This evening's theme is writing, more specifically the laborious task of editing and the perilous one of asking for and receiving feedback from loved ones and friends, both writers and readers. I am in the process of finalising the first 5000 words of a novel, to be submitted shortly to a competition for unpublished novels. Having edited them to death, then done some more sculpting just to ensure they really are dead/finished/ ready/as good as they can be, at this stage I have what can only be described as a 'love/detest' relationship with my written words and probably many of the emotions in between. I can read my text over in the morning and be bored, then read it several hours later and feel more positive. A piece of prose can read exquisitely rhythmically one moment then the next it sounds staccato, awkward, turgid.
Someone said that you know a piece of work is finished when you go through it removing all the commas, only to reinstate them again.
As for requesting an opinion from someone else before we submit to competitions, agents and publishers, what a minefield. So much about appreciating a piece of writing is subjective, and therefore so much about having one's writing approved by someone else is subjective.
Anyone who has ever asked a few people to read and comment on their writing will know what a hazardous route they have chosen to tread. The first big decision is who to trust. Giving your precious writing to a loved one can be like handing them a pistol and inviting them to shoot you if they want. You need them to be honest - what help, after all, is the comment 'it's lovely'? Who believes that? You may want to, but there's a little voice, your internal critic, tormenting you with the comment 'Yeah, right, you know it isn't lovely'.
By also wanting/needing them to like what you're written. you can therefore be placing them between a rock and a hard place, to use a hackneyed expression. I remember having a massive sulk during what should have been a lovely walk in the south of Skye; a heavy silence between us as we returned from a beautiful drive in Provence; a potentially happy, cosy, 'Indian carry out' night sabotaged. And all because my partner didn't quite choose the right words when giving a verbal critique. He jokes now about wanting to have his lawyer present before he gives me feedback. And yet he is my most ardent supporter, the one who - apart from me - will be happiest, most proud, should I ever achieve 'full blown' publication. People warn others not to share their writing with the person they are closest to. It's just too potentially lethal. There are dramatic stories of writers topping themselves after a loved one's 'criticism' of their latest work. P. knows I wouldn't do that.
Then there are the other potential readers. Who do you choose? Someone who is similar to you in personality and therefore likely to be sympathetic to your characters? Someone whose writing you respect? Someone whose writing you are not particularly drawn to to but whom you know to be a thorough critic? An intelligent, well-read friend? Do you pay thousands to have a professional editor comment? Do you fork out less to have a writing association give you a critique?
I can also speak from the perspective of the reader/critic, often struggling to give constructive feedback, looking for the positives when none may be apparent. The most difficult challenge was when a writing friend asked me to comment on a piece of 'speculative' fiction, which to me seemed no different to science fiction. This was a successful writer, but I thought her extract was less than impressive. To let her down gently, and perhaps also to protect myself, I prefaced my feedback with the declaration that I really didn't like science fiction.
The only thing you can be certain of when you give your work to a variety of people is that everyone will have a different slant in the things they choose to feedback on. That can be good: the pernickety one who will notice every spelling mistake, superfluous comma. The one who delights in correcting errors of a practical nature: the wrong type of car for the job. The one who is easily confused and suggests you remove half your characters. The one who thinks the pace is too slow and her counterpart who thinks you rush from one drama to the next without allowing characters to react to events. One reader might focus on extracts which should be told with narrative closeness, another might think you tell too much. All these perspectives can be useful. What can be confusing is if you have two readers with opposing views on the same aspect of writing. Then who do you believe? We are told that at the end of the day - or even during it, that it is our story, our decision ultimately, that we should be confident enough to decide. This can be extremely difficult.
It would be tempting to send off different drafts of something to an agent, letting them decide. "If you want, I can write the story like this, or if you prefer (sub text - if you agree to represent me) I can do it that way."
Some decisions may be easy to make. At a recent session with my mentor, she suggested that a character remained in the dark - or chose to delude herself - about something which would devastate her. I responded that this would be possible. She then suggested that the character might not need to know about something else, at which point my writer's integrity asserted itself and I replied that this was pivotal to the story. My mentor seemed relieved- perhaps I had appeared to be too biddable.
This rant is not to decry the writing process. The inspiration, the excitement (on a good day) remain in tact. But this is definitely the hard bit, when weariness with the process can sap precious energy, and the need to finish becomes ever more urgent.
Reflectively yours
Jane
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