What Are You Looking For When You Ask For Feedback?

At some point, unless you are only writing for your self, everyone needs feedback on their writing if only to check that what is happening in your head is being transferred to the page. I've written about getting feedback before, the differences between professional feedback and using friends or family, and how to get the best out of each.  But I've not written about what sometimes lies underneath our requests for feedback.  

I remember showing my first short story to my partner and although he was positive - it's good, was I think the comment - I felt dissatisfied. I don't know what I wanted - certainly not criticism (which would have rankled), even more detailed positive comments (such as, the description's good) wouldn't have gone down well (what, does that mean the rest is bad? Cue tantrums).

I'm afraid whatever his response had been - apart from, it was wonderful, amazing and you are the best writer EVER - I think I wouldn't have been happy.  What I said I was looking for was feedback on my story, but in reality I wanted something completely different, something I couldn't even articulate myself.  Love?  Reassurance?  Acceptance?  Whatever, expecting to find it from inviting criticism was doomed to failure.

One student showed her work to her parent and was devastated when the response was luke warm.  But she knew that her parent wasn't even close to being the sort of readership her novel was aimed at, so what was she really looking for?  Feedback on her writing or parental approval?  Another student showed their work to their partner and was thrown when they gave a negative response, which led to the student questioning the point in continuing to write. 

You've got to ask yourself what your motives are if you ask anyone who isn't also a writer; however much they read, they are unlikely to know the technical aspects. I always say to people that they should never, ever show their work to their beloveds - there's just too much other stuff floating around. 

Think before you ask: I know my mother's opinion about my genre, so I know what she's likely to say about my writing.  I don't ask, because I don't want to hear it from her.  I always say to people that they should never, ever show their work to their beloveds - there's just too much other stuff floating around. In fact, I prefer it that my children and partner don't read what I write (so long as they get all their friends to buy my books).  It's so much safer and happier that way. 

And if you ever get asked by a partner, sibling, child, parent or close friend for feedback, then think twice before you say anything other than 'wonderful, amazing, you are the best writer EVER'.

Amateur or Professional?

I went to an art exhibition at the weekend, the annual 'show of work' of a local art club a friend of mine belongs to.  It was....interesting.  Not because the work was dreadful - because it wasn't, it was uniformly competent - but because none of it was good enough to be in a commercial art gallery.  

I see a lot of writing that is competent.  It does what it intends to.  It tells a story, it gets characters from A to B, and yet it just isn't good enough for publication.  (In my opinion, of course, and all this comes with a great caveat that comment on art or writing subjective and open to challenge.)  The trouble is, you could be in the top 1% - ie the best out of 100 writers you know - and still not be good enough.  I expect you have to be in the top 1,000, or even the top 10,000 to get published. 

I was talking to a poet friend who said that people never understood how she could tell immediately whether a poem was good or bad.  'I've been writing and reading and teaching poetry for twenty years,' she said.  'I can tell, just like that.'

I know what she means.  Experience makes such a difference, which is why your friend saying they really like your work doesn't mean very much (unless they're actively involved in looking at new writing). I've seen a lot of student work over the past twelve years that I've been teaching, yet I expect I've seen less than an agent sees in a year, or even six months. Just imagine how acute their eye must be, how sharply they read, how quickly they judge if it's worth a further look or not.*

If you want to be a professional writer - ie you want someone to give you money for your work - then you have to be professional about it.  If you don't want to be a professional writer - and there's no reason why you should, the best reason for writing is for the sheer pleasure of it - then you can do what you like.  But don't confuse the two.  Competent isn't good enough.

*That's not to say they don't get it glaringly wrong sometimes.  Like the agent who told me I was wasting my time about a book that went on to be a bestseller in 14 countries....   

When One Word Makes All The Difference

Here's a game for you to play. Thinking about first lines, I realised what a delicate balancing act they are. Sometimes it only takes one word to be between the ordinary and the intriguing. Here are two first lines, and I've changed one word in each - can you spot it?

1. When Kalyna Beimuk married Ray Stevenson on the fourth of October 1976 she knew she was committing bigamy.

2. I inherited my brother’s life. Inherited his desk, his business, his gadgets, his enemies, his horses and his money. I inherited my brother’s life, and it nearly killed me.

So, do either of them grab you? They're both quite intriguing, both dealing with drama - the bigamy and the threat of death - and we'd probably have been quite happy to have written either of them.

Now read them in their correct version:

1. When Kalyna Beimuk married Ray Stevenson on the fourth of October 1976 she hoped she was committing bigamy. (Two Red Shoes by Vivien Kelly)

2. I inherited my brother’s life. Inherited his desk, his business, his gadgets, his enemies, his horses and his mistress. I inherited my brother’s life, and it nearly killed me. (Straight by Dick Francis)

See how it makes a difference. The drama is still there, but on top is something unexpected. If Kalyna hopes she's committing bigamy, then what has happened to her first husband? Where is he? Is he still alive? And how can you inherit a mistress? Things yes, people no. What was going on between the brothers? What's happened to the dead brother, and how could it nearly kill the remaining one?

What both these openings do is startle the reader into asking questions. By asking questions the reader is drawn in to the story, and once a reader is drawn in, you have them hooked. Are there questions in your first lines?

First Lines

How we react when we read the first lines of a book or a short story will determine our attitude to it. It has to convince us to read on, in the case of a novel, convince us so much that we spend our hard earned cash on it. There are various techniques we can use to do this. Take this beginning, from Laura Lockington's Stargazey Pie:

Nobody understands the meaning of the word embarrassment unless they have travelled on a packed InterCity train with a small masturbating monkey. Although the monkey, Jicky, was packed into a wicker cat basket, he could be clearly seen indulging in his favourite, well, his only, hobby through the door of the basket.

