Criticism: A Tale of Two Writer Types

In writing groups, there seem to be two kinds of writers when it comes to criticism of their work. Both shoot themselves in the foot (feet?) without realizing it.

Type 1: No, no, no.

This writer spends all his time telling you that your suggestions are impractical, impossible, and artistically wrong. There is already an example of this in Feedback Defensiveness, but I think the phenomenon bears repeating.

You:	Fred, I was really liked your premise. However, would people adapt quite so quickly—
Fred:	Well, how long should it take?
You:	I don’t know, but a clearer indication of the timeline—
Fred:	The vagueness is intentional—it will all make sense eventually.
You:	But if the reader can’t situate himself—
Fred:	Well, no, you can’t. I have more faith in my readers.

Might as well have spared your breath. Not only did Fred fend off any feedback but handed you an insult as a bonus.

Fred wins the battle and loses the war by turning the feedback session into a combat zone. He leaves with his manuscript unaltered and may even have the mistaken impression that, by fending off all criticism, his piece is closing in on perfection.

Yet I have a sneaking sympathy for Fred. You have to believe in yourself and your writing. Otherwise, why would you keep going?

And, let’s face it, there is usually a variety of levels of experience and talent in any writing group. Some give great on-point feedback and others can’t distinguish between how they would write your piece and helping it be the best it can be.

I get why Fred might be defensive but it’s not an effective way to improve his or your work. But there is another more insidious way to prevent progress.

Type 2: I agree with all your criticism

This writer usually takes copious notes in a feedback session. When anyone suggests a change (Didn’t buy the motivation; the flashback was too long; don’t have the protagonist tell the story), Sheila writes ‘change motivation,’ ‘shorten flashback’, ‘lose story frame.’

This writer seems the perfect antidote to Fred. Tries to benefit from all the feedback. But her approach is also ineffective in the longer term. Here’s why:

You get different points of view, which of course is why you’re in a writing group. But one piece of feedback might be, ‘I found Melissa cold and distant,” while another says, “Oh, no, she reminds me of my aunt Zebby—we all loved her.” So, cold and distant or warm and loving? When Sheila tries to fix her piece, she doesn’t know which feedback to choose.
You are allowing others to shape your voice. While Fred’s belief in his writing is getting in the way, so is Sheila’s willingness to treat all feedback as equally applicable. With this approach, you run the danger of establishing a voice which is a composite of your writing group rather than one which is uniquely yours.
Feedback can be idiosyncratic. Perhaps the group member liked Melissa because you put her in a blue dress which was Aunt Zebby’s favorite color. Which is not to say that the feedback of Melissa being cold and distant is right, either, since it may also be an idiosyncratic response.

So, where are you? There is a way to receive criticism which would work for both Fred and Sheila. Next post.

February 3, 2023January 29, 2023

The Green Book: Inspired By

The Green Book won the Best Picture Academy Award for 2019 for a story ‘inspired by’ true events. It was controversial with some challenging its depiction of American racism. That aside, the movie can provide an interesting writing lesson.

What does ‘ inspired by’ mean?

Movies seem to make three distinctions:

A true story is a pretty close to real life events, sometimes using transcripts or historical records.

Based on a true story allows artistic license to perhaps combine real life people into one character or alter the flow of events to increase the drama.

Inspired by a true story is a kind of all-bets-are-off movie. The real events can be a springboard for the writer to weave in scenes and characters which may not have existed. This is the category closest to, but perhaps not actually, fiction.

All this is fine as long as the viewer knows what he’s getting. But for the writer, the ‘inspired by’ category can cause problems, perhaps illustrated by The Green Book.

How does this apply to the Green Book?

On his 1960s tour of the Deep South, a black pianist is forced to stay in black-only accommodation, generally depicted as down-at-the-heel places. His white chauffeur is not confined to these choices.

The exception occurs when the pianist, his chauffeur and two of the chauffeur’s (white) buddies all stay at the same hotel. Now, I can imagine that white people might have stayed at black-only hotels during this era. However, given that segregation of accommodation is an important premise, I think that the movie makers made a mistake by not explaining away this seeming anomaly.

