I was raised to think pretty much the same core belief applied to editing. Your spouse should be your fiercest editor, your polar opposite in writing style, the spice to your dry litany of facts, the tether that keeps you from exaggerating too much. Then I went to college and met the rest of the world.
As my brother the journalism major will tell you, I am not a nice editor. My notes on his articles read "Bad hook, crap, filler, dumb, wrong, nice sentence here, filler, crap, stupid quote, crap." My mother's notes say "I love it! You're such an excellent writer!" (This is the woman who made me return assignments to teachers when she thought my grade was too high.) He has me do all his editing because after I break his spirit, there's nothing his editors can do to him. If they object to something, he'll pull out a rejected theme and rework it in minutes. He never fights them, because he's already lost hope. (Best sister ever)
C gets something similar. Most of the rest of the world gets less yelling, because they aren't obligated to like me. But I just found a circumstance where I should think before yelling "Trite, stupid word choice, passive voice!". Is the circumstance heartbreaking? Are you helping someone write a Christmas letter about moving her husband to an assisted care facility because he's suffering from Alzheimer's? Then you should be quiet, Jane. You twit.
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