A fellow writer and critique partner commented the other day that she was working on revisions and wasn’t sure how she would incorporate all the feedback she’d gotten in critiques. This reminded me of a FB conversation I had with an author friend. I asked her how much she needed critique help on her stories after 20 plus years writing and being published. Her response contained a mention of the phrase ‘too many cooks can spoil the soup.’
SCBWI has a great website with a ton of resources for children’s book writers. On of the ‘boards’ they host is a manuscript critique board.
I ran about 10 of my stories through the board and was amazed by what became of them in the process.
Through the comments of a community of other writers, my stories became highly polished, technically tight works. Story arcs rise slowly, peak, and resolve quickly. Perfect rhyme, stumble free rhythm with an exact syllable match. Words that everyone understands.
I learned an incredible amount about the art of story creation. What works, what doesn’t. But then I started relying on the board to catch my oopses. What I needed to learn was how to let the story sit and come back to it with fresh eyes and catch problems myself.
So I quit posting. At first, I missed the instant feedback I got from other writers. But I started looking at my stories through the filter of all the advice they’d given on other stories, and I realized I knew how to do it myself. When I listen to my gut, when I slow down and really pay attention, I can find the oopses.
It’s funny. I always could. Someone would make a comment about an inconsistency in a story and I would have already thought the same thing, but dismissed my own questioning of it because I loved the way it was written. Or I was too lazy to think of another way to say it. Now I pay attention to my own questions.
And now that I’m answering my own questions, I realize I was losing something by trying to revise based on every single comment I got. I was losing the uniqueness that I brought to the story in the first place. Because pleasing everyone is impossible, and trying just leaves you with a piece of work that doesn’t have any zing left.
I’m not saying I don’t get my stories critiqued anymore. I do. By a small, wonderful group of trusted writing companions. And they always catch something I missed. Hey, I’m not perfect. But magic isn’t either.
Peace,
Chris
SCBWI has a great website with a ton of resources for children’s book writers. On of the ‘boards’ they host is a manuscript critique board.
I ran about 10 of my stories through the board and was amazed by what became of them in the process.
Through the comments of a community of other writers, my stories became highly polished, technically tight works. Story arcs rise slowly, peak, and resolve quickly. Perfect rhyme, stumble free rhythm with an exact syllable match. Words that everyone understands.
I learned an incredible amount about the art of story creation. What works, what doesn’t. But then I started relying on the board to catch my oopses. What I needed to learn was how to let the story sit and come back to it with fresh eyes and catch problems myself.
So I quit posting. At first, I missed the instant feedback I got from other writers. But I started looking at my stories through the filter of all the advice they’d given on other stories, and I realized I knew how to do it myself. When I listen to my gut, when I slow down and really pay attention, I can find the oopses.
It’s funny. I always could. Someone would make a comment about an inconsistency in a story and I would have already thought the same thing, but dismissed my own questioning of it because I loved the way it was written. Or I was too lazy to think of another way to say it. Now I pay attention to my own questions.
And now that I’m answering my own questions, I realize I was losing something by trying to revise based on every single comment I got. I was losing the uniqueness that I brought to the story in the first place. Because pleasing everyone is impossible, and trying just leaves you with a piece of work that doesn’t have any zing left.
I’m not saying I don’t get my stories critiqued anymore. I do. By a small, wonderful group of trusted writing companions. And they always catch something I missed. Hey, I’m not perfect. But magic isn’t either.
Peace,
Chris