But I also wonder (just wonder) whether the ‘inspired by’ allowed the writer to get carried away.

A speculation

The incongruity just discussed could have been caused by information edited out in the final cut or because it was assumed that everyone knew white people stayed at black inns but not vice-versa. I grant what I am about to propose is pure speculation but bear with me.

Generally speaking, interest is heightened when the protagonist faces a challenge. After the pianist and the chauffeur have started to understand and even like each other, the chauffeur’s buddies offer him a job. To set this up dramatically, the pianist needs to overhear the other men discussing the offer and agreeing to meet later to finalize the details. It is only with this knowledge that he knows he’s in danger. So, the writer needs a setting where all four characters are present and a hotel is chosen, even given the jarring aspect.

Because the setting is at variance with the major premise of the movie and is not explained, it made me wonder whether the meeting actually took place or whether this was just the writer heightening things with some conflict. I.E. did he make it up?

Staying true to the spirit

A lesson can be derived for writers. Creative use of the material is of course important. This is true even in a memoir. However, in doing so, you need to stay connected to your setting, characters, and historical period. I understand the need to build a good story and applaud the effort. But you’ve gotta stick with the essence of the characters and settings you’ve created.

Depicting characters doing or saying things not consistent with who they are doesn’t make a better story. It might be better dramatically but it won’t ring true to the reader.

The Green Book is interesting in other ways. Next post.

December 16, 2022December 16, 2022

Finding Your Distinctive Voice

In the previous post, What is a Writer’s Voice, I listed some characteristics of a writer’s voice. Your voice is you on the page and can be comprised of what you like to write about, type of characters you favor, style of writing, settings you use, etc. Every writer needs his or her distinctive voice. As Kurt Vonnegut pointed out in A Man Without a Country, that there are only a few basic stories in literature which keep being repeated (boy meets girl, etc.). It is the distinctive spin you put on that retelling which makes the narrative worth reading.

How do I develop a voice?

Not by sitting down and deciding what it is. Right, I’ll just fill in the categories or I will write about high powered people in urban settings. A voice developed this way would be as mechanical as the method used to generate it. It is not an analytic or reductive exercise. Voice, once developed, is as distinctive as it is hard to describe. You can’t point a finger to where it resides in a work, yet it infuses everything.

The way to develop your voice is to write. Write and write and write. Launch many expendable pieces, as urged by William Stafford. You of course don’t have to stick with one setting, one type of character, one type of plot—in fact, you shouldn’t. Experiment with different settings, structures, characters, persons (first, third, etc.). You try writing about your old home town, or your grandfather’s day, or the latest intrigue at the office, or a fantasy of what you would like life to be. Each story helps you to both get more comfortable with the craft of writing but also helps you to define you as a writer, to allow you to sink into that space which is the magic of writing. Take the time and space to find out what is unique about your writing.

Getting feedback

The type of feedback you get and from whom is always important but it is especially critical as you are finding your voice. When you are in the midst of experimenting, you don’t need someone harping on your overuse of similes. Because a lot of similes may be part of your voice. That kind of criticism early on might make you think you should cut back when your voice may not be stable enough to know for sure.

Seeking feedback which is highly technical or specific may not be right for you as you are starting out. Instead, you are looking for readers who can tell you what they like best about what you have written.

Do I need to put everything on hold until I have a distinctive voice?

Of course not. It’s an organic thing and will develop as you do as a writer. In fact, your voice may shift somewhat over your writing career. And that’s fine. It’s not a stable state any more than it is fully definable.

The key as always, is to write, write, write. Magic, magic, magic.

December 9, 2022December 8, 2022

What is a Writer’s Voice?

I was always confused when critics talk about a writer’s voice. What exactly was that? And frankly, even though I think I have a better idea of what that means now, it’s still a bit vague. I think a writer’s voice can consist of:

Settings he typically prefers. Cormac McCarthy picks settings I hate—cowboys, post-apocalyptic world—but I love his writing.
Types of characters often used. Do they tend to have an active inner life or is everything revealed in what they do?
Language or diction. Is it fairly formal or informal (like this blog)?
Imagery and description. Does the author tend to fully situate the reader in the setting through description or does she tend to allow the reader to imagine what things look like? Are the metaphors and similes to die for, poetry in disguise, or are they more functional?
Type of plot. Psychological drama or action thriller? Romantic or pragmatic?

