Reviewers, or When to Stick your Fingers in your Ears.

As mentioned previously, I've been lucky enough to get feedback from a number of friends and family. Everyone makes an effort to think of something positive to say; probably because I tell them to. Nearly everyone then adds some constructive criticism.

I've found I have three responses to criticism:

1) Wow, I think I knew that myself but I hadn't verbalised it yet. Thanks - I'm off to do some rewriting!

2) Really? You think? [Do some rereading]...you're right. I can't believe I never saw that. I'm off to do some rewriting!

3) Don't agree. Reread some. Think. Still don't agree.


The response that gives me trouble is number three, because, you see, how can I be sure that I'm right? Maybe my reader has identified a profound truth about my book, but I'm just too stupid/stubborn/defensive to see it.

So how can I be sure? I don't know, but as always there's advice out there.

My font of all critiquing wisdom, Louisa Burton, tells would-be reviewers: "To properly critique a story, you must invest in that writer's vision of the story, not try to filter it through your own sensibility, to remake it into what it would be if you had written it."

In her must-read article Re-work And Edit, Barbara Trapido offers this advice to the would-be author:

"In my experience, misguided suggestions will jar with my own instincts, while valid, sensitive suggestions have a way of pointing to failings that I really knew about all the time, only I hadn't quite managed to bring them to the front of my mind. So toughen up about criticism and take all the ego-bruising. Some of it is helpful. And sometimes you'll be getting praise. Don't blow like a reed in the wind over every suggested change. It's your book. It's your project. Walk tall."

In my own experience, there are some things about the novel that I know, because I'm the author. To give a simple example: I know it's a mystery, so anyone telling me to remove the murder is just plain wrong. There are other aspects of the book's pace and tone that I'm fairly sure about. If a reviewer is telling me to change one of those, I know they just don't get that element of the book. This helps me to evaluate any of their other suggestions that feel wrong to me.

Then I send them a flame email.

Only joking.

Incidentally, I suspect that rejected criticisms lurk just under the consciousness. I probably act on them much later, and don't even realise I'm doing it.

Blogging lessons learned

I've now been blogging for...um...six weeks and I'm going to share something with you: blogging is time-consuming.

A post a day is ridiculously impractical. I'm going to settle for a few a week. One a week, anyway.

I've seen many authors comment that blogging eats into writing time. This has to be true. If you write professionally - or even as a hobby - you're not going to post your blog entry until you've done some editing, run grammar and spell checks, and done some more editing. Maybe you'll reword a few sentences, do a little ruthless deleting, perhaps edit again.

Hey, that's your book you could be working on! I imagine that a blog comes into its own as a procrastinatory tool as an author's deadline approaches.

Here's what I've learned from the blogging experience so far:

1) Blogging takes time.
2) Never say in one post what you're going to talk about in the next one. You're bound to forget.

Oh, and blogging is fun.

Story-telling

When I began my novel I hadn't read anything about writing. I just got on with it. But it wasn't very long (an hour or two) before I found myself thinking about the art of story-telling.

"Ok," I thought, "here's my heroine stuck in the office for a typical boring day. I want her to hang out with all the main characters and establish their motives before the murder happens. But this is supposed to be a suspense story. What's going to keep the reader interested?

Enter Harold; dashing, enigmatic and handsome. "That'll keep them going for a minute or two," I thought. Harold was a natural, and soon became my heroine's love interest and a possible villain.

I was actually wary of reading writing guides at first in case my inspiration would be tainted (bless). I was right in the sense that any distraction is bad news when you're doing a brain dump. But when the first flurry of activity was over, I turned eagerly to the how-tos. I was delighted (and stunned) to see that my instincts hadn't led me astray. The main theme of every text out there is how to hook the reader and keep them turning the pages. Don't, for example, wait until page 30 to start your story. (Ok my murder happens somewhere around there, but that's not germane to this blog entry).

My favourite how-to so far, incidentally, is "Don't Murder Your Mystery". I recommend it even if you're not writing crime fiction.


Yesterday I had occasion to re-read "Guests of the Nation", a short story by Frank O'Connor. Instantly I was a precocious teenager again, sitting in English class in Secondary School. I can clearly remember the textbook questions.

"Hawkins claims that in the same position he would act differently. Do you believe him?"

"Belcher's character is established very early on. How is this done?"

I can also remember my utter contempt for the author of the textbook. They had clearly not 'got' the story. At all. "This is a story about the meaning of life," I remember thinking. "Don't they understand that? Ok, we can answer the stupid questions but that's so not what this is about."

Two decades later, having tried to write short stories myself, I know how pertinent those questions were. When I first read "Guests of the Nation" I couldn't imagine it being written differently. I believed every word of it. I assumed it had appeared in the world fully formed, like a pearl.

But really, a pearl is assembled slowly and gradually over many iterations. Now I realise that that is how "Guests of the Nation" was probably constructed.

And as I found out, it is not diminished by analysis. You can pick out each perfectly-crafted piece and examine its beauty from all angles. When you've done that and you read it again, the story is enhanced.


