Actually, the quote goes something like this: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” Depending on where you look, it is either an old Chinese proverb or it comes from the Talmud. (I always thought that the first person to utter those words was my fourth-grade teacher in The Bronx, Mrs. Zelda Finkelstein. But, my research did not turn up that attribution.)
Why is that quote important to me? Over time I have come to realize that my Prime Directive as a writing coach and editor (not “book doctor”, folks, pull-eeeze!) is to provide my writers with the tools 
that enable them to make their own writing better, to show them what I’m doing, and why, rather than to simply do the work for them. “Hey Mike, doesn’t that mean less billable hours for you, if your writers do it themselves?” Yep, more than likely. But then, I have never been all about billable hours. I want writers to learn; I want them to understand this process; and, I want their writing to improve with every project.
A writer once called me, said that he had a 90,000-word manuscript and asked if I would work with him. I told him about my comprehensive evaluation, about how I point out what worked and what did not work, how I would provide him with many pages of suggestions for making his writing stronger—
And he interrupted me, just like that. Uh-uh, he didn’t want to know what worked and what didn’t work. He had spent a long time toiling on this manuscript and now he wanted me to fix whatever was wrong with it and get it ready for submission. He didn’t even care if he saw it again or not, he told me. Oh yeah, and it’d better sell afterward. That expectation became the kicker.
So, being the polite charmer that I am (yeah, right), I graciously refused the project. Lots of billable hours there, no? But this was not going to happen. How could I justify working with a writer who felt that the first draft of his book was as far as he was willing to go? This is a long process, folks. Lots of grunt work beyond that initial draft.
Okay, so this was an extreme situation, granted. I suppose he even found a “book doctor” willing to do extensive rewrites for all of those billable hours. Does this mean I won’t do any grunt work for my 
writers? Not at all. Writers that have worked with me from beginning to end know that I’ve cleaned up their next-to-final drafts before the submission process began, but only after they’ve done the lion’s share of the rewriting and, yes, the editing. People absorb learning at different speeds, and I not only understand this, I am also fine with it. As long as a writer is trying, I have no complaints.
For example, a writer once came to me with an early 100,000-word draft of a novel. While the presentation was sorely lacking, the storyline was one of the best I’d read in the previous year or two. Based on the comprehensive evaluation he rewrote his first two chapters and sent them back to me. Oh boy, I knew we were in trouble. A second round turned out little better. After an exchange of e-mails and a couple more face-to-face meetings, I agreed to perform substantive editing on the chapters to show him what he needed to do. Lots of time? Yep. Billable hours? Indeed! His learning curve was slower than some, but he was trying hard, and I appreciated that. My workload decreased with each chapter, and by the end he was doing so much better. He finished the project and saw the book get published.
Mission accomplished: I taught another writer how to fish!
Fantastic post! After reading my first draft, you have me given some of the most important insight I’ve gained: While I’m not very funny (ha!), you said, I’m good at suspense. Thriller, you suggested. I’ve stayed there passionately since. Thanks for teaching writers to fish rather than yanking the pole away!
I’ll even provide the saw, if you’re going ice fishing…don’tcha know. 🙂
Uff da! 😉
Tools, plural, is the term that resonates with me. We learned far more than the craft of writing when we participated in your critique groups. We learned how to critique, we learned how to edit, we learned how to think critically about what we were reading or what we were writing. We learned how to work with diverse, strong-willed fellow writers and pull each other up to higher levels of craftsmanship. We learned to respect each other’s styles while improving clarity and voice. To this day, when I give out any advice, such as it is, I know I have to live up to the standard established by my mentor and the writers he had in his groups. I never thought of it as just being taught to fish; I thought of it as being taught ALL the skills needed to survive in the literary wilderness. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
Much appreciated, Mark. You learned well.
No matter how hard it is to sit back and watch a baby bird struggle to hatch, if you pull the shell off yourself, you do the little guy no service. They need that fight to become strong enough to survive.
Whenever possible, I put the pole (musical instrument, computer keyboard, or skillet) in the hands of the student and guide them through what needs to be done. They learn better that way, even if the fish isn’t always done to perfection the first couple of tries.
Your style is why we work so well together and the reason my toolbox keeps growing. Similar to Mark’s comment, I do get asked for advice, and the first thing that comes to mind is, “What would Mike say about that?”
I, too, will always be grateful for your wisdom and patience.
I guess that makes me like Harbor Freight, Ms Kate…filling toolboxes. 🙂
Keep up the great work.