It’s Friday, and
the weekend looms ahead of me, filled with that most excruciating of
experiences: the getting of
feedback. I’ve submitted a couple of my
more recent short stories to a writers’ group, and I will be hearing their unabridged
opinions at our next meeting.
Feedback isn’t always pretty. Writers’ groups contain people with a variety
of experiences, opinions, and differing levels of writing and critiquing skills. While some people like to try to understand
what the writer was trying to do, and attempt to pitch their feedback accordingly,
others come from the hold-nothing-back camp.
Of course, we’re all there to learn and to understand our own writing
better so that we can improve it, so the forthright opinion of our peers is valuable. But it needs to be constructive, not
destructive. It is possible to be honest
without gouging out the tender roots of a beginner writer’s confidence.
What do I mean by this? Studies have shown that it's usually the more experienced
learners who want to hear negative (but specific) feedback. People who are just starting out welcome more
positive comments, because they need the encouragement. In a group with a variety of experience and,
more importantly, confidence levels, it can be quite tricky to know which end
of the continuum to pitch your comments to, so inevitably there will be some misfires. It pays to put on your psychological
flak-jacket before seeking feedback from a group, in case you’re on the
receiving end of an enthusiastically well-intentioned mortar attack.
So, armed with my bullet-proof silk & mohair
fingerless gloves, I have submitted two short stories for the consideration of
the group. I wrote the first of them several months ago. I loved the process of
writing it, and felt very pleased with the result. Since then, the satisfied glow of completion
has ebbed a little, leaving me wondering how successful it really is. Re-reading it, I’m not sure it is as smooth
as I’d first thought. It’s short, very
short, maybe painfully so. But I think
it might still contain enough cleverness and charm (and “punch”) to satisfy the
reader.
The second story is brand new, and much rawer as a result. It started, as many of my stories do, with a
single burning scene in mind, and the rest of the narrative has grown around it
in misshapen concentric rings. I’m still much too close to that interior
place of creation to have any ability to judge either the story or the quality
of its delivery. In my inner eye, the salt
marsh locale is beautiful, desolate, and gloomy, but I’ve described it
sparingly, and maybe some readers will want more physical detail. I do know it’s still quite rough in places, the
pacing is a little clumpy, and I really need to learn a whole lot of new words
that mean “grey”.
On the other hand, some aspects of this story are quite
nuanced, requiring the reader to make a leap.
I know from experience that not all readers are able or willing to do
that. Some people expect to have every
last, excruciating plot point fed to them, with a disposable plastic spoon, no
less. And after a beta-reading by a
family member who expressed denouement disappointment, I suspect there will be quite
mixed feedback on this one. And that is
a good thing, if it helps me to understand how it is received variously in the
mind of the readers.