​Happy June, everyone! I must send a HUGE thanks to Amber Gregg for continuing to host my It's a Writer Thing series on her incredible blog, "Judging More than Just The Cover." 

​I’ve been very much looking forward to writing this next post in my It’s a Writer Thing series on feedback. In the first, I wrote about general considerations for receiving feedback, and in the second, I discussed types of feedback.

​This time, I’ll be talking about critique partners. As we know, one of our biggest sources of input comes from our critique partners, or CPs. These are trusted friends or colleagues who we give our babies to and hope they’ll thoroughly, but gently, tell us how our darling is flawed. Not an easy role, for sure. When we’re on the receiving end, it can be challenging—like find me a big old bucket cause I may be at risk for emesis challenging—but we’ve already discussed why this is an important process, and we’re strong--right?—so we can get through it. 

​So, we wrote a story, and we braved feedback from our CP or from multiple CPs, which is even better, therefore, we must be good to go and start submitting or querying. Right? 

Maybe.

It turns out, it pays to be strategic about the people we solicit critiques from. Having only one kind of CP can result in feedback that is one-sided or not broad enough. We can suffer from too much here’s-what-you-need-to-do-differently and not enough here’s-what-I-loved. We may get only line edits or suggestions about tightening our prose, but nothing on overarching plot problems. We may get a perspective that is too focused on action and not enough on emotion. 

See my point?

Finding good CPs can be a challenge, but actually, if we consider that there are many types of CPs, we can learn to think about how each individual’s input fills an important niche for us. These are the various styles of CPs I’ve encountered in my writing, so far.

The Lover: Ah, the Lover. This is the person who basically hands the MS back and is like: I made a few suggestions, but I pretty much loved it, and it’s awesome, and you’re awesome. PROS: We all need a Lover in our lives; they help us keep sight of our strengths and what’s working in our MS. Lovers can be very hard to find; the whole point of CPs is to find someone to help you make your story better, so what do critique partners do? They critique. If you find yourself a Lover, don’t let him or her go. They’re a rare breed. CONS: The Lover does little to push us toward improvement, and seeking feedback only from Lovers can set us up for failure (i.e., rejection) if there are too many problems in our MS.

​The Interrogator: The Interrogator doesn’t necessarily tell you anything about your story, but simply throws a bunch of questions in the margins for you to mull over. Maybe these are things they were confused about (and if one reader has a question, there’s a good chance others will too) or things that seem to be missing. They might want to know more about a character’s emotional/behavioral reactions or what the setting looks like. PROS: Interrogators help us think more deeply about our stories, and they often help

​ us transcribe more of what is in our heads onto the page. CONS: Interrogators may inspire us to delve too deeply in ways that could result in our veering from the main course of our story, maybe digging into too many details in a spot where keeping the pace tight would work better. They may also get us questioning our choices, so it’s important to remember that just because a question was raised, it doesn’t mean we need to change our MS to address it. Not every time, at least.

​The Big Picture Thinker: The Big Picture Thinker (BPT) sees plot threads, character arcs, and themes. They’re good at stepping back and considering our stories from a broad perspective. They’re the most likely to really comment on the overall experience of delving into this WIP. PROS: The BPT can help us see threads that tie various plot lines together, which when strengthened, can add new depth to our WIP. They can tell us where large, important pieces of the plot are missing. Forget to resolve a loose end, the BPT will notice. CONS: The BPT may not be the best at looking at the nitpicky details or helping us with our prose.

​The Nit-picker: The detail-oriented Nit-picker bring the most sensitive magnifying glass to our WIP. They’ll be likely to question small details within our scenarios, facts, and are likely to supply every missing comma we omitted. PROS: Did we make a mistake about the exact location of St. Maarten in relationship to Anguilla? The Nit-Picker will tell us. Did our MC start the car before she actually got in it? The Nit-Picker will catch it. Did we put a double period at the end of the third paragraph on page 162? You get the picture. CONS: They may miss the larger, over-arching themes and plot. More subtleties may be overlooked by these folks. In other words, they’re so focused on the trees, they forget they’re in the forest.

