One
summer I attended a workshop with an award-winning short-story writer.
His writing astounded me, and his stories were favorites for years as I
studied the craft. When I learned he'd be teaching at a
well-respected conference that year, I was thrilled.
We
were asked to prepare a short story for critique. I polished my very
best one, which had won a couple of writing contests, and prepared to
learn how to take it to the next level. I looked forward to this great
writer opening doors for me, creatively. But I took a writing friend
along, since at heart I was nervous about his feedback. If it proved
heart-breaking, I could cry on my friend's shoulder.
Each
day we listened to this writer rant. Midweek we began to talk about
the stories we'd brought, but he decided only to work on a few stories
by previous students of his who were also in the workshop. Mine got a
cursory discussion, as did most of the others. To say I was
underwhelmed would be an understatement. No creative doors were opened
for me, but I did learn a lot about the writer's fame and struggles with
his own work--interesting to a point but not for five days. He was not
able to give good feedback because his own writing was his only world.
Sadly,
many of us went away from that workshop confused about the writing
journey. Does it really lead to this kind of self-absorption? Can't
writers learn to help each other succeed? The flatness inside gave me
no real idea how to take the next step with my short story. It found
its way to a drawer in my closet and never got looked at again after
that summer.
Critique--Only One Model for Feedback
Many
years went by and I learned more about this feedback and especially critique, the academic method for giving feedback. The goal of
critique is to find what is wrong--it looks at writing with a critical
eye and the sense grows in the writer that she will never quite be
enough.
Critical
feedback has it uses at certain stages. But it works best if delivered
with the intent to open doors in the writer's creative self. Not close
them. I had made the mistake of thinking that this famous writer would
know how to teach as well as how to write.
That he would be able to help me. Actually, he was really only able to help himself.
How Do We Get Help for Our Writing? How Do We Learn to Give it to Other Writers?
Writers
learn about their writing in several ways. There's the harsh
experience of rejection letters--which tell you everything is bad.
There's the gentle experience of support--which tells you everything is
good. In the middle is constructive feedback. This points out both
strengths and weaknesses in writing. It lets the writer know the solid
ground to stand on, as well as the next step to take to grow.
Most
writers aren't born with an inherent ability to give good feedback.
Even professional writers, as I learned that summer, can be lousy at it.
They don't necessarily offer comments that the writer can actually use.
And they give feedback for all sorts of wrong reasons-to show off how
much they know, to make everyone aware they'd never be caught dead
making a mistake like that, to boost literary egos.
Obviously, this does nothing good for the receiving author-to-be.
That's
why I've come to believe that questions are the most untapped form of
good feedback. In teaching writing for over twenty years, I've found
that questions open doorways for the writer. They let us see (1)
there's something unaddressed or unanswered here, and (2) there are ways
to find out what it might be. When we are asked a question, it allows
new information to come up organically from our interior worlds. A lot
of my first-time students don't believe in the power of questions. But
after one exposure, they get it.
You
really had to be there, to get the full impact of the question, to see
the writer light up with new awareness and love for his manuscript, but
perhaps some of these questions will trigger ideas on this form of
feedback.
1. What
would happen if Jonah didn't say yes to Ann at that moment? (In
response to a chapter where two characters fall into a
pseudo-agreeability, where they really need to get more separate, this
question caused the writer to catapult into an new realization of Ann's
angrier side. We'd seen Ann simmering for weeks, but this writer hadn't
yet, and it was deadening the chapter.)
2. What's
the most outrageous thing this woman could do? (In response to a stuck
character, this question caused the writer to have her go into a bar
and bargain sex for a ride to L.A., a totally unexpected action that
was entirely believable and got the writer excited once again about this
person.)
3. What
was always in your mother's refrigerator? (A memoirist suddenly
remembered her mother's quart bottles of diet Pepsi, which brought the
realization that she hadn't yet written about junk food and
constriction, an essential theme in understanding her family.)
4. How
does lightning play out in your life? (In response to a skilled
writer's struggle with finding theme in his nonfiction book. He went
from writing sequential and slightly repetitive scenes to interspersing
musings on the nature of lightning, personally and topically, which
helped his book rise from the ashes.)
Any
feedback in class needs to be monitored by an instructor, who has the
welfare of the students in mind. If there are writing classes in your
area, try them out. Online classes are easy to find and good forums for
learning feedback skills.
Assessing Your Feedback Needs
A
writer in my classes was convinced that he didn't need feedback. He
worked hard on his novel and sent it off to a list of agents. It was
agony to watch him get the rejection letters--not one even read more
than a couple of pages.
I
suggested he spend some time getting feedback--finding out why.
Because the submission process had flattened him, Noah was more willing
to try peer review now. He found a writers' group in his Detroit
neighborhood, one he's been with now for two years. He learned to ask
good questions and he learned that careful and constructive feedback
made his writing improve steadily. He sees the group members for coffee
and chapter exchange one Saturday morning each month, and each writer
has grown tremendously from the feedback.
At
first, Noah said, the group was large and not very committed. Over
time, the original ten members shrank to five steady writers who showed
up at each meeting. Those who didn't submit work eventually dropped
away. Noah's writing was gently critiqued, chapter by chapter, until he
collected good feedback on his entire book. He now knew more clearly
why agents never got past chapter 1-and he's hard at work on a more
informed revision.
To
assess your feedback needs, spend some time with your writer's notebook
or journal today. As you think about where you are in your manuscript
revision, make some honest notes about your concerns and eagerness for
feedback. Then, when you feel you're ready, take one small step toward
reaching out.
Go
on line, visit community bulletin boards in your local bookstores, or
make a call to the English department of a nearby university or college.
Research some possibilities for a manuscript exchange with a writers'
group, writing coaches, or writing partner.
Discover how constructive feedback can help you take your manuscript to the finish line-and the publication that awaits there.
Your Weekly Writing Exercise
1. Spend a few minutes today writing about how you feel about your book, right now. Are you excited, overwhelmed, discouraged, skeptical? Describe the feelings as specifically as possible: "They feel like . . . " or "I feel like. . . "
2. Now switch to assessing what might help you most at this place. Begin writing again, finishing the sentence: "I think I most need . . . " Repeat this prompt 5 times, answering it differently every time.
3. From this exercise, make a list of three things you need most to move forward right now. They can be specific issues with your book or overall needs you have for support.