When You’re Editor Is Wrong

(And Why That’s OK)

I still remember the red ink bleeding across my carefully crafted lead. My editor at the time, a veteran journalist with 20 years under his belt, had gutted my opening paragraph and replaced it with something that made me cringe.

“This is better,” he said, sliding the marked-up copy back across the desk.

It wasn’t better. Not even close.

But I knew better than to say that. I was 22, fresh out of journalism school, and convinced that anyone with two decades of experience must know more than me. And I hadn’t yet learned how to advocate for myself, so there was also that holding me back. So, I rewrote the story his way, and watched it run in the next edition. I felt a little piece of my soul die when I saw my byline attached to words that didn’t sound like me.

That was 30 years ago. I wish I could tell you I learned my lesson immediately. Spoiler alert – I didn’t. It took years of similar experiences before I figured out that having more experience doesn’t automatically make someone right about your work.

The mythology of editorial infallibility

We’re taught from day one in this business to respect the proverbial red pen. The editor knows best. The editor sees what we can’t. The editor’s job is to save us from ourselves.

All of that is true. Until it isn’t.

Good editors are worth their weight in gold. They catch your typos, tighten your prose, and ask the hard questions you conveniently ignored. They push you to dig deeper, write clearer, and think harder about your word choices. I’ve had phenomenal editors who made me a better writer with every marked-up draft they returned.

But I’ve also had editors who were just plain wrong.

One editor I worked with early in my career had a bizarre aversion to quotes. He wanted me to paraphrase everything, even when the person I interviewed said something perfectly and memorably. “Quotes slow down the story,” he insisted. In my mind, I was arguing, “Quotes make it more personable.” But the words never left my lips.

Another editor loved corporate speak, which goes against everything the AP Style Guide – that rulebook for all journalists – recommends. She’d take my straightforward sentences and inflate them with unnecessary jargon and buzzwords. My simple “The company grew” became “The organization experienced exponential growth trajectory optimization.”

The problem is that when you’re starting out, you assume disagreement means you’re wrong. You’re learning the craft. They’re teaching it. So, when your gut screams that something feels off about their edits, you ignore that voice and defer to their judgment.

Sometimes, that’s a mistake.

Learning to trust your instincts

Around year five in my journalism career, something shifted. An editor wanted me to change the structure of a feature story I’d spent weeks reporting. He wanted to bury the most compelling anecdote in the middle and lead with background information.

For the first time, I pushed back.

“I understand what you’re saying,” I told him. “But I interviewed 15 people for this story, and the angle you’re suggesting doesn’t reflect what they told me. The lead I wrote is what happened. Moving it doesn’t make the story better. It just makes it different.”

He stared at me for what felt like an uncomfortably long minute. Then he nodded. “You’re right. Keep it.”

That moment changed everything for me. I learned that having an opinion about your own work isn’t arrogance. It’s ownership. And sometimes, the person closest to the story knows the story best.

This doesn’t mean editors don’t serve a critical function. They absolutely do. But their role is to challenge you, not overrule you. The best editing relationships I’ve had involved give and take. The editor would suggest changes. I’d consider them. Sometimes I’d agree. Sometimes I’d explain why I disagreed. And sometimes we’d find a third option that was better than either of our first instincts.

When clients become editors

Fast forward to today. I run my own copywriting and content strategy business. I don’t have editors anymore. Instead, I have clients.

And guess what? Sometimes clients are wrong, too.

A few months ago, a client asked me to completely rewrite a blog post I’d drafted. They wanted it to sound “more professional,” which apparently meant stripping out anything resembling personality or conversational tone.

I sent them two versions. One was what they asked for. It was stiff, formal, and generic. The other was my original draft. I included a note explaining why I believed the conversational approach would perform better with their target audience.

They went with my original version.

Most clients hire you because they recognize you have expertise they lack. But then they second-guess that expertise because, well, it’s their business. Their money. Their brand that’s on the line. I get it.

The relationship between writer and client mirrors the relationship between writer and editor in many ways. There’s hierarchy. There’s trust that needs building. There’s the temptation to just do what you’re told because it’s easier than having a difficult conversation.

But the best client relationships, like the best editorial relationships, involve mutual respect. They hired you for your judgment. You owe it to them to use it.

How to disagree without being disagreeable

I’ve learned a few lessons over the years about how to stand your ground professionally without alienating people (especially clients).

First, don’t be a jerk about it. You’re not defending your ego. You’re advocating for the work. There’s a difference. When I disagree with a client’s requested changes, I focus on outcomes. “I understand you want this section more formal, but here’s why the current approach will likely get better engagement from your target demographic.”

Second, show your work. Explain your reasoning. If you wrote something a certain way because of audience research, data, or industry best practices, say so. Vague assertions like “I think it’s better this way” won’t cut it. You need concrete reasons.

Third, pick your battles. Not every edit is worth fighting over. If a client wants to change “use” to “utilize,” let it go. Save your pushback for changes that fundamentally alter the effectiveness of the piece.

Fourth, be willing to be wrong. Sometimes the editor or client sees something you missed. Stay open to that possibility. I’ve had clients suggest changes that initially made me bristle, but once I set my ego aside, I realized they were right.

Finally, deliver alternatives. Don’’ just say “I don’t like your version.” Offer different options. Show that you’re problem-solving together, not digging in your heels.

The confidence that comes with experience

These days, I have the confidence to trust my instincts. When a client asks for changes that I believe will weaken the work, I say so respectfully but directly. Most of the time, they appreciate my honesty. Occasionally, they insist on their version anyway. And you know what? That’s fine. It’s their business. I did my job by offering my professional opinion.

The key is building relationships where disagreement is acceptable. Where saying “I think there’s a better approach” doesn’t feel like insubordination. Where both parties understand that the goal is creating the best possible work, not winning arguments.

This takes time to develop. You can’t walk into your first client meeting or newsroom and start challenging every edit that comes your way. You must earn the right to disagree. You do that through consistent quality work, meeting deadlines, and proving you understand what you’re doing.

But once you’ve established that credibility, use it. Your job isn’t to be a word-processing robot. It’s to be a thinking professional who brings expertise and perspective to the table.

When to walk away

Sometimes, the gap between your vision and an editor’s (or client’s) expectations is too wide to bridge. I’ve parted ways with clients who wanted me to write things I fundamentally disagreed with. I’ve turned down projects where I knew my approach wouldn’t align with what they wanted.

That’s okay, too. You’re not for everyone.

Not every professional relationship is meant to work. If you find yourself constantly fighting the same battles, if your work is getting watered down beyond recognition, if the red pen feels more like a weapon than a tool, it might be time to move on.

Life is too short to spend it writing things with your name attached to them that make you cringe.

The balance that matters

Here’s what I want you to take away from this edition of my newsletter. Respect editorial guidance, but don’t worship it. Listen to feedback, but don’t automatically assume the other person is right.

The best work happens when writers have strong instincts and the courage to defend them, and when editors and clients have enough wisdom to recognize that sometimes, the writer knows best.

After 30 years in this business, I can tell you the stories I’m most proud of are the ones where I trusted my gut. And the stories I regret most are the ones where I let someone talk me into something I knew was wrong.

Your instincts matter. Your voice matters. Your judgment matters.

Learn when to trust them.