Thank you, George. While this wasn’t the question I sent to you, it’s close, so this was very helpful. (My question concerned ways of critiquing others’ stories, but not as part of a workshop.) I do appreciate the idea of not making any immediate comments, and about marking places where more specificity would help. What this method doesn’t take into account, however, is reading a story that just does not work. (Dealing with specificity is more a question of style--word choice, sentence structure, rhythm, tone, being too wordy, etc,, while dealing with a story that doesn't "work" is a question of story in its purest sense.) I think, George (and I could of course be very wrong), that perhaps you are used to critiquing stories by only the best new writers, those who have shown their writing chops, those who have studied writing. I don’t know the last time you critiqued a story by a new writer. Commenting on the work of a new writer--someone who may not be used to getting critiques--can really be a minefield. (My question was about making comments for these types of writers.) It’s hard, sometimes, to know where to start. I understand “meeting a writer where they are,” but that can be hard, too. I have to remind myself that someone who wrote a story isn’t expecting it to run in the New Yorker. But I also have to respect their wish to write a story—something that works as a story. I find this very, very hard, and actually no longer teach fiction classes/workshops because I felt I sucked at this part of teaching. Which is a crucial part of teaching!
Let’s say someone (a new-ish writer) asks you to read a story and tell them what you think. Usually, that person wants you to say, wow, you can really write. Also, they want to hear that their story worked for you, that it moved you, that it’s ready to be sent out. When you can’t say any of these things, it’s painful. I don’t want to patronize others. I don’t want to pretend that they are onto something. I want to be kind and give them something to work with, something helpful. But, oh, man. Again—I may just not be cut out for this sort of thing.
I had a teacher once who suggested that we tell each other first what ‘worked for us,’ and then ‘what wasn’t working so well.’ At times I couldn’t find one thing that ‘worked’ for me. At times, I actually heard myself saying well you got it all down on paper and that’s a lot more than most people. New writers are so tender. I’ve had people cry in my workshops. I’ve been, basically, yelled at. (I have also been praised, I will admit to that—I’m not always terrible.)
All of it makes me lose sleep.
My son is a writer. He send me his stories. I use “insert comments” and just tell him exactly what I think needs to go, stay, change. I ask questions. I’m completely honest. He appreciates all of it. But he knows me, trusts me, and knows that I believe in him. Also, he can write. I love doing this for him. He’s one of the few people I can do this for successfully. My younger brother (also a writer) often sends me work in process. He only wants to know one thing: when did the story “drop” for me? Where did I feel myself pull way, get bored, feel like skimming? He very clearly does not want other comments. So I can do this successfully for him as well and enjoy it.
I’d love to know your advice as to what, exactly, to look for and comment on with a new writer and a story that is not very advanced. I hope this doesn’t sound terrible of me—it’s not like I’m an excellent writer who doesn’t need comments myself. But the beginning writer—this gives me trouble. I want to be kind and sometimes it is hard.
As far as writers groups and workshops—I do not like them at all. If people ask me (they really don’t very often), I tell them to look for two things: comments from the instructor. And comments that are repeated—such as if four people all say the ending didn’t work. That’s a pattern to pay attention to. Also, don’t bring in a new story or a work in progress. That’s a sure way to destroy your story. Really, don’t show anyone a work in progress ever.
When I was learning to teach at Univ of Kansas in a program called V-6, the director instructed us in critiquing newer (not “bad”) writers. He said, “there’s always something positive you can offer to the writer. Even if it’s just a single word - ‘you used THAT word right there SO well’” That approach makes you look for that which is good. And there is always more then one word that’s good. Sometimes students from the plains of Western Kansas, like elsewhere at the beginning of a term, their writing could be quite rough. But we strived everyday with the thought - anyone can learn to write. And that kept us going, kept us looking for those well-placed words.
Thank you for this, Lee. I often would look for the "one good thing," as you say here. But that often felt false to me. It seemed like complimenting something just to be complimenting. It could feel patronizing and not truthful. But then, I'm not sure I believe that anyone can learn to write. And--don't hate me--I think there is some bad writing out there. I mean, I've read published works I thought were poorly written. I think analyzing stories as we do here is really fun and interesting and that every once in a while we are going to find something here that contributes to our own writing in a positive way. But really, the only way to learn to write is by writing. And reading.
Reading this made me have one other thought. I was once told to think "what about this performance would you like to hear again next week?" So yes, I definitely felt as you did, not very truthful, saying things like "I love how carefully you counted those long notes," but then I came to realize that I would, in fact, like the student to continue doing this, even though most musicians would consider it the bare minimum. So I would guess the same would be true in writing: ask yourself what should remain in the next draft and compliment that.
The thing is, sometimes a story needs a complete rewrite. There may be a seed there, something wonderful that has the possibility to grow into a story. But you can't tell a writer to hold on only to that seed and let the rest go.
I would totally take "a seed that has a wonderful possibility to grow into a story" (wrapped up in the warm blanket of "this is just my personal opinion"). This may be just me, but I'd prefer honesty (especially from someone I trusted) over plugging away at something that might not be working.
Until they get it themselves... much like in counselling. The client has to see their own issue themselves. You might have seen it far earlier but they do, the change will be temporary.
I have recently had the same lesson with my first book. Now I am completely rewriting it and I feel excited by the change even though it means much more work. Before doing writing courses, I could not see the faults. I was too emotionally attached, but now. I can separate myself from it and know where it needs to be changed... which is pretty much all of it! But the seed remains.
Yes, this is so true. The writer has to see the issue and understand it. Gently pointing them in the direction of where their story needs help--harder for the writing instructor, I think! That emotional attachment that you mention....that's a minefield for the writing instructor. Tears are expected in a counseling session. When someone gets upset during a writing workshop, then everyone gets upset. Glad you liked the feedback notes. If i ever go back to teaching, I'll be using them myself!
I'm not sure if you've heard of Dean Wesley Smith (no need to look him up; he's a sci-fi writer with a no-nonsense attitude) but he would have no qualms about telling someone that. He actually says that one should never revise, only rewrite if you decide an idea shouldn't be let go. I don't agree with his stance on revision, I only bring it up because he's been telling people to just chuck a failed story and write something new based on the same idea and he's managed to get quite a following. There's probably a tactful way to say it, but I don't think all writers would be offended by what you're trying to say. (Not sure I said that clearly at all...)
But don't you have to say what, to you, that seed is? Maybe it is not the seed the writer meant or wants. I've done that. Written a story that was unfocused enough that readers provided focus that was waaaay off my intention. Sometimes, hearing this, I realize that my intention is off and I can go back and redirect, with the people and events in that piece. I wrote a story that takes place in a doctor's office. Readers didn't pick up on the beginning notes and the end chord, same key, so I realized that while I thought I was writing about X, I'd wandered. I do that kind of stuff less frequently now. I am doing a lot of pre-writing planning that I didn't do before. All very interesting, everyone's take on what helps us, isn't it?
I'm collecting some of your comments in a document. Also Mary's comments, and Diana Mullins and others because they're helpful, and I don't want to forget what you've shared. The teachers in this class are so generous with information!
I agree with that. No better way to learn to write than to write. And read.
I struggled at first as well with the idea that pointing out the use of a single word seemed patronizing. And I was awfully critical as a first year or so teacher. Red pen maniac.
But I came to understand that students were all at different spots on their writing path when they arrived in class with me. So to praise a single well-placed word really could be a game-changer for a writer who struggles. And I’ve helped many weak (to be kind) writers become better, if not good, writers.
There are definitely many published books (and a god-awful amount of self-published books) that are not good writing.
I took my teaching cues from a graduate literature professor. He assigned so much reading that it was difficult to keep up. I asked him why at the end of the term. He said, “if you read the books, you gained from them. There’s a benefit in merely reading the books. There’s not much more I can do for you.”
I modeled my writing classes after his example. I gave students many opportunities to write. The ones who looked at the assignments as opportunities to learn, did. Writers learn by writing. Not by me standing in front of the class.