​The Narcissist: The Narcissist is a bane to the developing writer. There are no PROS to speak of. The Narcissist will turn any feedback session into a chance to reassure themselves of 

why they’re so great. They’ll talk about plotting tools you’ve never heard of and that nobody uses. ​​Like a Nit-picker, they may zero in on a particular detail of your story, but not to make sure you fix a problem; it will be to highlight your ignorance. You’ll know you’re talking to a Narcissist when you are able to extract very little actionable feedback and find the discussion going on forever, long past the time when you could listen without wanting to stab yourself in the ears with your red marker. Also, you may want to cry.

is more of a critical type or doesn’t support your writing goals, find your “Mom” via some other close personal connection. A dad can be just as great a CP as a mom, or maybe your sibling, second cousin, or BFF from childhood.

​Not only are these categories useful as we consider which CPs to ask for feedback from, they’re also good for our own self-analysis. When it’s our turn to give the critique, we can use these to figure out what kind of CP we are and share that with our writer friends so they can determine whether our feedback will be useful to them at that particular time for that particular story.

Thank you for being with me for this third installment of my series on feedback. Next time, I’ll cover my own process for receiving constructive input in a simple, easy-to-follow set of steps you can begin to use immediately. It will keep you from doing unhelpful things like tear your hair out, hide in a dark closet for obscene amounts of time, and, most importantly, it can help you not give up on your writing (that’s what it’s done for me, at least). 

Until then, You can do it. You can write!

Welcome back to my It’s a Writer Thing special focus on feedback.  Once again, I'm sending a HUGE thank you to Amber Gregg, author and blogger, for hosting my It's a Writer Thing series on her blog, "Judging More than Just the Cover." Check there for book reviews and other great author interviews and articles.

The last post in this series covered the givens of receiving input on our writing, and today, I’ll discuss a couple basic types of feedback.
 
1. Formative feedback. I got the following definition from evaluationtoolbox.net. According to this resource, a formative evaluation is one that “takes place before or during a project's implementation with the aim of improving the project's design and performance.” So, if we insert the word ‘book’ into this definition, formative feedback is any that is given during the initial plotting OR drafting of a book OR during the rewrite phase. It’s collaborative and cooperative. This feedback may be intended to help shape the story itself, to enrich the characterization or emotion, to help the author tell the story in the clearest way, and to remover errors.

3. I made this one up: Please just tell me I can write b/c I’m writing and I don’t know if this is really stupid, if I’m any good, and if I should just give up now and I’m kind of scared. Remember when I talked above about the perils of critique groups in the early stages of drafting? I can say, first hand, that as a new writer this feedback was downright harmful. Here’s why. Disclaimer, it’s a little bit complicated.
 
As learners, we need to strike the right balance between self-evaluation, taking influence, and developing our own style (plus, trust in that style). But when you’re new at something, especially if the entire field of study is new to you (like writing was to me), we’re not very good judges about where we’re at, what feedback is valuable, and what feedback isn’t. Finding our authentic voice is a tricky, craggy, vine-grown, hilly path with dangerous creatures lurking in the woods nearby. If we have too much confidence, we won’t let others give us the valuable information we need to improve, but if we have too little, we’ll let people drag us all over that road and off the path, getting us completely lost and then running away with whatever GPS we had when we’d started the journey.

​It’s not a surprise that critique groups can do this to us. That’s what they’re for, right? To give critiques. To tell us what we can do better. But at first, especially for people new to writing, we just need supportive cheerleaders who can read our stuff and champion us on to keep going. Someone who can say, “Whoa, you wrote a book! Cool! I think it’s good, so far. I’m sure you can make it better, but keep it up!”
 
When I walked into my first critique group, this was all I wanted. But I walked out with a million suggestions on my story, many of which I implemented without any consideration at all as to whether this was in service of my voice or my story. To be fair, I didn’t know what my voice was and I had no idea how to evaluate whether the feedback I received served it. Later, I looked back and grieved over my original vision for my first book. It was entirely changed because I assumed that these people knew way more about writing than I did (which, technically, they did), so I must be doing it wrong (but, this wasn’t necessarily the fact). Though I’m very happy with the way my first book turned out, the quirky/humorous/snarky narrator voice I’d wanted for this MG fantasy was edited completely out by people who didn’t get what I was going for and because I didn’t know enough about what I was going for to ignore what wasn’t helpful.
 