Those unappreciated textbook writers, whose questions I never really connected with, lived in my head when I started writing seriously. "You've already told the reader this; can't you find a way to avoid going through it again?" they would ask. And a hundred other questions that make my writing less pedestrian than it would otherwise be.


PS "Guests of the Nation" is only ten pages long, and can be found in every half-decent anthology of Irish short stories. You should read it. Everybody should.

My favourite feedback guidelines

Louisa Burton has an excellent article called Critiquing: To Give and to Receive on her website. It's invaluable if you're about to critique someone's work or you're due to get a critique back.

In fact, I used to try to get my friends and family to read it before approaching my novel. I suspect some of them skived though, so now I settle for paraphrasing this paragraph when handing over the MS:

"Try to maintain some kind of balance in your comments. It always surprises me how often critiquers point out all the problems in a manuscript, but make no mention of the good points. It’s just as important to know what does work as what doesn’t. If something made you laugh or cry, mention that. If something was particularly well worded or moving or effective, for heaven’s sake, let the writer know, so that he can analyze why it was good and hopefully reproduce those results in the future."

Apart from Louisa's advice, here are two guidelines I picked up somewhere that have been very helpful:

- Your reviewer's identification of a problem in your work may be spot on. But their suggestion on how to correct it could be pants.

- If one person identifies an issue but you don't agree, it could just be their personal taste. If two people or more come up with the same issues, then like it or not you have a problem.

Only novices and eejits

Another rejection today. This time from an agent who had requested a partial. It was very kindly worded - enough so that I felt it might not be her standard letter. However, there was no guidance at all.

I emailed back asking for feedback. Ok, ok, I know that that's not really done, but I figured when she'd previously asked for a partial she might smile upon my request.

Only novices and eejits reply to agency rejections, but I really have nothing to lose. I'm more or less at a standstill as regards changes. Any feedback would be fantastic. And hey, at least I didn't question her sanity and present her with 100 reasons why she'd made the wrong decision.

Read-Through Happiness

Yesterday in my remote corner of Ireland there was a 'planned power outage' from 9:30 to 16:00. It was bliss. I'd planned to program a website during my three work hours. Instead, guilt-free, I was able to curl up in front of the wood stove with a flask of tea and my MS. I finished my current read-through and to my delight, I still like my book. I think it's quite good.

I approached the last third of the story with some trepidation. One of my reviewers recently sent me some reservations about the villain, the list of suspects and the structure of the denouement.

As reviewers usually are, he's right about a lot of it. But with some edits, additions and tweaking I think I can clarify the parts that created confusion.


Some writing experts recommend concentrating on only one thing during each revision. For example, focus only on consistency. Do your characters remain the same age throughout? Does their hair-colour change according to your mood when writing the scene?

It would be fantastic to have that kind of time, but the novel is complete now and takes four hours to read. With no guarantee of publication and only three hours a day to work, I can't justify doing that very often. In my leisure time it's important to keep reading other writers and trying to learn from them. I am wary of navel-gazing.

So with each reading I try to catch errors in every area. Over my next few posts, I'll describe the kinds of things I look for. I'll post about dialogue, action, plot structure, and whatever else occurs to me. But I'll probably start with reviewers - when to listen, and when to stick your fingers in your ears.

Poor Helen

I've spent more time on this blog talking about how to get an agent than about how to write. So yesterday I posted a spare short story I had lying around.

"Helen" took me two days to complete and I cried for most of them. It's very important to me but I don't think it's saleable. It's too shmaltzy.

Tolstoy said: "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Then he wrote a novel about an unhappy family. Happy families are boring.

What interests me is the ephemeral nature of happiness. Either you die, or you get old and everyone else dies. Either way, it's all over while you're still moaning about whose turn it is to wash the dishes.

"Helen" is my attempt to capture the tragedy that's built into the human condition. The sadness concealed in the heart of the good times.... I still cry every time I read it.

Poor Helen. She can never go home.

Helen - a short story

"I remember when you were around fourteen months old I used to drop you in to playgroup for an hour or two," said Helen. "When I arrived to pick you up I'd come in quietly and you wouldn't see me at first. I'd watch you walking around, nodding seriously because you'd just learned how to, watching the bigger children or playing in the toy car. Then I'd say something to Louise and you'd hear my voice. You'd look up and shout and come running over to me and grab my legs."

"Was I cute?" asked Brian.

"You were the cutest toddler in there! I'd pick you up and squeeze you hard. You'd wrap your arms tight around my neck and kick your little feet and squeeze back."

"What did I say?"

"You couldn't talk, you were one!" said Helen. "You only had a few words. 'Mama mama mama mama' would be the most you could manage. I'd say 'We're going home now, Brian. We're going home in the car.' You'd lean back and pat my cheek. I knew you understood even though you couldn't answer. "

"Already a little genius," said Brian, grinning.

