The bane of every writer is the editor, and the first time you meet one face to face can be a frightening experience. You do not know what to expect and so you are off guard. In walks this nice lady or a man in a blue suit, and you think things are going to go well.
Editors begin to talk in circles, in generalities, and seemingly without direction.
Then you get the idea that it is the editor's self-appointed destiny to rip your manuscript to shreds, rewrite its most significant sections, and generally stomp all over this thing on which you have spent so much time and effort. Finally, before you can grab it and beat a hasty exit, your book is laying helplessly on the floor, moaning and begging for mercy. In your home you soothe your wounds, far away from the fire-breathing person you thought was going to swoon over your work, tout it to the heavens, and declare brazenly to everyone in the hall that you are the next Pulitzer Prize winner. After a while you become embarrassed you ever thought the book worthwhile enough for an editor to read and you shrink from the horror that you fostered it on the hapless person in the first place. It is at that point that you realize the editor is your friend, that the editor wants with all her razor-sharp tongue and bleeding heart for you to do well, too look good, to sell.