Editing & Proofreading Services

Need something edited/proofread? I’m a freelance editor!

I now offer copy editing and proofreading for creative work such as short stories, poetry, thought pieces, novel manuscripts and any other creative written pieces. My rates are as follows:
$20/hour for short form work – i.e. short stories, poetry, short form thought pieces or blog posts.

$4/page for particularly lengthy work – i.e. novel chapters, manuscripts, play scripts etc

If you are interested, please email me at inwordsandink@gmail.com with the subject line “Edit” and I can give you a more specific/tailored quote, depending on the length and form of the work you want edited.

Please note: I do not edit academic work, and will not accept any school or university level work for proofreading or editing. This applies to all work that may be submitted for assignments and assessments.






I am curled up in the storm shade of afternoon

about to clap its hands

into night.

My fingers run the cracks in the purple-grey,

not lilac, not lavender,

just some ghost of purple,

though I suppose these walls were lavender once.

I am a shadow

a printed copy of yesterday

and today,

carved out in hollow light

and freckled with empty sleep.



I feel like someone has taken a spoon to my insides

and scooped all the human bits out,

hollowed my abdomen,

reaching in,

sucking out my organs,

with a long paper straw,

my heart an uncorked bottle of pumping red

sitting on your shelf

next to my freshly plucked eyes

fogged up with stills from inside my head.



I am hyper aware of my mouth,

its bright red flare

shooting sparks across the space

between us and the heavens,

my rosebud lips in full bloom,

petals spilling from my mouth,

blowing in the wind

as I peel aphids from my skin.

I sing of sea and salt and air

pickling time,

flying feathers across champagne skies

into my hair,

catching leaves and branches

as I tumble through the thorny undergrowth

and out onto the sand.

My paper tongue flitters uncomfortably

as I scribble my name in the shoreline,

the thorny breath of sitting too long in silence

pricking my throat

as I sit alone and wait

for them to hear me.



                                                                                                     I found a cavern

                                                                                                     filled with fireflies,

                                                                                                     their yellow-green light

                                                                                                     all wrong.

                                                                                                     Why are there fireflies

                                                                                                     in my gut

                                                                                                     when my eyes are carved in darkness?



I am filled with the break of white light,

dipped in the honey of early morning sun,

and sinking my pen into her velvet skin sky,

striping out my fading dreamy head

in inky echo of her tongue

across my sea-salt bones –

I am morning.


© Hayley New 2016