There are many other possible components of a writer’s voice but I don’t think we need to beat a dead horse. Suffice it to say that voice is what makes you uniquely you as a writer. Let’s take Jane Austen as an example.

Settings she prefers. Middle class semi-rural England.
Types of characters often used. Women protagonists, usually with an active inner life, often a little bit outside the norm of that period (poor, orphaned, etc. Okay, Emma the exception that proves the rule).
Language or diction. Formal language but with both a wicked and elegant turn of phrase
Imagery and description. I would say the Austen tends to let you imagine what things look like unless you need to have the detail. For example, in Pride and Prejudice, she describes Rosings, Lady Catherine de Burg’s residence because the reader needs to know how imposing it is. But otherwise, she tends to leave it to the reader’s imagination. And her writing, while elegant and witty, is not poetry lyrical.
Type of plot. Romantic novels of manners, and the small things in life which are big.

Whether or not you concur with my analysis, I think you would agree that Jane Austen would not have written a novel about prize fighters, or the slums of London. She would not take on the big social issues of her day as Dickens did in his but instead focused on the individual trying to make her way in the world.

Similarly, Mark Twain tended to semi-rural, small town America. His characters often spoke in a colloquial way and the writing was frequently humorous as well as biting. It’s not that he stuck with this always—much of his writing does not fit this description, but he developed a style of writing—funny, satirical, unadorned, straight—which is characteristic of him.

So, there you are—voice. Next post: Finding Your Distinctive Voice.

October 23, 2022October 23, 2022

Dealing with Writer’s Block

Dealing with Writer’s Block

First rule: Relax. Everybody goes through this. Although everybody thinks they know what writer’s block is, it might be helpful to review its pernicious forms.

Forms of writer’s block

Can’t put anything on the page. This is the classic one. You sit down at the laptop and all you’ve got, or are getting, is a blank screen.

Everything you write is junk. In this case, you can write but you are convinced not a single word is worth the bytes needed to create it. It is DELETE FILE territory (by the way, don’t do that—at least until you’ve read the rest of the post).

You know you are unfitted by talent, temperament, or inclination to write. This is the worst because, if you reach this point, it doesn’t even feel like writer’s block—it just feels like a self-evident principle of the world.

But honestly, they are all forms of writer’s block.

But what if it’s true that I can’t write?

I think most people can write creatively at some level if they put the energy into it. Will they be world-famous novelists? Don’t know.

However, writing creatively is, of course, partly about imagination, but also about observation and mastery of the craft. I don’t know whether it is possible to train up creativity, but I know that it’s not only possible to hone observation and craft skills, but necessary to create a good piece of writing.

So why don’t you give yourself the benefit of the doubt and work on your craft and observation abilities? Somewhere along the line, the ideas will come.

Ways to deal with writer’s block

Put the piece away for a while. Sometimes, you need to just walk away for a bit. Literally take a walk or do something else which occupies you in a different way. You might need to stow it for a couple of days or even weeks. But don’t let it be too long—otherwise, your writer’s block is running the show.

Write drivel. There is a school of thought which suggests that you just put your fingers on the keyboard and type anything. And it does work. It can often kickstart you back to your piece.

Of course, there is a danger. I discovered a clever way (well, I thought it was clever) to still avoid writing. This the drivel I’ve been talking about—basically writing about writing to avoid writing. Example: I love the way that the novel I just read unfolded. It was a total surprise at the end. See what I mean—you’re writing but not anything related to your project.

Start your engines, please, gentlemen. When I am stuck, I literally write this, followed by It’s 10:17. I will write for 30 minutes. No stopping, no games until 10:47. Doesn’t have to be 30 minutes, can be five. The point is that you spend the allotted time making progress on your idea. Can’t stop and can’t wander off during that time.

Last rule: Relax. Really, don’t get tied into knots about this. It is the ebb and flow of a writer’s life. Sometimes, it will come flowing through you and sometimes you are Sisyphus rolling that rock up the hill forever.

Just keep writing.