Critical Critiques

On "Ward Six" today, J.R. Lennon writes, "A good editor treats the story as something other than a masturbatory enterprise; she is trying to figure out how to make the world accept and enjoy your vision."

Sure, a writer must think of different perspectives--especially since after Draft 5 or so, it's pretty hard for a writer (or me, anyway) to have any real perspective at all. Trust in one's editor IS necessary if one is going to leap the chasm between writing as therapy/hobby and writing as entertainment/career; nobody can make it alone. But how much should one worry about the editor's personal biases?

I'm not at a point where I have a real editor--I just have literate, kind friends who are willing to read my work and talk to me about it. They've helped me transform my stories, but sometimes I feel as though their advice isn't representative of the general audience but just of their own personal taste/interests.

For instance, one of those friends is an actor who loves Spanish/South American literature. He has a taste for "archetypal" characters, unsolved mysteries, and a bittersweet tone; he also has a high tolerance for magical realism. Another of my friends is very into conventional fantasy, but shies away from explicit physicality, and she is a stickler for authentic, researched detail. Both of these friends are fantastic readers, but when the first says he "loves the characters" or the second says she doesn't understand why a couple had sex, alarms go off in my head.

Does he love the characters because they're love-able, or because he likes recognizable archetypes? Does the sex scene feel disconnected from the story, or is it just not to my friend's taste?

I guess the writer/editor relationship just takes a while to understand, but I struggle in deciding when to second-guess myself and when to second-guess my reader(s).

The ways I've found to get the most useful critiques possible:

1. Ask for problems, not solutions. As the writer, I know the story backwards and forwards by the time anyone else sees it. That means my eye glosses over the problems; I require fresh readers to catch them. But it also means that I'm best prepared to find solutions. Most non-writers are taught that constructive criticism means not calling attention to a thing unless they can offer an alternative to the problem. But while discussing possible solutions can lead to a fantastic brain storm, it's the writer's job to ultimately make a story work, not the readers'.

2. Reassure the readers that I will not ever, ever, ever get mad at them for any of their criticism. If a reader can't come up with a solution, he might think that either the problem he sensed doesn't exist, or that it would be unkind to bring it up. It's essential that the reader not be afraid to mention every little tingle of feeling for fear of the writer becoming defensive. I usually say again and again and again to the reader that this piece is *not* me--I will *not* take criticism of the piece to be criticism of me--and that every little thought the reader had was valuable. I also make sure to stay quiet and not explain anything while the reader is telling me what s/he felt--often listening to the reader figure out a piece out loud is invaluable.

3. Tell the reader what I want them to look for or talk to me about. Usually I have certain questions about the piece, and I'll ask the reader to think about them while reading. I try not to be too specific re: plot or research detail, because it's more valuable to hear what the reader picked up on or missed without any guidance. But when it comes to theme, I will ask them afterwards or on a second reading to think about specifics. And on the first reading, I tell them: I want every thought that comes into your head, and every tinge of feeling you get, too. I tell them to forget about me and think about the piece as though it were a stranger's. Most of my readers are people who yell at the TV during shows or parse movies after viewing, so once they get into the swing of the criticism, they usually feel like they're on comfortable, familiar ground.

4. Listen to what the readers *don't* say. Sometimes things I thought were huge holes weren't actually noticeable. Likewise, sometimes readers will all have misgivings about the same (unexpected!) thing. In my last editing experience, both my readers talked about a certain plot element with a kind of disgusted or confused tone. Though neither mentioned specific problems with it, their tone of voice signaled to me that something was wrong. I think neither mention problems with the element because they thought it was integral to the plot--they couldn't actually imagine the story without it. But based on their half-hidden disgust, I took out the element--and the story is MUCH stronger for it; the element wasn't as integral as it seemed to first or second time readers, and in fact distracted from the real story. Readers often seem loath to suggest big changes or problems with a story's core elements--but often their tiniest hints will reveal real problems with a piece. The hints readers give can often be more telling than their explicit criticism, because readers' instincts are often more sophisticated than their ability to articulate analysis.

I'm so thankful to my friends for being willing to read my stories, and for doing it so ably; without them, my most recent piece couldn't exist. Because of their feedback I could transform it from a weird waking dream into a meaningful story--and my best work to date.

Still, I'm not sure that I picked up on all of the story's problems. Should I have listened to my readers even more? Or just a little less? The story speaks to me now, and it speaks to them--but what about a wider audience, an audience outside of my loved-ones?