What worked best for me as an instructor was when I gave writing exercises with specific goals in mind. That way, we could critique whether or not the writer had met the goals or not.
That has now been taken to an extreme in community college rubrics so much so that it degrades true evaluation and assessment. Points for name on the page, capitalized first letter. Title in title case etc. it’s an exercise in following instructions rather than in writing.
I studied writing and theatre. From the theatre world, I learned a whole set of useful phrases to say to an actor who had just stepped off a stage and just felt vulnerable. "That was amazing!" and the vicious, "You've never been better." And I've been on the other side as well, parsing the comments for some sense of ulterior meaning. My Dad, a former actor on Broadway and 60's TV, when he finally relented to seeing me on stage said, "You reminded me of a young Gary Cooper," and I've been trying ever since to understand whether he meant that as praise or it was simply the best he could muster at the moment. (The fact that he was a narcissist makes it even harder to parse because he never praised anyone else unless it somehow reflected back on him.)
I feel your reluctance to be anything but honest and helpful. Ambiguity is evil (in my view.) In writing, I want to know whether the reader was engaged and where they dropped out. I also want to know why they responded to something because sometimes they're right for the wrong reasons. I've changed stories that were praised for things I didn't intend. "That passage was so funny!"
But the one thing that writing workshops taught me is to pay more attention to my own responses to others' works. Go around the table enough with amateurs and you hear a lot of the pot calling the kettle black. Once I realized that projection was heavily involved in young writers, I started listening to myself and seeing if I had committed those sins in my work.
This reminds me of what one of my piano professors used to say (jokingly): "So you played the right notes. What do you want, a medal?" And another professor said that sometimes your positive comment for the day might be "I love your shoes!"
Very interested to hear what George has to say. I don't have any great ideas myself, but I definitely hear you. Working with beginners in any field takes a special kind of person.
Hahahaha! OMG. In the theater, we used to joke about seeing an actor after a show that didn't work. You can just point and say "You! You! Come here and give me a hug!"
Once, I was in a writing class where one of the students blew up at the teacher. The funny thing was, I saw it coming and the teacher did not. I took the class with my friend, she does hair, I'm an esthetician––we'd never taken a writing class outside of college...but we knew this particular student was going to be a problem, even just sitting next to her. Like bartenders, we've learned to "read" people who come into our beauty shops. I knew this particular person was ready to blow up, and so did my friend. I can't explain how we "know" things, but it comes with the territory of meeting and touching so many random people. There's a Korean word for that knowing, "nunchi." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nunchi
I felt bad for the teacher, though, he was not prepared for the tirade. Thankfully, the person who raged at the teacher dropped out of the class, and we could continue on with no drama. I'm friends with that writing instructor now, and glad I signed up for the class, but I always brace myself for the next person who will blow a fuse when getting feedback in those situations.
Right? It's an ego trip, too. It was uncomfortable. But there wasn't a way around it, she was going to do that (blow a fuse) no matter what. Beginning something is so scary. I've been in the same yoga class with the same teacher for 25 years, but my first day I was so terrible, so wobbly, the teacher told her husband, "I don't think that girl is ever coming back to class." Now we joke about it, those early days when I had no idea what I was doing. The struggle is a trip to humble town.
If it helps, I feel the same too, and it feels sort of ok to share that with you, from my point of view, though it's like a weird inversion of the 'World's Greatest Mum/Dad/Teacher' mug: how can these things be multiple?
God! I'm so glad you're here, David. You're so fantastic and fun to chat with. I just "know" you're a great writer, because you seem to care about other people, and there's no way that doesn't translate into caring about the reader. Negative voices suck. I have them. It really takes the joy out of life.
You’re far too kind, Stacya, but I appreciate it greatly. I thought I was a great writer at 14 when TIME Magazine published a letter I wrote them, but apparently I was only an egg. So much to learn!! A long road, but one well worth being on. I hope you can find a way to tamp or damp down the negative voices. They have plagued me also, all my life. Hmm, there’s a story in there…
'I can't explain how we "know" things, but it comes with the territory of meeting and touching so many random people. There's a Korean word for that knowing, "nunchi."
That is wonderful. My world just grew a little, and it also seems kinder and more full. Thank you.
It's just really interesting to learn something that feels simultaneously new and like it was always there.
Wait a minute, I don't think this is fair to your friend. Okay, she does hair, which doesn't rank high on status jobs, but she signed up for the class and wanted to learn. You don't say anything about Why she blew up; could it be that she was frustrated because she wasn't getting useful feedback that would help her correct her problems? Did your teacher not expect to ever have anyone who might get emotional and have ways to defuse the situation? This seems to put all the onus on your friend, when I think there's more of a possibility your teacher is at fault since they're the ones in charge of the situation and have to expect to deal with all possible situations. I feel sorry for your friend. She wanted to learn and was instead so frustrated she blew up and feels like she made a fool of herself. That's not a win for her and it's not a win for the class since her anger may have been based on some valid criticisms of your teacher's knowledge and methods. She sounds like she's the one with the most passion and who needed help the most and your teacher failed her, and it doesn't sound like you were much of a help either.
The friend (still my good friend, a wonderful writer and hairdresser) didn't blow up. My friend is the one who also knew the person next to us was going to blow a fuse. To clarify, we all had feedback from the teacher. This is always tough, but he's a nice guy, and wasn't a jerk to anyone. I was pointing out how we, two beauticians (you are right, we don't rank high on the status jobs, as you point out) predicted that this particular student was going to get defensive and angry about the feedback.
haven't been to an esthetician before so I can't really say, but the person who manages to do my hair ranks WAY UP THERE in status to me! Thank god for the people with the artistry and compassion who help people feel better about themselves.
Thankfully, all kinds of people take writing classes. I tend not to pay attention to status, but as subject matter I find class or class consciousness interesting, and I'm always drawn to reading about it, the ways we dodge the issue in this country, and love reading work by people who challenge us.
I am so interested by your comment, and half of me agrees. But I am Gemini - therefore there is an opposite side, which is saying 'But. So the story is not working for you. It might work for many others - in markets you might not frequent.' Thats what worries me - how do I give honest critique about a story's publishability (which is in the end what most want to hear - how close am I??) when the very term 'publishable' is SO wide? From The New Yorker, to ... add inf.
Yes, this is another problem to think about. Thank you for raising it. We have to always find the right teachers--the ones who speak to us, the ones we can hear. It's like finding a therapist, sort of. So you tell your students or workshop mates if the story works for YOU, and why. And then they can decide if they want to listen. You'll never be able to tell anyone whether or not a story is publishable, because who can know that? You can only tell them if their story works or not.
Yes, point taken - all 'publishable' can mean is 'I've read plenty worse than this, out there...it stands a chance.'
I do ask writers who come to me for tuition a couple of questions, before reading their work: 'What would you like the readers of your story to take away when they've finished it? What are you aiming for?' - then at least I have something to measure the words against. An imperfect science, all this.
But I also know that just as I can become creatively jaded, I can go through patches of teacherly 'flatness', if that makes sense. In a perfect world, I'd stop then, take a break. Not always possible though, is it?
I'm afraid publishability is not a question I'd ask many people! I have four stories one reader has said are "eminently publishable," and no one has published them. Publishability has a lot to do with the popularity of certain types of stories, certain subjects, certain voices. So I ask readers to tell me where this grabbed them, if it did, and the spots where attention wandered. If you want to, I say, you can tell me what you think the story is "about," but, boy is that all over the place with a lot of readers! I have a great reader. She doesn't get what I am doing on early drafts AT ALL! But she alerts me to lack of focus and wandering into byways. I will send her a piece and start reworking it immediately, reading with her in mind. Good help, that. Later, the finished story, she usually does get. And she has praised me for adding things that we there all along. Which means that for several drafts, I've buried them. And now have finally finally cut away the confusion and reached that silk thread. My advice to people who ask me to read is, I'll say what I think is going on, and tell you if and when the story grabbed me. But basically use any criticism to look again at what you have - maybe you need to cut and tailor. Maybe you need to add. Nobody really knows but you. Use readers to help you read the story again. And again.
