Lessons learned from lessons offered

As I have posted in this space before, I am from time to time asked to read something a friend or colleague has written and to give "honest feedback".


I am always wary on these occasions because, all too often, the written piece is awful and the writer is lying when she/he says she wants me to be honest. On more than one occasion, I've read through truly abysmal writing, only to find myself being forced by the person's wide, fearful, hopeful, frightened eyes to say "It shows real promise", "there's a lot to like here", "but for a couple of minor tweaks here and there, I think you've got a real winner".


And I hate doing that. Both the reading and the lying.


So, when a work colleague approached me the other day with a similar request, I hesitated for quite a long time. Did I really want to risk ruining what is a good, enjoyable friendship for this? Did I really want to spend my time reading what could, quite probably, be an awful piece of fiction?


But he is a good guy and a very good colleague and I felt he was at least psychologically prepared to hear something in the neighbourhood of the truth, good or bad.


So I read his work.


Despite his promises to the contrary, he actually seemed quite anxious about what I would say. He texted me several times and, when I agreed to meet with him to chat, he booked a meeting room for the purpose.


Fortunately, his writing was quite interesting. Sure, there were issues but, as I read it, I got the strong feeling that I was reading something that was not too far from really good.


The only challenge was: his writing is about as far away in approach and style from my writing as you could get and still be working in narrative fiction.


I really worried that, in providing constructive feedback from my own set of expectations and preconceptions, I might actually damage his work.


His story was told from an extremely limited third person position and his protagonist was a down-and-out young man going through an extremely troubling period in his life. The narrative was almost stream-of-consciousness in approach, with long sentences, detailed descriptions and often creative metaphors. It meandered from subject to subject in a way that was, for me, disconcertingly real for the character.


In other words, exactly the opposite of my own style: third person omniscient, with a young, female protagonist, fairly easy on the exposition with lots of dialogue and lots happening.


And I really felt like there was something magic in his work, something really really good that any constructive criticism a writer like me could give might just ruin.


Now that was an interesting conversation!


I very carefully explained to him what I've just written here: that, although I think there are ways to improve the piece, he should take anything I had to say with a grain of salt.


He was great about it, however. I think he was just delighted that I was so positive about his work that he was willing to listen to my blather.


A technical guy by nature (he's some kind of an engineer), he approaches writing as if he is building something. He told me, for example, that his research into writing the kind of piece he wanted to create indicated that his sentences should be between 70 and 140 words in length!


He also told me that he came up with the plot by writing a paragraph, then starting what I pictured as a flow chart of information derived from that first para. "OK, he's wearing a t-shirt, so he's young. He's upset. Why? Maybe because he's lost his job. And he's got a son. But where's his wife? They broke up. She broke up with him... no, he broke up with her and he regrets it. And he needs money. He's lost his job. He's upset because he's lost his job, he's lost his wife, he has a son to raise and he needs money. How does he get money? He has to pawn something. OK, he has to pawn..."


And, once the flow chart was completed in his mind, he began to write the rest of the story.


Again, that's about as different from my approach as you can get. And yet, it worked for him.


I learned a lot from him in this conversation. Probably more than he did from me!


For one thing, I learned to be more optimistic when a friend asks me to read his writing.

That difficult early period on a new project

Now that I have a strong opening for my new Middle-Grade novel, I face the next daunting task: writing the next passage.

I know,I know. I'm starting to sound like I have significant psychological issues or am, the very least, a whiner of epic proportions. "My life is so hard!" "Writing is so hard!" "There's so much pressure!"

But I really do find that it takes a while for me to get into a good writing rhythm on a new project. That it is only after about five or six really good sessions of writing, with at least 20 strong pages written, for me to feel that I've gotten, well, a feel for the characters, the story, the tone and style of the writing itself.

Once I'm there, I can be quite productive when I find a couple of hours to focus on writing. But, until then, my sessions are mostly exercises in stopping and starting, writing and revising, thinking and rethinking. And, to be frank, I approach such sessions with a great deal of hesitation.

I recognise that it is all a necessary part of the writing process.... of my writing process. And I know that, once I've worked my way through these early writing sessions, I'll be alright. But it doesn't make it any easier for me to force myself to settle in to write at this point.

It should be no surprise, therefore, that my last writing session comprised little more than my re-reading the first section that I wrote, making small revisions here and there and only starting to think about what comes next. Almost no new writing got done but...

I have to keep in mind that these moments of frustration are a necessary part and will lead to something better and more satisfying.

The art of giving feedback

Have you ever noticed how many people who ask you for feedback on their writing really don't want feedback on their writing?

They thrust it so willingly into your hesitant hands: "Be honest," they say. "Be brutal. I need to know the truth!"

But then you look into their excited face, read the expression in their avid eyes and think: "Like hell! You're not ready for honesty, not to mention brutality; you just want me to tell you it's great."

Giving feedback on a person's work is as much about reading them as about reading their writing. You have to be able to tell what they are prepared to hear from you and you usually can't get that from the words they say when they ask for your feedback.

It's worse when the person is a friend or co-worker, a person with whom you plan to continue to have a relationship, even after your feedback is delivered.

If you see any fear in their eyes, you know they can't handle the truth. If they are totally amped and excited when they hand the manuscript over, you know they simply want you to confirm for them how wonderful their writing is and that the agent they sent it to the day before is just going to love it.

Sure, you can still be honest with them. You can read over their manuscript and send them back forty pages of notes and suggestions. But they are going to be crushed and they likely won't speak to you for a long, long time afterward.

I've done it. I've received that manuscript; I've seen the fear and excitement in the person's face; I've understood that they've already formatted it for submission and had fifty copies made to send out far and wide.

And I've come back to them with a fair but honest critique: the plot makes no sense; the main character is flat and unlikeable; the secondary characters lack depth; and the climactic scene manages both to be confusing and to move at a glacial pace.

Even the spelling and grammar is problematic.

And I've watched the excitement turn to disappointment, the fear turn to anger, and the relationship turn to dust.

These people just want to be told how wonderful their writing is. They want their own excitement to be confirmed. The last thing they want when they ask for an honest critique is an honest critique.

That's why I try to refuse whenever someone asks me to review their work. Or, at the very least, I try to establish exactly what they want from me and what they're prepared to accept.

It's great when they really want to hear the truth. When they are looking for honest but constructive feedback and they have the time and inclination to do something with it. That's fun. That's exciting. That can be an incredibly rewarding process, for both parties.

But, unfortunately, those situations are few and far between. So proceed with caution. Be only as honest as the person can handle.

It's not really lying. It's simply being strategic with the amount of truth you tell.