Hello, OPB friends!
This month, we’re doing something a little different for our Industry Insider post. Instead of featuring an interview, I wanted to dig into a question that comes up often during critique sessions, revision conversations, and email threads with clients, friends, and fellow kidlit writers:
What do editors really mean when they say things like “This feels quiet” or “I didn’t quite connect with the voice”?
As Editorial Director at Bushel & Peck Books—and a kidlit writer myself for the past ten years—I’ve heard these phrases from both sides of the table. I’ve also talked about them at length with my own agent, with critique partners, and with other editors across the industry. So, today’s post is a kind of translation guide: a short, honest look at some of the most common editorial phrases and what they often (but not always!) mean under the hood.
“This feels quiet.”
This doesn’t mean “bad.” It usually means the concept doesn’t feel immediately marketable. Maybe the theme is lovely but soft, or the stakes feel internal rather than plot-driven. Sometimes it means the story is tender or subtle, but doesn’t stand out in a crowded submission pile.
What might help:
Sharpen the hook. Raise the stakes. Consider whether the emotional arc or character journey could be more compelling or surprising.
Example: The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld
This is a quiet book, yes, but it works because the emotional core is crystal-clear and universally resonant. Note how the hook—how kids process big feelings—feels urgent and relatable, even though the plot is minimal.
“It’s well-written, but I didn’t fall in love.”
This is often code for “I admire this, but I don’t have a vision for how to sell it.” Editors have to advocate hard for every book they acquire, and that requires real enthusiasm. No one wants to take on a project they feel lukewarm about, even if the writing is strong.
What might help:
Nothing, necessarily. This one isn’t about a fixable flaw, but rather more about fit. Keep querying. The right person might fall hard.
Example: Julian Is a Mermaid by Jessica Love
This debut book is lyrical, quiet, and elegant—easily one an editor could have passed on for being “lovely, but maybe too subtle.” But its emotional depth and visual storytelling made the right editor fall in love, and champion it all the way to success.
“There’s not quite enough here for a picture book.”
This might mean there’s not a full arc, or that the story leans more toward vignette or concept than narrative. It can also mean the emotional or plot payoff isn’t big enough to justify 32, 40, or 48 pages.
What might help:
Dig deeper into the character’s journey. Add tension, reversals, or a turning point. Picture books (even/especially quiet ones!) need structure to shape the reader’s experience.
Example: A Sick Day for Amos McGee by Philip C. Stead and Erin E. Stead
This story is gentle, but it has a clear beginning, middle, and end. Amos takes care of animals at the zoo. One day he’s sick—and they return the favor. The role reversal adds narrative weight to what could’ve been a flat concept.
“I wasn’t quite connecting with the voice.”
This is a gentle way of saying that something in the tone, language, or narrative feel simply didn’t land. The voice might feel too adult, too generic, or inconsistent. Or maybe it didn’t match the story’s intended mood or audience.
What might help:
Read it aloud. Is the rhythm strong? Does it sound like a real person? Could the narrator be more specific, distinctive, or emotionally resonant?
Example: Creepy Carrots! by Aaron Reynolds, illustrated by Peter Brown
The voice here is spot-on: cinematic, dramatic, and a perfect match for the mock-horror tone. The exaggerated seriousness is what sells the humor…and the book.
“It’s too similar to something else on our list.”
This is rarely personal. More times than not, it’s strategic. Editors have to balance their list across themes, formats, tones, and audiences. If they just acquired a book about ballet-loving dinosaurs, they’re probably not going to take another one. I run into this a lot at my press because we’re a small press with a small list. I can’t buy a second book about penguins if we’ve already got one in the pipeline, or just published one…even though I’d love to do an all-penguin imprint!
What might help:
Check your comps. Make sure your book fills a different niche, or offers a fresh twist that feels essential, not adjacent.
Example: Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! by Mo Willems
A story about a demanding character trying to get their way? Done a zillion times before. But the second-person narration, meta structure, and pigeon personality made this feel wildly new, even though the premise is simple.
“We’re being really selective right now.”
Always true. But also: sometimes it’s a way of softening a pass without going into detail. Budgets, list size, market trends, team bandwidth, and internal priorities all play a role.
What might help:
This is nothing you can control. It’s just not a reflection on you or your work. Keep going. The right project will hit the right desk at the right time.
Example: The Day the Crayons Quit by Drew Daywalt and Oliver Jeffers
A book like this may have felt risky at the wrong time: epistolary format, multiple voices, no central plot. But with the right champion at the right moment, it broke through—and became a bestseller.
Final Thoughts:
Rejections don’t always mean “no forever.” And editorial speak isn’t meant to be mysterious, though it can MOST DEFINITELY feel that way in the moment for a while. As writers, it helps to hear what’s often behind the phrases. As editors, it helps to be honest about what we mean. The more we can bridge that gap, the stronger the books (and the industry) become.
Got a phrase you’d like help decoding? Leave a comment or reach out! I’m happy to demystify where I can.