If every editor has their own subjective criteria, not to mention all the other pressures on them, a given story’s publishability spectrum is not knowable. (I have to laugh about stories by famous authors being rejected when sent back out as pranks.) Skill has to connect with timing and luck, it appears. Which is why we must stay on top of our game, while submitting broadly. (Which sounds exhausting, no?) One moment at a time, as in opening a space for love, or for a child to thrive in. (Love that Gemini balancing act by the way!)
Writers are yes very delicate, even the tough ones. I have several readers and I always ask for what I want as a response, and it's always: 1. When does it grab you? (If never, I need to know that too.) 2. Can you tell me in one sentence what this story is about, to you? 3. If it grabbed you, where does it flag? 4. What link do you see between the first paragraph and the last?
Here’s one idea I try. “How does this piece connect with something fundamental about being human?” Often, even if the piece needs a lot of work we can affirm its impulse to connect with the reader. What is the conflict or longing beneath the piece?
That's so wonderful that you are able to give your son feedback! Lots of people can't accept that from a parent, so you and your son must have a very special relationship. One question I've found helpful in a workshop is "what was your intention here?" (directed at a particular passage, not at the piece as a whole). If the writer can explain it, then you can comment on how the passage illuminates that intention (or doesn't), and at least you aren't completely at cross-purposes. And if the writer can't explain it, they will be forced to ask themselves some constructive questions.
oh that is very good. What was your intention here? Or, when critiquing, saying: This is what I believe your intention was in this story. Thank you. (And yes, I'm very lucky when it comes t my son. He reads my work, as well. For some reason, it works, and I'm so grateful to have story writing as common ground to share.)
So long, So rewarding. For the read, Mary. Thanks.
Here's the tuppence worth that happens to be crossing the dimmed stage of my so, oft, dimmed mind:
Each and every writers group and workshop is only, ever, as good as its collective openess to fresh thoughts from which new ideas roll out and, beat the one in ten - or poorer, chance that may make sense to 'significant others'.
I’m terrible at giving feedback too although thankfully I’m not a teacher! But, doing course, one of the requirements is to give feedback on student forums. I have problems understanding terminology and how to apply it so that also causes problems. I wish there were courses on how to give constructive feedback. I’d be the first one to sign up! Even a book would help!
these are some notes i have in my files that were helpful to me when i taught composition (but I see now that they would work for writing workshops as well--i didn't have them when I taught or was in workshops). I don't know where i got them from. Someone deserves credit for them, but i don't know who:
These are the hallmarks of a tactful, softer phrasing:
"possibly..."
"I felt ..."
"It didn't work for me when ..."
"I thought it would work better for me if..."
"I'm not sure but ..."
"Perhaps ..."
"It strikes me that ..."
"Maybe ..."
"I didn't care for ..."
"another idea might be..."
"you might consider...."
"have you thought about...."
Assume the author knows what they're doing. Assume any criticisms you make are because of your personal limitations as a reader, not their failings as a writer.
I'm not sure about this. I have never attended a writing group, but if any of these phrases were said to me I would be very on the alert that it was veiled criticism.
Since I used to be an elementary/middle school writing teacher I've have this odd, dichotomous responsibility for encouraging fledglings and also editing bold storytellers like my late father who could spin a yarn like a legend but then butchered most things he set to paper. Since Dad both needed and wanted to put things in print because he'd started a successful local magazine, and also had some great stories to share, he needed great gobs of editing, some of which he accepted.
When it comes to tender writers, though, I try to get their ideas into the air, get them just-started talking (like my pops), and hopefully stir them into a passion about what they're trying to convey, so eager to finish that when they are suddenly only allowed to then use their printed words to do so they're ready to write them all. Then come my rules: no sharing the story, aloud or written, until finished. And no critiques allowed afterwards from anyone unless and until asked, especially not parents. This is how to prevent a kid who hates to write. And unless someone's writing and writing and writing, and finishing, we never have anything to shape. So many valuable stories––and story writers––are ultimately lost to this self-guarded hesitancy. I think that's tragic.
Like you said, Mary, no new stories or in-progress stories. The easiest time to hear input on something is after we've had our say and the story has, also.
My mom is the same. She has these incredible, shocking and hilarious stories, but I asked her to write them and she self-edited the spark out of it. She can tell a good story, but can’t write one. So I started taping her in person or on calls. I’m hoping to write her stories while she is still here to tell them.
I did that very thing in a Senior Hospital. Many of the patients wanted to get their stories on paper for their families. So I taped and transcribed and helped them arrange their stories. Several were really old and were afraid of the tape recorder. In those days I had a reporter's memory ( developed by writing down conversations I overheard on the commuter train), so I'd listen listen listen, then go home and write what I heard. I'd take the typed version to the patient and read it aloud to them. It was a fantastic year and five of these fabulous old people came away with exactly what they wanted: a well-told story of their young lives to give their grandchildren. Most satisfying work I've ever done.
That's a wonderful plan, Lanie. I hope that you do, and tell us where to find them, also.
I never wrote any of my father's stories while he was alive, but just edited his for print, mostly grammar. He didn't always listen to me on even the basics but that was some of his effective charm as a verbal storyteller. Then, though, he'd try to add my name to the bio and I had to insist that he (please, really) not do that because I certainly would have done things very differently if those stories were all my own!
This sounds like a great way to work with young writers. Giving others encouragement to put words on the page--what's better than that? (Of course, the workshop model is completely different, as the whole point is.....workshopping.)
Indeed. It's really important, then, that one understands the perils of engaging before they do, but do any of us really know how we'll handle a critique until we receive one? It's a rite of passage, that first time, especially. Now that you've described your critiquing style, Mary, I think a good writer is privileged to have you as a reader. (I'd sign up for one just knowing you're there.) I'll carry your advice to watch for repetition and patterns from readers so am glad for that wisdom here.
Thank you, Traci! The main thing I found during workshops (as far as my own work), is that the further away from my writing I was (in terms of time), the easier it was to handle outside comments. I'm far less attached to work that's been sitting for a while.
That’s so interesting, Mary. I was part of several writing groups a decade ago and, although I learned some things, ultimately found them to not be very helpful. It was discouraging to encounter what seemed like a pandemic of myopia. But I feel more encouraged lately!
I have a writing partner. We end going for walks, having coffee (outside) and talking about books, life, whatever. Sometimes we never talk about writing in our meetings. It somehow works better that way for us.
Glad you are feeling encouraged. The workshop method works for some and doesn't for others. Probably there are workshops out there that produce good works and great friendships and that is wonderful.
Mary, I hear you and want to offer something useful. After many years running writing workshops, I found the work of Harvard Prof. Nancy Sommers 'Responding to Student Writers' who suggests the use of the "Dear Reader..." letter. In it, writers ask for pointed feedback on specific attributes of their pieces. This allows a student writer to self-assess based on criteria set by the student writer herself. This directs the responders to look for/analyze/critique only those attributes the writer is most interested in hearing about. I also recommend the use of a self-assessment inventory where students look for craft strategies themselves in their pieces.
Hi Diana. Thank you so much for this. I remember reading Nancy Sommer's work when I was in school (MA in Rhetoric and Composition), and I did take her strategies to heart when i taught courses in argumentative writing. Commenting and helping students revise their papers in those courses was, to me, much, much easier than commenting on fiction writing, as is done in fiction writing workshops or classes. The composition assignments told students exactly what was expected, the rubrics covered the basics of what was to be graded. Overall, I managed to help students craft better papers through the revision process. It was, mostly, very satisfying. I'm not sure, though, that such things would work in a fiction-based course--to have students self-assess based on their own criteria, but then again, I haven't tried. I mean, how do they know what they don't know (if that makes sense)? The writing workshops that you taught--were they fiction writing courses?
As a teacher of middle school, high school, and undergraduates, I taught all genres over the course of the year beginning with poetry, then fictional short stories, expository ('how to...') and analytical essays (response to literature). We created self-assessment inventories together for each assignment based on the craft strategies taught in my lessons. All genres have certain things in common: embodied narrative voice, logical flow (organization), descriptive power (figurative language), etc. The purpose and audience of each piece-by-genre changes, but not the attributes that make for good writing. Make sense? ~ and then peer-response is directed according to what individual writers want most to hear about after doing their own self-assessment.
