For the past year I have been writing a novel. After playing with and publishing short forms for some time (short fiction, micro-fiction, and poetry), I decided to challenge myself in a new way.
I haven’t talked about this project much, because I don’t know if the novel will ever be strong enough to publish. Also, the nature of long forms is that they take a long time to complete (at least for me). It seems premature to discuss a project that might not be finished for some time or end up published.
Regardless of whether this novel is ever published, however, working on it has been excellent practice and a wonderful learning experience.
That word “practice” is the point of this post – writing takes practice, and the way we are “coached” by receiving feedback as we work can make or break the experience.
Let’s go back to what I talked about in an earlier post – the comments I received from an MFA instructor during my very first student workshop. (You can read about it here). Instead of focusing so heavily on the weaknesses of my manuscript, the instructor could have said, “This piece has promise. I like how the writer does XXXXXX. What will make this manuscript stronger in revision is….”
That type of feedback focuses on what a writer can do, not what they lack in skills or have done “wrong.” As a result, the writer – especially an insecure student – feels encouraged and motivated to improve, not torn down.
With the novel I’m working on, I spent months completing one full draft on my own. Now I am in the process of the first revision. I revise a chapter, send it to my wonderful beta reader, Cindy Zelman (who is a strong writer herself), and then review Cindy’s feedback. I revise the chapter again based on that feedback before moving onto the next chapter.
Once the entire manuscript is revised this way, I intend to go through it again for a third revision. Like I said, writing a novel is a lengthy process.
The reason I bring up this process is that Cindy, who graduated from the same MFA program I did, recently provided significant feedback on a chapter. I knew the chapter needed work, but sometimes a writer needs a beta reader to help you figure out where you are going off course.
Cindy was concerned that providing extensive comments on that chapter would discourage me. She even apologized, worried that I would feel personally criticized.
My response was, “Not at all! Bring it on!”
When Cindy and I talked about this, we realized that as students in our MFA writing workshops, we felt a bit like defendants on trial. We listened to the prosecution present their case before receiving the jury’s verdict. Guilty of producing an inferior manuscript!
The idea of a writing workshop is to get feedback from numerous points of view, and to learn from the process — guided by instructors — of both critiquing a manuscript and receiving critique on your own. Certainly there are aspects about this process that are valuable; it’s interesting to hear perspectives that are as different as readers are. Plus, talented writers can offer good suggestions for how to improve a piece.
Often, however, comments in workshops lean towards negative criticism, and that criticism can feel personal. Hearing people talk about everything they think is “wrong” with a manuscript can make a writer feel defensive, or simply like a bad writer. Even students or instructors who truly want to help can come across as critical and rejecting.
In some cases the experience can, over time, even cause writers to quit.
I would like to suggest a different approach to writing feedback. When I explained it to Cindy, she immediately saw that what her feedback was helping me, not making me feel deflated or defensive.
Think of a finished piece of writing as a puzzle that has all of the pieces in place. The necessary pieces will vary with the genre (although many of the pieces overlap — writing is writing). In a poem, for example, imagery, lyricism, and metaphor might be important pieces. In creative nonfiction, we might look for a consistent narrator’s persona and strong choices about what to include (or leave out). Character development, setting, and conflict/tension are three important pieces to most fiction puzzles. Each genre has elements – or puzzle pieces – that, when added, can help make a final draft feel complete.
If we approach writing critique this way, we are — first and foremost — removing the writer as “good” or “bad” from the equation. We are talking about the work as it stands in this draft and what pieces are present and missing, not about the skills of the writer or what the writer is or isn’t capable of doing well.
We can say, for example, “this draft includes a number of pieces that make it strong: it has well-developed characters, varied sentence structure, vivid language, and an interesting setting. I’d like to talk about a piece that could be added — stronger pacing of the plot.” Then the discussion can center around what defines that piece and suggestions for how it could be accomplished.
It’s always easier to hear about what can be done and then taught how to do it than to be told what you’re doing doesn’t work or isn’t “good.”
I was a gymnast in my younger years, and one of the skills I learned was a side aerial. Looking back now and watching videos of better gymnasts, I can see that my aerial was missing certain elements that would have made it better – I didn’t use my arms the right way or kick off properly. It’s not that I was a bad gymnast. I could do an aerial. I just could have done a better aerial if a coach had explained exactly what pieces were missing that would have made it better. Maybe I never could have done a perfect aerial, and maybe I never would have been a champion or made it to the Olympics. But I could have been taught to do a better aerial, and that would have been cool.
When I teach writing, I always focus first on the positive aspects of the work – the pieces that are present. Then, instead of detailing what is “not working” or “falls short” or what is “wrong” with the piece or what the writer isn’t doing or might not be capable of achieving, I suggest elements that can be added or worked on to improve it. What “pieces” are missing? More active verbs, more vivid language, more succinct sentences? Description? A clearer idea of the theme? We can discuss what I mean when I mention those things and how they could be added or those skills could be developed.
It is all, after all, practice — even when we enter a competition (or try to get published). If we see it that way, we don’t expect ourselves to get a 10 every time. We don’t get down on ourselves if we don’t “win.” We just try to learn how to get better, for as long as we can or as long as we enjoy the process.
In the end, as my teacher and friend Michael Steinberg (whom I miss so much) used to say, “It’s all about improving the writing. The rest is out of your control.”
So yes, Cindy, bring it on! Your feedback doesn’t hurt – it helps.