She's using several techniques -

The surprise - shock even - of the first line.

The conversational tone.

The irony of "his favourite, well, his only, hobby" - he's a monkey, and monkeys don't usually have hobbies.

Sympathy for the un-named, but terminally embarrassed, escort for Jicky.

And agreement - you would understand the meaning of the word embarrassment in those circumstances.

Humour - the circumstances are embarrassing, but also comic.

I think it's an effective first paragraph; it's certainly memorable and grabs the reader.

The problem is that it will also be a complete turn off for many readers. Did I buy the book? No, because I don't want to read anything that features a small masturbating monkey and, even if Jicky doesn't feature much, there are plenty of other books out there that offer the same humour and ironic tone without a monkey, masturbating or otherwise.

But you can't expect that everyone in the world is going to love your book. Reading is a subjective experience and we're all different and have different tastes. Check out your first paragraph and see how many reasons there are for a reader to carry on.

The Greatest First Page Ever Becomes More Essential

It's always been important to have a great first page, and a great first chapter, but I realise it's become more important than ever. Why? Well, it's been my birthday recently and for my birthday I got a Kindle.

This weekend I downloaded about 300+ books for under £10 - the complete works of Austen, Wharton, Brontes (all of them), Shakespeare, James, Hardy, Dickens. I reckon that'll keep me quiet on the longest train journey. (And does the availability of 31 novels by Edith Wharton for 71 pence explain why ebooks are apparently outselling paper books on Amazon in quantity? I suspect so.)

I also downloaded lots of samples, some for 'How to write' books - my little weakness - and some for contemporary novels. Of the 8 contemporary novel samples I downloaded I actually went ahead and purchased 2. That's 6 books I might have bought in a bookshop where I could only really read the first page and look at the cover, and 6 books which I decided against buying when I'd read the first chapter.

This is the future, a One-Click world where it's very easy to buy books, but equally easy to discard them if the contents don't grab the reader. And over the next couple of days I think I'll be talking about ways to grab the reader - and yes, anticipation is one of them.

When the Right Person to have Viewpoint is the Wrong Person.

Generally, the right person to have viewpoint is the person to whom the most exciting stuff is happening, but there are some notable exceptions....

When the right person knows too much.

Sherlock Holmes is the classic example of this. He spends a lot of time knowing who dunnit, but keeping the solution back until it's certain (or until Arthur Conan Doyle has written enough pages). If we were in his point of view we would know what was going on in his head, and the solution would be revealed. If the writer keeps crucial information out of the character's head despite them knowing it, then they can expect to run into problems with readers when the solution is finally revealed, as Agatha Christie did in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

When the right person is too far away from 'us'

Again, Sherlock Holmes is the example. He's just too darn intelligent, talented, superhumanly gifted for us to engage with him. We are fascinated by his glittering brilliance, but that's because it's at a distance. Instead, Dr Watson becomes our viewpoint character. He's a decent enough chap, but sometimes a bit slow on the uptake. The reader is always one step ahead of him, and several behind Sherlock.

When the action isn't really in the events that are happening

The example of this is The Great Gatsby. Nick Carraway observes Gatsby, Daisy, Tom etc as they dance around each other. He is the onlooker, not an active participant, in their relationships. But he's the one who is changed by the experience, so while he's not that affected by the external events, he's very affected by the internal changes to himself.

Choosing the Right Point of View

Sometimes a student will bring a story in for workshopping and I realise that, while there may be exciting things going on, they've chosen the wrong point of view to tell the story from. Try this scenario:

Jennifer's husband has died in his 60s. Back for the funeral and to make arrangements are her two children, Mary and John, and their respective partners David and Caroline. At supper the night before the funeral an argument starts. Mary reveals that she's been having an affair. Whose POV is best suited to the scene?

There are pros and cons with most of the characters. Jennifer is the grieving widow, but she isn't directly affected by the announcement and neither is John. David is affected, but until Mary's announcement, he's slightly on the sidelines as a non-blood relative. Caroline is a non-blood relative too, and she doesn't have direct involvement in Mary's announcement. Mary is probably the best choice because not only does she have a secret to keep for the first half of the scene, but she also has to deal with the fall-out from her announcement.

Now change the scenario. It's as before, except Mary's lover is Caroline, her brother John's partner. Whose POV?

Both Mary and Caroline have secrets to keep in the first half of the scene, and fall out to deal with after the announcement. I'd be tempted to have the first half of the scene from Mary's POV, then have the aftermath in Caroline's as she deals with a) John's reaction and b) her own reaction to Mary revealing their secret. Both John and David are affected, but not until Mary's announcement.

Now change the scenario again. We're back to the first one, where Mary's lover is someone else outside those present. This time, David and Caroline are also having an affair, which no one else knows about. Whose POV?

Mary has her secret, John and Jennifer aren't directly involved. I'd go for either David or Caroline's POV because they've both got a secret to keep hidden, then after Mary's announcement their situation changes. Caroline could realise David might become free to marry her, which could be a good or a bad thing. David could be shaken into realising that it's really Mary he loves, or he could think he's just been landed a Get Out of Jail Free card - he can now leave the marriage and be with Caroline.

In general, who ever has the viewpoint should be a character that a lot - if not the most - is happening to. There are a couple of exceptions to this - which I'll deal with tomorrow.