Chapter 1

People think editing is about fixing mistakes.
Wrong.

Editing is about obsession.

It’s looking at a page and asking, “Does this word deserve to live here?”
Every cut, shift, and comma... It's surgery.

Ruthless but necessary.

When I edit, I don’t just scan for errors. No...
I dismantle the piece and rebuild it until it sings like a lullaby:

Line by line.
Beat by beat.
The flow has to carry.
And the voice has to stay concrete.

The bones of the piece must survive, but cleaner, stronger, and have to bring in the heat.

That is a lovely rhyme that is sweet...
Agree with thee, cuz you know it's a great feat.

...

And here’s what that looks like in action.

Remember that gut-spilled piece I showed you earlier?
This is the LinkedIn version; stripped down, rephrased, and polished for impact.

Editing didn’t kill the soul; it revealed it.

—

"Nobody talks about the transition.
That psychological shift between where you are and who you’re becoming.

Whilst I was updating my writing on Notion, engrossed in the story I’d written, I paused.
My POV hijacked my thoughts.
It was like inhaling air; natural and uncontrollable.
And that’s when the reflection began.

When I started freelancing and building my personal brand, I realized this is just a game of assumptions.
Your beliefs decide your next move.
Simple physics.

Nobody warned me about the level-up..."

Prove you want the rest.

—

...

Proofreading is the final glaze.
I wouldn't say it's glamorous, but it’s the reason a book doesn’t fall apart.
(Where the hate too is part of the destruction)

I’m the one who spots the glitch in the rhythm, the typo that ruins the mood, and the tiny fracture no one else saw.

...

Funny enough, I once edited and proofread my own work.
It was torture, and I was getting tired of every detail I used to spot from a kilometre away.

I did this to every piece of work, even the teacher's work when she used to write on the board at school.

I'm not going to be a truth keeper, but it was a tiring task.

I hated every part of it, every moment, because my eyes were in danger.
They were getting breathless from the constant marathon they used to run.
And I was getting frustrated by the zeptosecond.

"How can I deal with this?"
I once asked.

It turns out, running away from this so-called skill was the real danger.
And so I edified my knowledge in this field, and I learned one crucial detail: This work was an actual job.

...

How...
Mind-blowing?

But I didn't want to do it only for the scale of my bank; I wanted to feel how it would make others feel if I helped them with their work instead of mine.

If this is a skill that I can either keep or discard...
If it was worth it..

And so the hunt began.

...

I honed this innate skill of mine, and I began seeking nearby individuals I could work with immediately.

Once the process was completed, I received more words than any money could cover.
Their words weren't exactly validation; it was more of a refreshing lens.

It felt like I could breathe, and it meant that my eyes were appreciated.
It was a real job, it still is, but the transformation that happened to those individuals was truly eye-opening.

It made me feel content to see their success flourish, and that my years of experience had paid off.

...

Fast-forward, I decided to turn it into a value—one I'd bring to those in need of the same pair of eyes that had helped hundreds of people who appreciated it.

And this is where I'd say: without editing and proofreading, words collapse.

With them, they stand sharp enough to cut, and they bury deep enough to build connections.