So in some ways, copyedits are all about the question, “Will the reader care?”
(Well, they’re also about the question “How did I manage fool not only myself but also a major publisher into believing I can write?” But I’m doing my best to ignore that one.)
I chose the words I chose for a reason. But the copyeditor is making all her changes–the ones that go beyond catching typos and such–for a reason, too. Hers has to do with grammar and usage and house style.
Mine has to do with all sorts of things. But for each phrase I see changed in copyedits that I instinctively want to change back, I have to ask myself: is it going to sound any different to the reader?
If it isn’t–if I decide the subtle distinctions I was writing to actually won’t come through to anyone but me anyway–then I go with the change. Or if I think one version is as good as another, ditto.
It’s like some writers talking about the distinction between “gray” and “grey,” and how they’re really two different colors. I think they are, too–but I’ve come to realize that to most readers, they really are the same. And more, the two distinct colors I hear behind the words? Other writers who make a distinction hear different colors there.
So I’ll be consistent, and go with one or the other–because the distinction I was making only really had meaning to me, and there’s no way to convey it to anyone else anyway.
I don’t hesitate to stet things, both for rhythm and flow and for clarity, if I feel I need to. And I read everything with a critical eye. But I do try to change back as little as I can.
Copyedits are all about the fact that the book isn’t just about the writer.