one checked.

Common drifters:

• Names and titles. Jon vs John. Dr. Smith vs Doctor Smith.
• Timelines. A bruise that vanishes. A six-week trip that lasts eight days.
• Capitalization. The Department vs the department. Internet vs internet.
• Hyphenation. Email vs e-mail. Long term vs long-term.
• Numbers and units. Ten vs 10. mph vs miles per hour. 3 p.m. vs 3 PM.
• Spelling variants. Color vs colour. Theater vs theatre.
• Punctuation style. Oxford comma or not. Single vs double quotation marks.

The fix is simple, and boring, and perfect. Build a living style sheet. Keep it open while you edit. Update it as you decide.

What goes in a style sheet:

• Reference works. Chicago Manual of Style. Merriam-Webster or Oxford. Pick one dictionary and stick with it.
• Spelling and capitalization. Character names, nicknames, place names, brands, job titles, invented terms.
• Timeline map. Dates, ages, weekdays, seasons. Track travel times and time zones.
• Numbers. When to spell out, when to use numerals. How you write dates and times.
• Hyphenation list. Healthcare or health care. Re-sign or resign.
• Punctuation choices. Oxford comma yes or no. Em dash with or without spaces. Ellipses style.
• Formatting rules. Italics for thoughts or not. Foreign words on first use or throughout.

A tiny sample entry might look like this:

• John “Jack” Rivera, Jack after chapter 3
• Mama Sita, always capitalized
• West Ridge, two words
• Email, no hyphen
• High school, open as noun and adjective
• Ten and under spelled out, 11 and up as numerals
• 3 p.m., lowercased with periods
• Oxford comma, yes

Run a consistency pass with intent:

1. Decide US or UK style, then set your dictionary and style guide. Mark this on page one of the sheet.
2. Pull a list of all names and places. Search each one. Fix variants. Add nicknames and honorifics.
3. Build a skeleton calendar. Mark scene dates and weekdays. If the parade is on a Saturday, make sure Saturday stays Saturday.
4. Search common drifters. Email vs e-mail. Healthcare vs health care. Teenager vs teen-ager. Pick and lock.
5. Check numbers and time. 6 a.m. or 6am. Forty-two or 42. Keep one system.
6. Run PerfectIt or ProWritingAid with Chicago settings. Review every suggestion by hand. Accept only what fits your choices.
7. Update the sheet as you go. You are defusing future errors.

One quick exercise. Open a chapter. In five minutes, note every capitalized term, number, and time stamp. Compare to your style sheet. If it is not there, add it. The act of writing a choice forces a choice.

Mistake 10: Typos, typography, and formatting that scream amateur

Typos happen. Typography choices are on you. Both signal care, or the lack of it. Sloppy quotes and shaky layout pull readers out and mark you as early draft.

The culprits:

• Straight quotes mixed with curly quotes.
• Backward apostrophes in ’90s or in words like ’tis.
• Ellipses that change style mid-book.
• Em dashes with spaces in one chapter and closed in the next.
• Two spaces after a period.
• Stray tabs, manual line breaks, and extra returns.
• Punctuation outside quotes where your style says inside.
• Inconsistent italics for thoughts or foreign words.

A clean fix list that works every time:

• Cool off. Let the manuscript sit. Twenty-four hours is good. A week is better. Fresh eyes spot more.
• Change medium. Print the pages. Or send a PDF to a tablet. Or use your phone. Different device, different brain.
• Change how you read. Aloud once. Then with text-to-speech. Then silent with a ruler under each line.
• Read backward by paragraph. This kills story flow and surfaces typos.

Now standardize. One decision at a time.

• Quotes. Convert straight quotes to curly quotes in your word processor. Then check words that start with an apostrophe. ’80s, not 80’s. ’cause, not ‘cause with the wrong curl.
• Punctuation in quotes. For US style, commas and periods go inside closing quotes. “Leave it,” she said. For questions, the mark follows the logic. “You left it?” She said, “Leave it?” Make one choice and stick with it.
• Dashes. Decide on em dash or spaced en dash. Close them up or space them, but do it the same way every time. Do not mix.
• Ellipses. Choose three periods or the ellipsis character. Choose spaced or tight. Keep one style.
• Numbers and symbols. Standardize dates, times, and ranges. En dash for number ranges. 1999–2005 if you use that style. Or write 1999 to 2005. Pick, then keep.

Layout for a submission-ready manuscript:

• Font. 12 point serif. Times New Roman or similar.
• Spacing. Double spaced. No extra space between paragraphs.
• Margins. One inch on all sides.
• Indents. First line indents set with paragraph styles. No tabs. No spaces.
• Alignment. Left aligned. Ragged right.
• Scene breaks. A blank line with three asterisks centered. ***
• Header. Last name, book title keyword, page number in the header. Page numbers auto.
• Title page. Contact info, book title, your name, word count, each on its own line.
• Clean file. Accept all Track Changes. Delete comments. Turn off markup.

Quick search-and-fix list before you send:

• Search two spaces. Replace with one. Repeat until zero.
• Search space before comma or period. Fix any found.
• Search tabs. Replace with nothing, then reset indents with styles.
• Search for ## or other drafting marks. Remove.
• Search for “TK” or “xxx” placeholders. Resolve.
• Search for straight quotes. Convert and scan.
• Search for double periods and stray commas.

One more pass that sounds odd but works. Print ten random pages. Read them top to bottom with a pen. Mark anything that looks off. You will spot patterns. Fix those patterns across the book.

Packaging signals your standards. Your reader does not need to know Chicago by heart. They need to feel safe in your hands. Clean copy does that. It says, this writer respects the page, so you can relax and enjoy the story.

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