Sounds like this works really well for you. When I taught argumentative writing, I did similar things--self assessments based on certain writing strategies, and (as I've said) making expectations clear and then looking to see if those expectations were met through rubrics, comments, assessments, and discussion. I'm not sure I could teach fiction writing this way, but I'd have to think about it more. It would work, I think, when doing exercises of some sort. Like a description exercise where parameters are set forth in advance. Then, you could see if the writer completed the exercise correctly (and so could the writer). The "attributes for good writing" that you mention--some of these can't be described when talking about fiction. At least, I can't describe them. Writing fiction is magical, really. It can't be created with the mind (you know what i mean). It has to come from a deeper place where conscious thinking isn't available. The only thing I can think of is to present a list of questions that speak to a conventional story and then have students ask them of their own work. Things like: Do events eventually rise into a crisis moment? Is that crisis moment depicted? Does the main character have to make a character-defining choice? Do we see that choice in action? I could see, perhaps, providing a list of questions (such as those) and then having the students look at them before and after writing. That might lead to some not-so-good stories (created not by dreaming but by thinking), but at least there would be something there to look at and assess. All of this that I'm talking about would be for beginning writers, though. Most workshops I'd be involved in now would be made up of people who already write and who bring their stories in, looking for help. Commenting on their tender stories without ruining their passion or desire--that's what I would like to be able to do. Thanks for the discussion. Lots to think about. (Come to think of it, a list of questions for writers who bring in a completed story isn't a terrible idea. It just won't work for all stories, though, because not all stories are conventional.)
Mary, I agree that reader commentary must strive to encourage passion in the writer. I've studied/done research on this very topic in my doctoral program and learned the methods that seem to effectively accomplish this goal. One is using mentor texts (as George does) in order to notice what strategic fiction writers do. When we identify 'moves' a writer makes we can then try out those same moves in our own writing: symbolism and repeating motifs; circular patterns or call-backs; point of view; complex villains; power dynamics; vivid descriptions; etc. When we dive into a finished piece of writing that we love and analyze it, we can discover some of the attributes that we love and wonder how we might mimic the process-moves that an author made when writing/revising our own stories.
I agree that there is a spectrum we find ourselves on: magically generative and mysteriously creative writing on the one end (the heart and soul-sub/un conscious as David Snider says); and conscious striving to accomplish a particular strategic move on the other (the logical mind). We can be at all places along the spectrum while writing/revising. I believe that access to the total spectrum is what good teachers support while teaching writing!
When analyzing a piece of fiction (or poetry ~ or any imaginative moment in any piece of writing) written by others AND ourselves, the discussion with peers/teachers can be inquiry-based and driven by open-ended questions, i.e., 'Why is this your favorite moment/line?' - 'How do feel when the character does/says x?' - 'Where in the piece do you first feel that you must read to the end without stopping to do anything else?' - 'Graph your engagement (high, med, low) with each paragraph and note the reasons' - 'Where are you confused?' - 'If you could ask the author a question, what would it be?' - 'If you could tell your readers what your story is about in a few sentences, what would you say?'
Research has shown that most teachers of reading/writing ask closed-ended questions (those that require a yes/no answer). These classrooms are not supportive of creativity because they model evaluation and summary instead of contiguity (connecting thoughts and making associations). When we focus on what the author most wants to accomplish and then help them achieve their authorial intention (as shown by the reader response) the workshop emphasizes how to achieve clarity all its forms ~ the goal is to communicate what we most want to communicate.
When the students leave my classroom, I want them to learn from every text they will read over the course of their lives. I try to instill the importance of learning more about how to become a strategic writer with their own goals that change over time, but goals that they are capable of setting for themselves. This is where the self-assessments serve them best. Each writer chooses what they most want to accomplish and then after each revision, they see how well they believe they have accomplished their goals according to the 'moves' they've made. Then, they write a 'Dear Reader...' letter that invites peers/teacher to weigh-in on those same 'moves.'
I would be interested in continuing the conversation with you and sharing materials if you/others here would like to do so.
Hello.. I'm just now reading this conversation. As a writing teacher, it interests and intrigues me as well. But as far as assessment goes, it's one thing to treat assessment in a classroom of expository writing and quite another when dealing with fiction. The magic of fiction just doesn't boil down like other writing. Even if we can identify that all stories have rising action, pulses, and a climax, and strategies to keep a reader's attention, it seems multivariable in fiction far more than in other kinds of writing. Just as George at one point imitated Hemingway, and many others are imitating George, you can analyze their stories and copy and try to do the same thing, but a writer won't have the same success. There's one Hemingway, and many lesser imitations, and there's one George Saunders, and many lesser imitations, even following strict rules of "this is how you write a story like this." There still is that magic of break this rule, break that rule, extend this pulse, blunt this pulse, expand this description, keep description here at a minimum. The variables are so minute that they can't be taught by rubric. I definitely think you can teach broad brush-strokes for story writing, of course. If story writing couldn't be taught, we'd not have the institutional authority of MFA programs that we do. But I think most of the learning is at the writer's desk late at night, figuring out how to be herself.
If I'm speaking out of turn, forgive me. I'm going to go back and follow the conversation more closely again. I love this kind of discussion, and I'm always looking for strategies for teaching writing - other than mashing creativity into confining rubrics and patterns.
I like the way you and Mary are honing in on this, kind of distilling your own criteria into the mix that George laid out. It’s complicated, I think, in that each story is kind of an energetic microcosm of the universe. So much to learn; so much to look at!
Diana, you must be a fabulous instructor. I've definitely done some of what you say here. I've taught classes where we've looked at published stories, analyzed them, and then imitated some part(s) of what we find there. I don't teach anymore, and I probably will not teach again. My main question here in these threads is not really about teaching. It's about reading someone's story and then telling them what I think. Over the years, I've had people ask me if I'll read something they've written (a completed story, to their mind) and tell them what I think. I'll say, what kind of comments are you looking for? And they'll say, well, let me know if you like it, if it needs work, if it's done, etc.... And then I'll read the story and think, oh dear, this story really needs a rewrite. Or I'll think, this piece is a mess. Or I'll have any sorts of private thoughts that I won't print here! And then I'll be....oh, wow, what am I gonna say?? I'd like to know how to be the kind of reader who can respond kindly and honestly without completely bursting anyone's bubble of hope. (I've written so much in these threads by now that i'm losing track of what i'm asking for--but i think this is it here. I want to know how to read a bad story that doesn't work and make constructive comments. And I really do think that some stories are bad--sorry if that sound cruel.) This type of exchange isn't about self-assessment rubrics or letters. It's just person to person. And often I'm at a total loss about someone else's story. I'll have no idea what to say or where to start. Because of this, I usually don't read other people's stories any more. It's too painful and hard. So that's what I'm asking people here and George. If you read a story that really needs to go in the wastebasket, how do you tell a tender writer that? How do you comment on work that needs so much work? In my case, I just don't go there anymore. (Mostly. You know who you are!)
Is there movement in the story—and in the reader? Would this story invite a reader to feel or think differently, after reading it? Is there a catharsis of sorts?
I like that idea of a story coming from a place deeper than the conscious mind. Is it coming from the heart? Or from the subconscious, or unconscious, or from both? Is it coming from the soul? Or from the entire chain of being? From mind, body, emotion and connection?
I'm sorry--this comment (from you, Sarah) has fallen way down the physical page here on my computer screen and I can't tell which comment it is in reference to. Or even if it is a question for me.
I was responding to your initial comment about what kind of feedback to provide beginning writers, whether this was general comments of the type you'd give after reading and reviewing a story or whether you're referring to a workshop situation.