To be fair, I still learned a TON from these folks, but this valuable (unintended) lesson was one thing I learned too.

​For my next post, I’m going to outline the different types of critique partners every good writer needs (yup, there are several types). Until then, You can do it. You can write!

Once again, I'm excited that "Judging More than Just the Cover," is hosting this month's "It's a Writer Thing" post. Amber Gregg's blog is a rich and informative resource for writers, plus a lot of fun! ​

Anyone notice all those pitch contests taking over Twitter lately (”Pitch Madness”, “Pitch to Publication,” etc.)? They’re hard to miss, and who would want to miss them? They serve as awesome opportunities for authors to advance their careers, plus they’re super fun. In contests like these, little hints of feedback are tweeted as the agent or editor reads the submissions, and these little hints can be very helpful. Plenty of authors stalk the #pitchmadness, #p2p16, and #tenqueries feeds for gems that can enhance their work. And now that I’m in the “Pitch to Publication” contest, feedback is on my mind more than ever. 

Receiving feedback is an essential part of being a writer, but it’s not necessarily the easiest or the most intuitive thing to learn. How did this inspire today’s blog post? There are way too many things that can knock a writer off the path. The only way to succeed is to keep going, to practice our skills, to put ourselves out there, and feedback has the power to usher us along or to put an avalanche in our road. In the hopes this will be helpful for other writers, whether newbies like me or long-time veterans, today’s article is the first It’s a Writer Thing post in a series that I hope will be a sort-of primer for receiving feedback, to help others get the most of out of it and to hopefully avoid the unintended pitfalls.

First, a little background on me. I wasn’t a literature/writing major in college. I jumped into this writing stuff just because I had a pull to do it. In other words, I started off with absolutely no idea what I was doing. I’ve been writing for five years, but I still have to ask friends what stuff means and without Google I’d be lost. The reason I share this is because for new writers, especially folks like me who are brand new to the entire scene, receiving feedback in those early days can feel very much like trial by fire.

I, personally, wasn’t ready for the kind of feedback I got at first. The problem was, I had no idea what kind of feedback I wanted or needed. It took time and reflection to understand what I was looking for back then. Unfortunately, what I was looking for and what I got didn’t match up. At all.
Let’s start with the givens.

Remember geometry class (I know you don’t want to, but it won’t be too bad, I promise)? The teacher started off each problem with some givens, the rules you could use to structure you efforts and eventually arrive at your desired solution. So, for today’s post, I’d like to focus on the givens of receiving feedback.

​3. We’ll be happy later. 
Though it’s not true that all critiques are worth implementing (more on that later), many are. Plenty of examples have been shared out there on the internet, and there’s not a single one where the author said: “Yeah, my CP came up with some important points that made my book way better, but you know, I really regret making those changes now. Dang him.” Facing and implementing feedback is a goal like any other, just part of prepping an MS; any time we reach a goal, we need to give ourselves a little pat on the back for growth we’ve accomplished. Same with facing those edits that just showed up in our inbox.

In upcoming posts in this series, I’ll discuss types of feedback, the many faces of critique partners, my basic process of dealing with feedback, and some tips for evaluating the merit of the input you’ve been given.
Until then, You can do it. You can write!

So, to bring it back to writing. To succeed, we need both the confident assurance of our success and the realistic awareness of how hard our road to publication will be. If we underestimate the challenges of publication—how much time it really takes to get that MS in shape, or how much more we must grow before we’ll be ready, or how many times we’ll have to hear, “I’m going to pass, but remember the publishing world is highly subjective …”--then we’ll just give up. If we think it will be easier than it’s supposed to be (or, that it’s easier for everyone else out there than it is for us), we’ll assume something is wrong with us or our ideas or the publishing world, and we’ll quit. That’s why the FFTFTF concept is so brilliant. For the first time, the trainer isn’t some blind optimist. The trainer experiences the challenges of exercising with fifty extra pounds. With the added insight, they validate the clients’ suffering while still championing them toward their goals (instead of making the client feel like, what the heck is wrong with you that you can’t do another sprint right now?).​

