A tribute to Peggy, my editor

“Okay, first thing: breathe!” Peggy said to me after I had asked whether it’s normal to feel a moment of panic thinking my book isn’t good enough. 

It was one of many wise and valuable bits of advice Peggy Hageman gave me—one I will always have in my pocket to pull out whenever needed. As a writer, moments of panic are a familiar coat we wear even when it’s blazing hot outside. We’re too close to our book to see it clearly, having worked on it for months if not years—writing, rewriting, deleting, adding to our story multiple times. A writer can’t be anything but emotional about his or her book, sometimes to the point of it being a blind spot in our otherwise clear vision. 

Peggy was my developmental editor for my debut novel, Reset. She was an objective guide to my own book, which is another way to say, my own brain. We met in June after three months of quarantine—me in California, she in Scotland. 

We had a video call because I needed to see another human’s face who’s not my family or friends. We both were a bit self-conscious about needing a haircut. She used to live in New York City, a place I think of as my second home, having traveled there often in my previous life working with numbers at a corporation whose office was in Time Square. We bonded over our love of that city and how much we missed it. 

We ended up talking for an hour about everything important to me about the novel. My philosophy on life, my thoughts on humanity, my hopes and fears. Reset isn’t just a book to me and I wanted her to know. She assured me, she wanted it to be the best it could be. She understood.

A writer-editor relationship is an intimate one, regardless of how short or long it is. When you give a person an all-access pass to your head, they tend to stay. One of her questions to me (she told me “my job is to ask a lot of questions”) was on the importance of time within the world of the novel. That one question led me to chart the waning and waxing of the moon in the year 2228, which then led me to rethink how I represent time in the book. She knew I wanted authenticity, and while she didn’t tell me what to do, she led me in her warm and gentle way to where I needed to be. That was Peggy.

On September 30, I received the heartbreaking news of her passing. One of the last gifts she gave me was her description of Reset for marketing. Every time I read it, I think of the indelible mark she had left on me. I will miss her.