I suppose I meant both situations. I've been a workshop instructor and have also been a member of a workshop (as a student--and with another person as the teacher/leader). In both cases, I've been stymied as to how to respond to writing that needs a lot of work. It was especially hard, though, when I was the instructor, because I really wanted to be encouraging. And sometimes I found that hard to do. I always wished I had some sort of go-to words or some guidelines for how best to respond to new writers. I'd often really wrack my brain, trying to respond adequately, kindly, helpfully. As I've said here already, i lost a lot of sleep over it.
It is hard. Like you, I've sat in both seats, as facilitator and student, and it's not easy either way. So much dread--I used to stack the papers on my kitchen table and do a minuet -- forward/back--until I got down to business. What helped me was what a much wiser mentor once said and something I used to pass along to students: drafts are messy and imperfect and they should be because writing is a process. It's hard and it's not easily conquerable in a semester-long class. One of my course requirements used to be a minimum of three drafts of a story or essay and I adjusted my rubrics accordingly, going from the very general aspects of fiction, say--structure, character and point of view-- and then looking at how each of them improved on these aspects in subsequent drafts. So while the standards that I used were hallmarks of an effective short story, I was looking for how the student had improved from draft to draft. And they usually did, even the most hopeless ones, if they're doing their work.
That's a great method. I didn't teach fiction at a college/university. Just at my kitchen table, as part of a small company that hired published writers as teachers. I guess I thought, well, i've been published, I can teach. ha! I was professional in my approach, but still there was an easy-goingness about things (as opposed to using rubrics, etc.). Looking back, I really didn't know what I was doing. I wanted so badly to be a good teacher. I think if I went back to it now, perhaps I'd feel better about things and have more tools at my disposal. My students were all over the place in terms of story making. Some were already quite good. Some had no idea what a story was. But I think if I'd started out with something general--like, this class is about story structure and so that's what we will look at in each story--that would have helped. (As I write this, I remember how close we all became, my students and I. And we hung together for several years. So i must have been doing something right. I'm my own worst enemy, i think, always remembering the worst of myself and not the good stuff. Be nicer to yourself, mary g.!)
The meta-specificity of this post is so helpful I'll want to share it in workshops going forward before diving in again. In the past, I've experienced workshops akin to some of the psych or spiritual groups in which I've participated: a real (hazardarous/helpful) opportunity for me to view myself and my writing voice from a distance, as well as to view the experience of story––feeling it, thinking it, writing it, reading it, hearing it reflected through others' experiences––as an opportunity to dig deeper into myself and also into bigger questions and issues. It's easy, then, to dig so deep soometimes that I lose the story which drove and delighted me in the first place.
This post causes me, though, to want to join up with others again in an authentic, intentional group with current work. Specifically, though, I'm carrying out these two lines in my brain folds now: "So: the more specific the critique, the less empty, hurtful judgment there will be in it", and "The main thing, in my view, is to continually be introducing the limitations of the format as part of the class itself."
The thing that often breaks my heart is to hear how dependent others are on any analysis from others, and I just want to rush to them/you/my younger self and say, "Be fierce! Your story needs your courage." We can always change our minds about a thing, but now I try to be tougher to move than that origin of my story is, the tender thing.
Ferocious courage. And I liked how George said something like, once you’re done with the workshops, it’s time to pursue your own vision, possibly defiantly.
If the criticism strikes a vibrating cord in you, by all means, listen to it. If you say: Wait. I wasn't trying for x, y, or z. Then get other opinions. You can have 15 readers and get 15 different takes on your work. Eventually you want a minor concensus: "this piece is about x. I got a, to , b, to c, then there is a funny gap. .., but eventually I got to x. Do you need h through w? And so on. It's your story. If you need h - w, and this reader "got" your story, then work on making those sections sing. I have a story I've reworked for more than a year. Only one reader "got" it in all this time, until I went in after an enforced delay and focused. Focus is my problem, not a doubt! Meanwhile, I have learned that some readers aint gonna get it no matter what. You learn to tell the difference. Most of the time.
This is where I think of what Mary wrote about paying attention to the patterns of feedback because yeah (I say) it's worth honing things for maximum impact but sometimes too easy to be swayed by an outlier.
'The meta-specificity of this post is so helpful I'll want to share it in workshops going forward before diving in again.'
Do not proceed. Rather please, please, unpack the density of this sentence for me? It sounds good, it really does, but I'm clueless as to what this word string means.
So, please I'm asking, gently unpack and enlighten me Tracie?
You wrote the sentence Tracie. The ball, in this post Wimbledon week, is definitely in your court: if you don't know who can know what your opening sentence means, in general let alone specific terms.
BTW: if I'm just seeming 'dense', 'obtuse', 'awkward' or 'whatever' don't you - or anyone else - hesitate to point me towards the meaning of your opening sentence.
hey Rob. The post's "meta-specificity" speaks strongly to her. And so she wants to share the post with any future workshop participants (before she participates in the workshop itself). That's the best I can do! Hope it helps. (I'm not sure how best to explain "meta-specificity" but in this case I'll say it acknowledges an awareness of how specific this specific post is on specificity. George's post is very effective and specific in explaining the importance of being specific.... And now that i've written that, my mind will explode.) Over and out!
So, when I got to look in the cupboard, the cupboard wasn't bare, but the speaking sign on the S-word shelf said "So sorry, S-word shelf's shut Saturdays." 🙄
Likewise! I might let the two of you take the lead to begin with. We just moved, and I have some work to do before I have everything set up desktop-wise (I am working on something with pen and paper in the interim. And, I have a highly energetic four year old on my hands!) It might be nice to focus on one piece at a time to start with. I like the way George laid out ideas for helpful feedback. (And the part in MVM’s post, “This is what I think the story is trying to do. This is what I think the character is trying to do.”) Anyway, we may want a few guidelines laid down, at least loosely, to encourage specificity in feedback / critique. Looking forward!!
I don't get it about the workshops. Kafka said this about writing, “You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” In other words, you need a good intercourse with the muse, how can it happen in front of ten people and a father-instructor??
Such a beautiful quote! Ah, but even Kafka had Max Brod to read his work, encourage him, push him to publish, and to save all of his writing after his death (against his wishes! Kafka wanted all the unpublished work burned). Kafka had at least one person he entrusted with his words. Not quite the same as a workshop, I know, but I still think that when Kafka was done with his pages, he did "leave the room," in a way.
I often think about a line from Stephen King's "On Writing," the one that goes, "Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open." Rewrite with the door open. I love that. Let the muse converse with the world, open your work to the possibility that what influence she brings back might improve it . . .
I agree, Minimeh. And I keep that same Kafka quote in my stash. That's one of the best things about writing, one of the reasons that I persist in doing it: it can be done alone, no committee necessary.
Minimeh, I think this quote is wonderful as it speaks to the creation phase of writing, for which there should be no interference. The accomplished writer, however, can benefit from the critiques of others who can be trusted. Some lucky people find this sort of benefit within a writers workshop. I'm guessing the high level of students in George's workshops at Syracuse give feedback that is helpful, both for the person giving it and the person receiving. Those students are most likely turning it finished stories, however.
Mary, I agree that for some folks it is probably beneficial in the beginning to see if what they write is 'any good'. My quibbling is about then what are editors for? First I check with the workshop peers and then I do it again with an actual editor?? I reckon there is an element of fear lurking in the background perchance the 'real' editor will reject it even without a comment! Therefore I say, write and spread it without fear. If any good, some editor will pick it up. If not, know that you are not ready or if shameless or ballsy enough, there is Kindle self-publish. Hey, even Nietzsche did it!
The benefit of a workshop is from reading work in progress -- rather than published stories or novels -- and understanding what the writer's vision is for that piece and helping them get there. It's how I learned to revise my own work.
I love this post as it shows what real beauty can come out of a workshop - and it really emphasizes that a workshop should be about the writing and discovering what the writing can do/is doing. This post also sees the nuances of the workshop environment just as one would try to see the nuances of a story.
One of the most useful phrases a colleague used in our workshop was "Here's what I think the story is trying to do...", as well as "Here's what I think the character is trying to do..." This wording gave the writer a sense that the commentary was absolutely about the writing, not the writer. This wording also gave perspective: the reader is providing an impression, not a fact. The writer can then decide if what the reader saw was what they were trying to achieve.