​

It reminds me of the classic arcade and early home console games like Atari and Colecovision (yes, I’m an 80s child). Back in the day, even if you beat levels 1-99, if you died in level 100, you had to start at the beginning again. Kids these days, with their video game ‘save’ buttons have it easy. Once you beat a particular challenge, you never have to worry about that milestone again. Not so in writing. Sure, you’re always learning, but none of your progress toward getting an agent or publishing contract is saved. As with the old-school video games, once your guys die, you’re out of luck and have to dig in your pocket for another quarter or go home.

Getting so close you can almost taste it is exhilarating, but the crash can be extremely challenging to overcome. Persevering takes determination and a lot of social support. But, just like on “Project Runway,” “Top Chef,” and my other favorite, “So You Think You Can Dance,” there’s always another chance. For example, this year on “Project Runway,” (Season 14) the runner up was someone who literally tried out every single year since the show premiered. That means, he was told ‘no’ thirteen times. By the same people. Then he placed second. Similarly, on “SYCYCD,” a contestant auditioned in one city and was cut, but then showed up in another city, in the very same season. Not only was she given the golden ticket, she won it all. How many author stories have you heard about a book that was rejected countless times before becoming a huge hit?

Getting so close only to be told ‘no’ just plain sucks, and not having that save button only makes it harder, but if those world class Pac Man champs (and the Donkey Kong champs and the Centipede champs) can gain enough mastery to play the game from level one to win, then we can accomplish the same with our writing. And the best part is, we don’t need an endless supply of quarters to get there.

“You can do it, you can write!”
​ 

Although my serious writing days began about five years ago, I feel like the world’s most perpetual newbie. The number of writing-related things I have to Google each day is embarrassing. This last year has been the biggest whirlwind yet. Not only have I enjoyed my first successes (i.e, those holy s**t! moments when you realize it can really happen to you), I’ve also learned more than in the previous four years combined. About the craft and myself as a writer. About the business of being a professional author. And, how much I still have to learn. 

The best part, I’m excited about it all the time.

Problem is, I fear my husband is getting tired of my long-winded dinnertime musings about all the knowledge I’ve gained and all the realizations I’ve had. He’s got incredible patience, but everyone had a breaking point. So, in order to preserve his sanity, I decided to start a new, regular feature on my blog where I can journal about these things and let him finally get a chance to talk about his day over our evening meal. My dear fellow writers, readers, and lovers of all things bookish and word-related, if these musings are interesting, helpful, or at least entertaining (even if that’s only of the schadenfreude variety), even better.

So, here’s my first post: On finishing the first novel and the phenomenon of premature querying.

About a month ago, I finished drafting my fifth novel, and for some reason, I keep thinking back to the day I finished my first. That day was one of the most incredible of my life. I’m not a big crier, but I kind of bawled a little. I just couldn’t believe I actually did it. It took a whole year with some weeks full of daily work, which were followed by weeks of zero productivity. I had no idea how to plot, so I pantsed the whole thing, writing whatever I had in my head, then waiting for the next bit to come to me before I hit it again.

When I finished it, I did what every first-time-novelist does. I thought my book was awesome, and I queried that baby with very little editing. 

Cue the regret and red face of chagrin. 

But I guess I should be kind to myself about it. Premature querying seems to be a right of passage, a total writer thing. To quote my good friend, Cristina Dos Santos, “Nothing is ever wasted or lost in this journey.”

I remember the swirl of emotions and my decision process like it was yesterday. There were definitely some thoughts like, Who wouldn’t want to read this book? It rocks! 

But my predominant thought, What if this was just fluke? This book better get published because I may never be able to do that again. 

I know now that I was wrong on both counts; after a few years of revisions, novel #1 became share-worthy, and I learned that I can definitely, without a doubt, do that again. My confidence grew once I understood that it’s not just the idea of being an author that fuels me, it’s that I actually love to write. I love everything about it, even when I hate everything about it. I can’t imagine not doing it. 

That first book represents the first milepost for me. I’m in it for the long haul.