Back in school, the first English class of the year usually opened with a “kids, what did you do this summer, please pretend you care about school now” assignment. While I rarely did anything interesting during break, and it’s been a lot of years since secondary school, with fall looming I feel like scratching out one for me.
Only there’s a small twist. My topic is what I learned this summer.
Ahem. This summer, I learned the following:
1) Take off as many days as possible.
2) Avoid road trips that involve Pennsylvania, and the Comfort Inn in Columbus, Ohio.
4) If a road trip means more than eight hours at the wheel, fly. For the love of God, fly!
5) GPS = good. We named ours Chloe. She might have saved the marriage.
6) Set a reasonable limit on summer time projects. Five proved a bit too ambitious.
Granted the above is a list, rather than a paragraph styled theme. But then I mentioned a twist.
On other fronts, I did the unthinkable last night. Swapped unpublished short stories with a writer. A thing I swore never to do, unless I joined a writing group, which would be shortly after drinking lunch from a gin bottle.
Anyway, the value of this exchange is what it revealed. For whatever reason, or twist of the universe, our styles are very similar. Not that my style is spectacular or unique, but I consider it mine, just as much as this writer considers his take on language the product of many years of writing and reading.
But damn if it wasn’t creepy at points. Reading a line, then thinking, exactly how I would have put that down. It’s almost like meeting a guy in a bar, cracking a few jokes, and discovering both of you are sleeping with the same girl. Either duke it out, or recognize that maybe there’s a reason two paths crossed.
I have my idea, anyway.
Heh heh. I was thinking the same thing. Very eerie. But in a good way!
Like you, I would never have dreamed of exchanging stories with another writer, and I’d sooner have a razor-blade enema than join a writing group. I always thought of those things as for writing hobbyists who are more interested in the social aspect and the ubiquitous ego stroke that comes from having a bunch of stranger critique your work. I guess some people find that useful, but I’m not one of them.
The group therapy concept probably works for certain scenarios. Like say, marriage counseling or AA. There it fits and is appropriate.
John Irving swears by his masters training, a journey which included daily rip-your-peer-in-public-fests. If I recall, the main benefit he cites now is how well it steeled him against the critics later in his career. At this point, he’s a brick wall to criticism.
Yeah, I could see how that could build up one’s resistance to the critics. I’m going to hope that my already well-developed lack of interest in their opinions will do me well, at least initially. Coupled with Kat’s constant reminders (“Why do you listen to those geeks?”), I think I’ll be okay.
That works.
It’s not that I’m running a writing group – I’m not. I get enough of writers on a daily basis thanks. However, I do feel that I should interject just one small thought here.
I applaud your first step – both of you – sharing is tough. Opening yourself up for potential criticism is even tougher. Beyond the first impressions of – gee this guy writes like me – putting your writing out into a group often opens your eyes to new directions to go in solving some of those thorny problems – like, “now what do I do? I just wrote my character right into a corner!” It also gives you insight into how someone – other than a person who you’ve grown comfortable enough with to expose your most closely guarded privates with (your writing gentlemen ahem!) will perceive or understand what you were trying to say. That can be immeasurably valuable to a writer.
And who would you rather hear this from – a group of strangers who are also exposing themselves to the steely knives of your criticism – or an agent or editor who tiring of making the herculean effort to find their way through the slog of your writing, let’s loose with a scathing comment that cuts you to the bone? (Not that this would ever happen to either of you of course, it’s just a little food for thought.)
;->
Good points, Editor Person. And thanks for the props.
Fortunately, I’ve been very lucky with rejections so far. Agents generally say nothing at all. Which serves as its own barb, I guess.
To a certain degree I hear what you are saying. All I know is, I’m ready to give collaboration a whirl. Maybe that commences with a discussion of our respective swapped stories.
Have to say right now, my story needs more tightening than my cohort’s.
I agree. Good points, Editor Person.
I certainly agree with the concept of the writer’s circle as the literary equivalent of a test-screening audience. But I think that’s the only reason I would attend one — namely, to get ideas for different directions in which the story could go. I guess that’s why I would never sign up for Clarion or any of the other groups that some writers swear by. The amount I’d probably get out of it isn’t worth the money and time involved (or rather, time I’d have to take off work to attend such a workshop). I’m not saying they don’t work for some writers; just that they don’t work for me. Here’s what I dread most:
Circle Person: “What did the green dress mean, Ian?”