That all said, thank you for such an inspiring post, yet again, George. It is so very generous to everyone under the sometimes "hot lights" of the workshop setting.
Really enjoyed this post. Read it in my lunch break today, in a coffee shop in London's Square Mile. Stepped out into the sun feeling thoughtful and empathic, as George's posts often make me feel, and immediately saw a woman sitting on a low wall, eating lunch on her own. Nothing remarkable at all, but the slightly lonely image of it has (I think) removed a blockage that was stopping me progressing with my current story.
Openness to the world, learning how to work with one's thoughts. Huh.
This was both a great question and a great answer. Every workshop should start with this advice. It applies to editing too.
I always try to be a teaching editor: these are my suggested changes and why. But I always say - especially with creative work (but also academic) - that it’s *their* work and in the end, they need to go with their gut. I won’t be offended if they ignore my suggested edits or comments.
One thing I love about this story club is that many of George’s answers, teaching and commentary feel like they could just be applied to life in general. I felt this a lot in today’s office hours. That and the kind, insightful group of participants. Turns out virtual discourse among strangers doesn’t have to be toxic. Who knew?!
Lanie, I love all the (life) advice I've been gaining from Story Club as well. Some months ago, I think on a post about revision, George said something along the lines of, "worry is just another form of love." As a generally anxious person that idea has been a real eye-opener for me :)
*editing to add: I looked back to read it again and was amazed to discover that I'd somehow forgotten the entire thing was about worry. It's the one called, um, "On Worry."
I've been a professional writer (news, white papers, speeches, marketing) for many years. I view myself as hardened against criticism. And I am. I've participated in 8 class/workshops in the past 3 years and I find that I'm more sensitive about my fiction writing than other projects. In workshops, I'm grateful for useful suggestions and dismissive of the others with nary a qualm.
One experience, however, caused me to withdraw from the group. An informal leader didn't like the novel I'm writing, almost from the beginning. The third time I submitted part of it, she raved about her dislike. After that, a few others piled on, echoing her response in the same harsh terms. Except one: He gave me a valuable tip about how putting the end of the scene in the beginning would solve the problems he saw. He was exactly right! I still email him because he has such a sharp eye for structure.
But I left that group because, for me, it's all about the writing. I do not hang with people who attack me like that. It's demeaning and disrespectful, and it forced me to recover personally and emotionally, rather than allowing me to focus on the writing. So that's the line I draw: When a workshop helps my writing, green light; when it inhibits or harms my writing, red, red, red.
Very wise, Joan, to step away instead of continuing to endure. Your raving colleague is more to be pitied, I think. A good workshop should be about encouragement (which is not anywhere near the same as deluding the writer with false praise), and not a tour through the gulag with a final stop at the gallows. A crushed spirit has never done anything to improve anything, especially writing.
I feel pretty confident in my essays, but, yeah, I feel a lot more vulnerable with fiction.
I used to avoid fiction because I thought it was too revealing. That people would read something about me into it. The older I get, though, the less I care about that. But because of that feeling in my youth, I’m now trying my hand at it and it’s as you’d expect a novice work to be. Rough. It doesn’t help that I studied literature, so I’m well aware of it being bad, but I have to just keep at it until it sucks less.
Exactly. I have spent two weeks writing the same opening page over and over. I think the issue for me is that while writing it I am seeing what I already see…and next day I suddenly see it as the jumble a reader would see. Start again! Maybe it’s something like running or becoming a good tennis or basketball player: just keep practicing, honing, rethinking, bringing back beginner’s mind.
Have you considered the possibility, David, that after two weeks of trying that maybe the story is telling you that it doesn't start where you think it does? That maybe it's trying to nudge you elsewhere? Sometimes putting it away, absolutely out of sight & mind for as long as you can stand, then coming back to it will tell you how to proceed. I believe that while away from the problem the back of the mind continues to chew & churn & will eventually give up the answer, if we can stand the wait. I dunno, maybe that's not true for your case, but it's been my experience. Updike spoke of his stories coming on what he called the "first flowing" & I think that's what he meant---it comes as it comes, if only we let it. Lynda Barry is another one for letting the story come: following it like a water skier behind a speed boat, to paraphrase her, rather than a tug dragging the thing upriver.
You might be right. I used to write at the speed of light, but lately at the speed of slug. However this story is a new version of something I tried to do several times previously. Finally now I am starting in media res. And I think I am realizing how much I tend to overwrite. Looking at keeping only the words that are necessary for high flow. Trying, at the the speed of slug, to attain Warp 9. (But thank you, I will consider other options!)
I spent the past hour watching five ravens busy in the yard. The four juveniles pick up random bits of leaf and seeds and seem to show them to the workshop leader/ uh, sorry, the parent raven for approval. He nods, or not, and hops away and they all hop after him. One raven in particular wants his attention always. Periodically, parent raven pounces on him/her and she rolls on her side and submits to a pecking. Parent hops away, juvenile gets up and gathers her papers/I mean leaf, and follows. Yes, they are learning, but, oh my, at what cost?
To be fair, I have never been pecked by a workshop instructor, I just had to keep to the integrity of my raven metaphor. Fellow feathered friends? yes. My own conclusion is to ignore the student critiques, and value the leader. But I'm sure it depends on the group. I too have made valuable friendships in workshops, but if I took the criticism of fellow students of my own work to heart, I wouldn't be writing this comment today.
I have to keep reminding myself that most of us can only see what we can see, or understand what we already have learned to understand. I take comfort that if one person hates something I wrote, eventually someone else, with a completely different perspective, found it funny, or healing.
I don't make changes unless a reader's comment really hits home. If I read that someone had a hard time getting into a piece, I reread and if I think, yes! Then well and good. If I don't respond that way, I ignore it. We all read differently almost every day!
And there’s another recent one about animals and senses called Sentient. I hear about a lot of interesting books driving home late at night from work, catching the BBC. Sometimes I remember to write them down!
It’s only been in the last few years or so that I’ve slowed down enough to find wisdom, peace and delight in nature. I talk to the neighborhood birds when I walk my dogs. And even the pigeons that fly across my patio. They are familiar friends.
Back in 1972 :-), my first writing assignment for a Structure and Style workshop class was
to write a page of dialog based on reading stories from "In Our Time" by Ernest Hemmingway
and "Red Calvary" by Isaac Babel.
On the back of the typed page I was handing in, I quickly added a hand-written note saying
that my writing seemed stale and unoriginal, like something out of a dime-store novel.
When I got my paper back, the instructor had written: ‘Pay attention to the voice you used in your note. It sounds genuine.’ Her insight stayed with me and I still remember how I felt
when I wrote my note – wanting to give expression to something that I didn’t fully understand.
What a great story, Charlie, thank you! I was just feeling stymied, and picked up In Our Time for a minute and it was so nice—clean prose and dialog dripping with subtext. Very refreshing! On to Isaac!
Ha. Maybe you've put your finger on quite a big notion Charlie? Maybe its those 'some' things that have in our minds from time to time that account for the way we are now? Each of use a unique character, often sometimes finding ourselves smiling wryly at the way things and we have turned out?
Thanks Rob. Yes, I agree. Achieving some acceptance provides meaning in life. Learning to recognize those original impulses when they arise is important. What's also important is what I'm trying to learn here -- nurturing them and forming them into story, which is hard work that I don't always want to do.
What we're all trying to learn here, I think, Charlie. What's more what I've felt about being in Story Club that although George has 'done it' (as in written fiction and found publishing outlets, many times over) he's still here trying not just to be the sage on the stage or to be the guide on the side but trying to learn along with us. He's the very model of fine higher educator in my book, because he - like other outstanding writers - like us has doubts when he sits down and faces up to the challenge, and the fears, of making word marks on another pristine page.
I agree with everything you said especially about the doubts and fears.
George has thrown back the curtain on how to write a story in ways unlike any teacher I've known. He believes and encourages our belief that reading and creating stories is important and worthwhile.
He's created a place for people like you and me to come and share our own discoveries, difficulties, cares and concerns. I am grateful to George and the other people here for that.
