Editorial Lurve.

Ah, the feared and abhorred red ink. Yeah, no, not the accounting red ink. We are all pretty good at ignoring debt, I think.

I refer instead to teacher ink. Correction ink. That big red check mark that screams:"WRONG!"

It's also those scarlet suggestions, notes, generalized messages that teachers and editors are prone to making. They often use red pencil, actually, which likewise does not erase from the page.

When I am an editor working on someone's paper manuscript, I like to use green ink or purple, just to mix it up. Still, even if it's purple, it's red.  And when you are a writer, red = love.  

Or in my world it is.  Because when I have plunked down cash, it's nice to hear from my editor that they like a turn of phrase or the story is interesting. But far better is the attention, time, and—yes--love poured into a note that says something along the lines of, "I think this section could be tighter. Does this word convey the emotion you want? Why are we learning this right now?"

The point of a critical editorial reading is to improve the work. In the immortal words of the original Soloflex ad, it's hard to make improvements. 

So when the manuscript returns with lots and lots of red ink—and yes, the modern version is a Word or Google annotated file, which provides less emotional connection, as you aren't seeing the hasty checkmarks grooved deeply into the page —it's a joy.

Because it's gonna hurt, but it's gonna be better at the end.