There’s no science to writing well. Like art, writing assumes no answer, no logical conclusion. Sure, there are guidelines every good writer knows to follow: A journalist understands the importance of including a nutgraf, for example. But to call oneself a writer means to be a stylist, bringing a distinct flair to every sentence on every page.

To be a writer also means participating in the editorial process, sending one’s work to someone else to review before it publishes. Many writers claim to be their own worst critic — I certainly do — but the true test is whether someone else can read a text and truly understand what the writer intended to communicate. Just as every writer brings a unique style to their writing, each editor has their own way of navigating the editorial process. Most editors, at least the ones I’ve worked with, review a piece of content for clarity, sentence structure, relevance, detail, tone, concision, and, of course, grammar. They remove unnecessary words and sentences and suggest new ones. They constantly challenge writers to elevate their work to the highest quality. Editors are an essential part of the writing process, and the best editors make a piece of content better.

But there’s a systematic problem that exists in the writer-editor relationship. To be an editor comes with a certain level of authority. There’s an expectation that when an editor makes a change, the writer must abide by their rules. That’s especially true if the editor is also the writer’s manager, a hierarchy that exists at many of today’s prominent content agencies and news publications. However, this “my way or the highway” mentality comes at a cost: What often ends up happening is the writer loses elements of their style throughout the editorial process and instead assimilates to their editor’s voice and tone.

It raises the question: How much of one’s writing is really their own?

Sure, it’s an inquiry more philosophical than practical, but it points to an identity crisis that many writers experience: Time and time again, I’ve had my writing ripped to shreds, and that’s mostly a good thing. These tough critics have challenged me to think bigger and write better. The editorial process, after all, is a learning experience. At least that’s what it should be.

But I have also had editors make changes to my writing without explaining why. This tactic makes sense for small edits, like adding a comma or removing an unnecessary word. However, when an editor rewrites entire sentences without explaining their reasoning, much of the writer’s voice and tone gets lost. And, perhaps more tragically, the writer misses out on what could have been a valuable learning experience.

When I was in college, I landed an internship at a content marketing agency in New York City. One of my primary responsibilities was to update the company’s blog and post to it regularly. My editor at the time read one of my drafts and requested some major changes. As a college student, I was grateful for the feedback. I stayed at the office late that evening making the blog post as clear and engaging as possible. I was proud of the changes I made and sent it to my editor that night. The next morning, I logged into the content management system to see that the blog post had been published. She must have really liked the changes I made, I thought to myself. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. When I read the article, it was utterly unrecognizable. In fact, not a single sentence from my draft remained.

As a writer, there’s perhaps no worse feeling than seeing your byline attached to something that has been changed so many times it is no longer yours. Reading these words that I didn’t write, but that somehow still belonged to me, I felt confused and defeated. I became angry with myself. I began to wonder if perhaps writing just wasn’t for me.

An editor’s job is to coach their writers to become stronger wordsmiths, and they can’t do that unless they invite the writer into their process.

From an operational standpoint, it’s also much more sustainable. Consider two editors: One, much like the editor at my college internship, makes changes to her writer’s work without explanation. The second editor, on the other hand, works collaboratively with her writers to highlight what she would like to see changed and why. For every article a writer submits, the first editor spends hours on end rewriting full paragraphs and changing words. That’s time that could be better spent writing additional articles or creating coaching and mentorship programs for writers. Over time, the writer might become frustrated and seek out another opportunity. Conversely, the second editor would work directly with the writer to improve the article. The writer who feels coached, not corrected, will be more likely to create a quality piece of content. He will learn to become a stronger writer, thanks to the guidance of his editor. And as his writing improves, the editor will have fewer edits to make, freeing up time that might be better spent on larger projects or more strategic initiatives.

Moreover, it’s an editor’s job to recognize greatness in a writer by highlighting their unique sense of style, not overshadowing it. After all, without a distinct style, writers fail to stand out in the crowd. Developing, maintaining, and nurturing style is more important today than ever before. Quality writing is no longer limited to prestigious and established publications like The Washington Post or The New York Times. Now, a new generation of online media sites born out of the dot com era has entered the mainstream, while platforms like LinkedIn and Medium allow anyone to self publish. Meanwhile, company blogs are looking more and more like media platforms with unique viewpoints (REI’s Co-Op Journal and Atlassian’s Work Life blog, for example). As a result, writers face more competition than ever before. With so much content available, readers will only pay attention to stories that are compelling and original. To grab people’s attention — and keep it — writers must treat their style as their greatest asset.

But that’s nearly impossible when their editors are constantly changing it, peeling off each layer of personality until all that’s left is the bare bones.

The best editors make suggestions, not changes, and give their writers an opportunity to push back on edits they disagree with. They seek to elevate the writer’s voice, not obliterate it. After all, without an element of style, a writer is nothing more than a silhouette of whoever edited his work.

Originally published on Medium