I'm sure George in his wisdom knows all this, but taking this opportunity to write this down is important to my own journey as a writer. Thanks!
This is off-topic, but I was hoping that since it is "Office Hours" day that people might be willing to share their thoughts. This morning I got a rejection letter. I believe the story came into existence about a year ago, maybe over a year ago. I revised it, sent it to an online critique group, despaired over the critiques and let it sit for months, then pulled it back out and worked on it some more. It was at the magazine for two days (not even, really. I think I emailed it to them Tuesday night). So getting rejected so quickly was quite disappointing.
The rejection was not all bad. The editor said she enjoyed my imagery and worldbuilding and "graceful use of point of view and voice" (no editor has ever said anything complementary about my voice before), but wanted a stronger character arc. So I suppose I do need to look at the positives. Here's my question for George and everyone else though: what's your next action step after rejection? My gut says revise before sending it out to a new magazine, but my gut also says the rejection hurts more because this is all I've got that was even close to ready to go out the door. I also have belonged to writers communities where the attitude is that all editors have different tastes so there's no need to fix a story before sending it out again. On the one hand, that feels like a cop out, but on the other hand it feels exhausting to have poured so much love into this one piece. I suppose I need to really work on something else before coming back to this one, but I would really love to hear what George and everyone else does when faced with rejection.
I said earlier in a response to another post, that we should review rejections more positively because it means we did the work and put ourselves out there. That said, yeah, you should send it other places and see how different people with different perspectives see your work.
If you get consistent rejections, go back and rework it. We know rejections are part of the process. We should start wearing them as badges. You know who doesn’t get rejection letters? People that don’t submit work. People that don’t put themselves out there.
Thank you! I guess the problem is trying to navigate the list of markets and the hope of reaching "the next level." This market - Beneath Ceaseless Skies - pays $0.08/word. There are two other markets (in my genre) I can think of that pay that much and are open all the time. For some of the other markets you have to hold on to your stuff until their ridiculously small submissions window is open (for instance, the one market that paid this much where I actually had a piece held for consideration is not open until November). Of course, there are other markets that are smaller out there, but you know, you want to shoot for the moon first. But even at the smaller levels, it's not too long until you get to unpaid markets. I was just really happy with this piece and thought it deserved to earn more than $20, which is what I was paid last time I was published.
I do agree that it's important what you said about getting rejection letters. I suppose the question is how many from the same piece? By which I mean, if a person gets, say 100 rejection letters (perhaps their goal for the year is to get rejected 100 times), how many stories does that usually represent? Despite my frustrations yesterday, I got myself to sit down and begin the second draft of another story. I only got through one manuscript page! (I think I worry too much over making changes instead of just pushing my intuition to do it and see what it looks like in the next draft.) This is probably another argument in your favor, but I am a slow, slow reviser. It's odd - I can write 1000 words in a day and not have it come out terrible, but I seem to actually revise slower, which when you are thinking of doing many drafts, feels like the story won't ever be done.
I feel you in so much of this. A first draft is so much easier and faster than the revising process. It often even takes me a bit to get back to it because my first feeling is that I just want it to be done. But maybe it’s not bad for me to have some space from it before revising.
The worst is submitting to contests with a submission fee. Contests can be a good way to get noticed, get feedback and get your foot in the door. But the cost adds up and the odds are rarely good.
Sorry to hijack this thread, but it's a really interesting discussion. I don't think you should beat yourself up about being a slow reviser. Revising is *hard*, and it requires a lot of thinking time to do it well. I have a full time job so I consider myself to be doing well if I write a couple of stories in a year.
Also - writing short stories really doesn't pay well these days. I was paid $5 for the first story I got published and an evening's worth of free drinks for my second (maybe worth about $15 - I live in London...). So $20, while a terrible hourly rate, is not bad for a first story, I'd say. I was thinking also that aiming for publications that pay less is probably a sensible starting point, then you can work upwards as you gain confidence and recognition. But we should all try not to sell ourselves short - publications should pay good money for good work. I refuse to pitch to those that don't pay at all.
Promise the $20 story isn't my first, but I am happy to hear you say that. Although now that I'm thinking about it the pay might have been $10 instead. I've had two stories published with that magazine, and then one published on some editor's blog for free. There was also a story I had published for a couple of bucks ages ago, but that really was a bad experience because the editor bought it and then made a ton of changes without asking, which killed my confidence for years.
For me, I keep putting writing on hold to teach, but it's summer now and the kids have other things to do, so I'm trying to revise in between the video games and reading (adulthood never worked out too well for me). My hope was to build up enough momentum to keep it going through the teaching year. Although I've been back and forth between pushing myself to do stories and trying to get a novel ready for self-publication (because it's shorter than the industry standard) so the story volume is low. And when I say "back and forth" I refer to worrying rather than working. But this was a big deal because it's the first time I've sent something out in just about a year.
I just got one too. The very short piece had been out to this group for 8 months. I'd almost forgotten it, it wasn't one that I have written, lived, agonized over. I read the readers' responses (rare to get that these days), and I - agreed 1000% percent. All three readers said in different ways, this writer writes well but the story lacks focus. I read it and cheered! That was the very thing it was missing! and I wrote back to thank the readers and ask if I rewrote, would the group consider the piece again. The answer was Yes! They like it when a writer reworks a piece thanks to good feedback.
it's great that a comment about 'lacking focus' spoke to you and that you were happy with it and knew where to go. I'm guessing some writers would need more--would need to be told what that meant and where in the piece the focus was lacking. Some people do well with suggestions that magically speak to them, though. I had an editor once who drew an arrow to a section of my story and wrote "go deeper here." That was exactly perfect for me at that time--i got what she meant and worked on deepening that moment.
Focus. Well, the three readers liked much the same things - basically the framework and the voice. All were confused by the inside, some this and some that. I know I lack focus. Often, I get so wound up with the complexities of people, I forget the thread. And in a 1500 word piece, thread is about the only thing that carries a reader through, I think. I used to have a terrible time if someone asked, what's your story about? It's about messy people! But there was, to my surprise, always a thread hidden in it, and the sooner I find it, the sooner I can hack a path through the undergrowth. Eons ago, a magazine editor sent a story back, wanting "more." "More what?" Didn't get a real answer. I didn't know what to do and never got that story taken. Maybe I should dig it out and see what I can do today.
That's wonderful! What kind of group was it? The magazines I submit to won't consider unsolicited rewrites, so if you're rejected it's a one-shot thing. I also agree with Mary below, it's great that you knew what to do with that. I wouldn't have. Hope you're getting plenty of time to do the rewrite!
Jason, I can only offer my own insight on this, so please consider it as only one person's input. If you already had a trusted critique group's eyes on the completed piece (and I'm not clear if that was only before editing), then one rejection is not the place to begin re-assessing. Rejections are coming up like flowers these days for everyone, so gather them as accomplishments all their own, because submitting work is hard, and keep planting those seeds of opportunity. You've gotta keep submitting first.
So much of editing is learning to know (in the quiet, still, honest moment) when your story is pleased with your rendering, not just what individual readers, especially publishers with deep submission piles, are feeling and needing one moment to the next. Submitting gets so much easier the more you do it. I think it is wonderful that you got back some personalized feedback, and that it was so favorable. Keep going. You can reassess after the next 25 rejections. (I just pulled that number out of nothingness, and tomorrow might choose a different one.)
Thank you! I responded more to Lanie, but I really appreciate your thoughts. I thought your statement about editing was really nice. It's the part I'm still getting used to. I used to use a revision course, complete with general overarching questions to answer and a scene-by-scene plan for a revision, rather than using George's line-by-line intuition method. I was never happy with the results I got from the course, which insisted that once you were good enough a piece only needed one revision, so I am pushing myself to use George's. (The other issue was that the course seemed only designed for the very traditional story, and fantasy/sci-fi authors are willing to do some very interesting things with form, like encyclopedia entries, that don't fit the course.) The thing is how slow the revision is, so at the moment I only have one piece that I feel (felt, maybe) was ready to go out the door.