Ian: “Nothing. It was a green dress.”
Circle Person: “Oh. Maybe you should emphasis it, because of the stories pseudo-sexual statement about violence against women. Bring that element of your story to the forefront.”
Ian: “What statement? It’s about a man who finds a bunch of his wife’s belongings in their attic after she’s died.”
Circle Person: “Yes, but didn’t the part where the light from the setting sun splashing across the dress in his hands signify blood? That maybe he used to beat her?”
Ian: “Um…”
That’s what I fear. The overly analytical reviews of my work by those writers who get the concept of the reading circle confused with Biology 101. It’s not about dissection. I don’t care if people do that to my published works one day… because I won’t have to listen to it. But I really don’t want to hear it in a writer’s circle, much less pay for the privilege.
Of course, I don’t want to suggest that I’m not open to criticism and suggestions. I am, very much so. I just don’t think I’d accept it from a bunch of people who might only be expounding for the sake of adding something to the pot, or because that’s what they would do with the story if it was theirs. That’s why I can’t take it from strangers. They don’t have to be family or friends, but I have to know at least a little something about them or else, why do I care what they think?
Wanna here something funny? I’d be willing to take test-audience criticism from a group of readers rather than a group of writers. Most of the struggling writers I know in the small press are simply awful. I read their stuff and I could give cross-country seminars on why they won’t make it. I can see what’s lacking or what’s underdeveloped. I don’t feel my writing is perfect, but I’m good enough to recognize bad writing when I see it. Readers, on the other hand, have no stake in the publishing game, and are more liable to give you a honest response from a bookbuyer’s point of view. A good writer might be able to do the same thing, but I think a bad one can actually end up harming your story. And ultimately, that’s why I can’t take the chance.
I guess I’ve also been pretty lucky with rejection, too. I’ve never gotten a rejection that critiqued my writing itself. Most of the time it amounts to “The writing is great, but the story didn’t grab us.” Flattering, but frustrating, too.
(Btw, Sam, I read your story and I thought it was really great. I’ll give you a more detailed review when we talk again. Until then, is it okay if The Fiancee reads it? She’s been hitting your sight lately and would love to read it. She really digs the dialogues between yourself and The Wife — especially the one about pizza for dinner.)
Ian – Actually, I’m very curious about Kat’s opinion. By all means, let her at it.
Editor Person – having another twenty-four hours to think about this, I must say there is a lot to your comments.
If I had a choice, I’d rather not hear, “this sucks” from anyone. That said, having lived through The Eight, and Team Eagle Eye sessions, which were two very different groups and personalities, it was easier to deal with The Eight, who were largely readers and buyers of fiction. Tons of great ideas came out of those sessions and are now in the manuscript; however, they did extend me a bit more slack about the slower paced middle. Bottom line, it just was not up to snuff with the first third and home stretch, yet very few voiced that concern. Early into the review process, I expected more comments about that, as on a subconscious level, I sensed it needed attention. In the end, through fishing expeditions, several admitted something like, “Well, I guess those parts do move slower than the rest.”
Team Eagle Eye flayed me on the end of a hot poker over the pacing of the middle. No courtesy, no coddling. It was ugly. In the same vein though, one member paid me the ultimate compliment: “The worst part of this book, is better than the best part of your last effort. I’d still try and hit agents while you fix the middle.”
As for soliciting advice from writers about a piece, I would say, first, I’m open to the idea. Those in the craft are more able to spot flaws and express opinions about them. But I also think their opinion needs to be tempered against other kinds of readers. Different personalities focus on different story elements, and it’s rare that any person sees all the good or bad in anything. Also, some writer types are needlessly critical.
Dean Koontz’s PR nightmare at a mystery convention did not start with a member of the buying public taking issue with his speech — the same one given to thousands of fans over the years. No, it was a less successful writer in the audience, who rang the clarion and whined “Dean Koontz is a racist pig!”
This mishap did not stop The Husband from hitting #1 on the NY Times recently.
For me, it’s about balance. I try and hear opinions people offer. Ultimately, I decide how much their comments affect me, or what action to take based on them.