The Happy Sandwich

I first met the Happy Sandwich when I started teaching and had to give feedback. It's a method where you say something nice about a student's work, then give the criticism, then end up with something nice again.

It's about basic psychology. We hear someone say something nice about us/our work so we immediately think that a) they know what we're talking about and b) we're more receptive to their feedback. And then, in case we're a bit cast down by the feedback, the sandwich finishes off with something nice for us to go home with.

We do it all the time. That colour looks lovely on you, really brings out the colour of your eyes. Is it a bit on the small side? And I'm not sure about the waist - perhaps it would look better with a different belt? But it's a beautiful dress, you're very clever to have found it.

I, along with thousands - millions? - of teacher use the Happy Sandwich. In my experience, people are more quick to hear the single word of criticism and take it to heart, rather than the other way around. I'm keen for the good elements to be acknowledged - heavens, for many of us writing anything is an achievement in itself - and it's all too easy to leap in with negativity.

But sometimes the Happy Sandwich goes wrong...which I'll write about tomorrow.

Who's Giving the Advice?

There's that old saying, those who can, do, those who can't, teach.  I obviously don't think that's true - I LOVE teaching, but I also write successfully - but I do worry sometimes about exactly who is doing the teaching.  

Recently I came across someone who is offering book doctoring services.  This person has never had a novel published, nor have they worked in publishing.  Their only qualifications are that they like doing it, and have worked on friends' novels to the point where they decided to charge for it.  

They may be brilliant - I hope they are.  When I was on my MA course I cheerfully handed out what I felt were incredibly insightful comments to fellow students.  With hindsight, I don't think the comments were that bad.  However, I recognise it was only later that I was able to offer anything truly useful as feedback, when I'd had enough experience of looking at manuscripts and working out feedback as well as writing my own novels and short stories.  

We all have to start somewhere.  But how can someone expect to offer something worth being paid for when their experience is so limited?  What really agitates me is that they're working for a well known literary consultancy which charges serious fees to would-be writers.  The answer has to be, if you're thinking of using a literary consultancy ask who is going to be giving the critique.  

Read Me, I'm a Celebrity

I was going to stick up for Martine McCutcheon. Lots of writers are former actors - I am myself - and if you think about it, the chances are we're going to make better writers than, say, a former plumber or accountant. And then I read 'The Mistress', and all hope of sticking up for MM went out the window. It's AWFUL. Seriously. But it's not enough to say it's awful. Part of writing is learning to examine exactly what makes one bit of writing awful and another brilliant. So here goes...

The first six pages start with our heroine, Mandy getting into a taxi and going to her evening destination. She makes small talk with the taxi driver, and has a few reflective thoughts about her life at the moment.

Good points...

* The purpose of this scene is clear, to introduce the main character, which it does effectively.

* It's also good that Mandy jumps into a taxi, so the six pages that the scene takes have a forward movement as the taxi moves from Mandy's flat to her destination.

* Specific details are used: Mandy clutches a copy of Grazia, the taxi drives past specific landmarks such as the Natural History Museum and the Ritz.

* The pace is fast flowing even though there's a lot of reflection, because she's tempered it with lots of small actions in the narrative present such as checking her makeup and snatches of conversations with the taxi driver.

Not so good points...

* Lazy and often naff adjectives, for example the description of the taxi driver as "a sweet, cheeky chappie in his thirties with cute dimples".

* Telling, telling, and yet more telling - "Mandy loved her home", "she felt good", "she felt relaxed" and so on.

* Having convenient-for-the-writer thoughts..."thinking how thrilled she was that so many of her friends could make it. They were colourful characters of all them, with fast-paced lives, and pinning them down wasn't always easy."

* Having your character appear dim...Mandy "tried her umbrella, arms stretched out of the taxi. 'Eureka, it works!' she trilled, as if discovering a new invention."

* Cliches. It's a cliche to describe your main character by having them admire themselves in the mirror, but even worse if "her hair was as dark as ebony and it fell in shiny waves over her shoulders; her skin was flawless, even and gleaming, her dark long lashes framing her beautiful big brown eyes perfectly."

* The purpose of the scene is to introduce Mandy, which it does. However the impression I get is that she is dim, vain, self-obsessed, lacking humour or humility, self-satisfied. I'm not keen to read on about such a character.

I could carry on nit-picking, but life really is too short. Besides, the worst thing about the scene is that nothing happens. And this is the opening scene. It's like throat clearing before the main speech starts. For six pages a young woman travels by taxi to her destination and has a commonplace conversation with the taxi driver. It would have been so much better to have started with the second scene when she arrives at her destination, her 30th birthday party dinner. The whole thing should have been cut, cheeky chappie and all.