"Indeed. I'd put you down to find the money to pay Louise. You'd think I was going off without you. You'd grab my legs again and scream. I'd root the money out of my pocket quickly, then pick you back up. I'd hug you tight and you'd hug me. All the playgroup ladies would laugh. Louise would say 'He gives great hugs!'...

Helen's voice trailed off. She was wondering how long it was since she'd had a hug. Since around the time John died, she thought. Twenty years then. Twenty-one in May.

She gave herself a mental shake. It was important to stay cheerful. "You'd fall asleep in the car on the way home. I'd have the key in my hand and I'd pick you up and carry you in to your cot. You'd hang on tight, still asleep, your head against my chin. I'd smell your little toddler smells; smeared food and baby shampoo. Your hair was so soft!"

Brian rubbed his bald head ruefully.

"When you woke up I'd give you a drink and a biscuit and you'd play near the window until you saw John's car. Then you'd say 'Dada dada dada' and run to the door. He'd be thrilled to see you there when he came in; he'd pick you up and swing you through the air. He'd play with you while I was getting dinner. I remember the first time he crawled around the floor with you on his back. You kept falling off, first one side and then the other. He'd reach his arm up behind him to catch you. You were shrieking with delight and he was laughing and I was laughing. It was so funny!"

"My recollection is that I was an excellent jockey."

"You were when you got older. If John'd been away for a while, sometimes he and I would have a hug while I was cooking. You'd come running over and throw your arms around our legs. We'd see your eager little face looking up from knee height. John'd reach down and lift you and you'd be in the hug too. Later, when Amelia arrived --"

"I remember Dad used to throw us up in the air and catch us."

"He loved that. My Dad – your Grandpa Jim - used to do it too when I was small. He called it throwing us at the ceiling. He'd throw us up up up and we'd scream and Mum would say 'Oh Jim, be careful!' but she'd be laughing."

"Happy days" said Brian.

"Happy days," said Helen, smiling at him.

#

That night Helen woke herself up in the small hours, laughing.

She'd dreamt that Brian came to visit her again.

"Come on Mum, we're off!" he said. He pushed open the heavy door that was such a stupid door to have in a place like this because no-one over seventy could manage it. Amelia was outside standing beside her car. She smiled at Helen as she always did, but this time she gave her a hug before she helped her into the car.

"We're going home Mum. We're going home in the car," she said.

She was laughing and Brian was laughing and Helen started laughing too and she laughed so much that she woke herself up.

She thought about her dream for a while. It was a lovely dream but so unrealistic. Amelia hadn't room in her one-bedroom apartment to swing a cat let alone an elderly mother. Brian was a pilot; he wasn't at home enough to take care of her. Anyway, no matter where she was on this earth, big comfortable John wouldn't be there. Her Mum and Dad wouldn't be there either.

She realised she was crying and tried to stop. It was important to stay cheerful.

Ruth was doing her rounds when she heard Helen. There'd been a report recently saying people in these places had no-one to talk to. She'd always known that, but since the report she'd made an extra effort to be kind. She had plenty of time to finish her rounds. Anyway she liked Helen, who was funny and good-humoured and rarely complained.

"Are you ok love?" she asked. She pulled up a chair beside Helen's bed and took her hand.

"I want to go home," said Helen.

Ruth thought of Ted on the sofa, reading the sports pages and half-watching the TV. Amy and Nick would be tucked into bed upstairs. She wished she was finishing early.

Helen was still trying to stop crying. Her whole body was rigid with the effort. Ruth could feel Helen's hand clutching hers as she tried to suppress the great racking sob that was growing inside her.

"I want to go home."

Confident? Or delusional?

Nathan's Friday post linked to a blog posting by JA Konrath which I just got around to reading. It's about how to tell whether a writer is confident, or just delusional.

It casts an interesting side light on my bad books discussion. Here's a quote.

"Confident writers know they'll be published, if they keep at it.
Delusional writers think they'll be rich and famous.

Confident writers work to get the words right.
Delusional writers think they got the words right the first time.

Confident writers expect to be periodically rejected.
Delusional writers are shocked every time someone fails to recognize their brilliance."

Ok, I am definitely delusional.

More about bad books

On Friday I explained that an agent who rejects your book will take every possible measure to ensure that you remain enthusiastic about writing. Bizarrely, they will want you to remain convinced that you are about to make your fortune as a bestselling author.

This means that if you have written a bad book – derivative say, or repetitive, or boring, or incomprehensible – the agent will not tell you. That's fair enough. (S)he wants to catch the bus home unmolested by disillusioned manuscript-wielding fanatics.

So who will tell you? Ah, you say, your family will tell you! Your friends!

Ha ha you're so wrong! Your family will think the book is fantastic. (If they don't they're bankers anyway and they never loved you). Your friends may be a little more ambivalent but they too will be reluctant to let you know it's rubbish. Think about it. Would you like to be the one to shatter your best friend's dreams?

No, I didn't think so.

This is why all the tip sheets for submitting to agents tell you to refrain from quoting your Ma/best friend/pet dog in your query letter unless your Ma is Maeve Binchy.

So we're back to square one.