It sounds like you're off and running, Jason, so congratulations. Writers all around me are struggling with this balance of editing and submission, recognizing completion and also being willing to rescind that declaration. Whatever you decide to do from one moment to the next, just keep writing more than everything else combined. It's like trying to steer a bicycle that's moving vs not moving, and it's better to find the routine that works for you, not necessarily someone else.
Being online is a potential toxin to the part of us that connects with our writing. The business end of things can be like that, too, necessary as it is. Just keep the ratio low, especially if you're still breaking in. If it helps to know, I've got an ok-ish routine for myself now, but I've learned that if I find myself struggling I can nearly always trace the problem back to a once-more cluttered or distracted mind, and then my Rx is ever the same: be near trees and water long enough to remember myself and then go get writing again on my schedule, in my routine. Best wishes to you!
Jason - firstly, congrats on the rejection! I know it hurts but it means you're putting your work out there, and if the editor took the time to give considered feedback, it sounds like you're getting close to an acceptance.
Personally I would use this opportunity to revisit the piece and see if you can make any enhancements. My own experience is that stories need a lot of refinement to reach that 'good enough' point that opens the door to publication. I'm not sure it's possible to overwork a story, provided you're always listening to your inner voice on whether each sentence is pulling its weight.
But it is also true that different stories will speak to different editors, and some publications may be a better fit for your story than others. I would suggest a round of revisions so your story is even stronger, a round of research to find an ideal publication, then send it out again. And take heart from being close - even if this story doesn't make it, it implies one you write will be accepted soon.
Thanks! I actually do read the magazine I submitted to, which makes it all the more frustrating because it felt like the closest fit out of the magazines that pay "pro" rates (in the past, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America used to designate a magazine paying $0.08/word or higher as pro rate, though it looks like they've removed that requirement in favor of a career earnings model to incorporate the age of self-publishing). It's not the only pro-rate magazine I can think of, but I can't think of more than five. I guess I was hoping to get out of the token payment range and shooting for the moon.
Yeah that's fair - kudos for not being willing to accept token payments. Like I say, it sounds like you're not too far off getting accepted by the magazine, so maybe you should pitch the current version of your story elsewhere and then begin a new project. I always have this fear of new projects that they'll fall short of my recent best work, but they usually end up showing some kind of improvement.
While I was having breakfast this morning, I went back and reread some passages from The Writer's Portable Mentor by Priscilla Long. The parts on Daily Writing, Sending Your Work Out, and Productivity felt like just what I needed. You might like the book too.
Rejection sucks. Always. For everyone. I'm wondering how many times you have re-worked and revised this one story. Maybe you don't want to work on it anymore. Maybe you feel very strongly that it is your best work, a finished piece. If so, then send it out again!
"A stronger character arc" says to me that the editor felt the story structure wasn't working. It sounds like you have a very nice writing voice, but that the story itself is lacking some crucial element (for that editor). Did the members of your writing group think it needed help in terms of story structure/character arc? Maybe you could ask yourself questions about story structure to see what may be missing or what may need to be strengthened.
It IS exhausting to revise, revise, revise. Working on something else and then coming back to this piece with fresh eyes sounds like a good idea that you have already thought of!
Thank you, I do! In terms of that essay, it seems that what I might do when I'm ready to revise is to look more deeply into who the protagonist is at the beginning of the story and try to clarify the limitations in her personality, then see how the events of the story give her a way to grow beyond them. Hopefully without chucking too much of the text that's already there...
This does bring to mind the way I've been considering George's method of revision. I think it's a question of how to step back at some point (perhaps not right away) and look at the entire whole of a story without then imposing a straight jacket on it. I have used methods of revision before where you basically plan - ask yourself pointed questions about the story (I have a list, but I paid for it so I really can't share), but I always felt like I was trying too hard to steer the story a certain way and the result was still something less than what I was hoping for. There are a lot of elements in this story that came as a result of George's method that wouldn't have happened if I'd been too formal about conducting the revision. But I've also questioned how one deals with questions like these: plot, character arc, etc. when one is mostly asking oneself whether or not they like the sentence they just read. Maybe I'm misunderstanding George, but I would like to hear people's thoughts about how the micro and macro interact with each other.
Most of my rejections are boiler plate emails. So I think getting a rejection that is specific to your submission is a really positive thing. Maybe send them a thank you note for reading and commenting on your work and also asking the editor if they would be interested in a revised version. If you have something else ready, I would submit that to the magazine as well. I would send your original story out again while you think about whether or not to revise it.
What workshop is best for, in my opinion, is tricking you into learning how to better read and edit your own writing, by first doing it for your peers who, at the end of the day, act as reflections of your own writing.
I've been in one weekend workshop and I came out of it completely flattened, as by a steamroller equipped with spikes. I'm sure nobody intended that outcome for me.
It was the first airing of my first novel beyond my cosy critique group. It was... July 2017. The critiques were given by young and polished publishers' editors and agents and they were dismissive. Also maybe hungry.
Or maybe more honestly - I *felt* dismissed. I also I felt ageism in the room. Also my draft was not good.
It took me a long time to unsplat. Being hit upside the head (as I think Americans say) can be a wakeup call or it can send you spinning -- or both. Fortunately for me, it was both.
I like everything George says about specificity and useful feedback - he says it so goshdarn well. I can say in all modesty that I've given useful feedback to other writers for many years now, in that mode, and been acknowledged for same. It might be suggested that editing / critiquing is more my metiér than creative writing. But I'm not ready to go there, at least not yet--though I do find it a fruitful and enjoyable practice. Because if I don't finish this damn novel, I'll never see the end of it!
A friend turned me on to the 100 rejections goal. I love it. It changes your perspective on rejections. Every rejection also means that you worked, you wrote, you put yourself out there. It’s a celebration of doing the work. You know who doesn’t get rejected? Those who never put anything out there.
I know exactly what you mean by this, Jackie: "young and polished publishers' editors and agents and they were dismissive." I'm going to borrow that phrasing in my comment below.
Back in my book editor days, we had a fairly uniform way of writing editorial letters to our authors after they submitted the first draft of their books. First, we read, almost as if we had picked up the book at a store and were just going to devour the pages (sometimes this was easier than other times). Then we wait, as George mentioned, and stew and finally reread. Only afterward came the letter.
Without fail, we would always begin our editorial opus, which usually ran from 7-10 pages in total, on what we liked about the book. Specifically. Not, "that was a great read, I tore through the pages," but rather, "I loved how you introduced Sally on page ten with her just coming into the room like a tornado and blathering away." This "good news" was usually a fairly long paragraph or two. We're a soft bunch, us writers, and it's important for editors (or workshop members) to convey what worked in order to ease the blows of what is to follow....
The criticism--or, more generously, how to make this book great. We almost always started with a whole section focused strictly on the narrative. What kept it moving, where did it get hitched up, were there holes in the plot, etc. Then we moved onto the main characters: who was believable, who not, who was fully crafted, who basically a cardboard stand, and how/if the dynamics with the other principals felt real. Next came the writing itself: too much imagery, not enough, cadence of the sentences was too clipped or not varied enough, overwhelming description or dearth of it. And finally, we bore down on the page-by-page comments: (p. 18 - "we don't have a sense of place here"; p. 87, "this dialogue feels stilted.")...until we reached the end of the manuscript.
Now, not every workshop read can offer such detail, but proximity can be reached. When criticism was given with such specificity and thoughtfulness, a writer will typically appreciate it, and the work will be better for it. The intention was never for them to agree with every one of our points, but rather to urge them to consider giving certain parts of their work reconsideration--to make sure they intended what came off on the page.
That's my two cents as a new member here at The Story Club!
Rule s to any readers of my work. 1 I don't want to hear, I like, I don't like. So I ask for specifics, my my, that word again. 2 Where did it grab you? If it didn't grab you, never mind. 3 Where are there moments of lull or confusion. 4 Can you tell me in one or two lines what you think this story is "about." Or a one- or two-line precis.
Reading a story I've written aloud will always be a terrifying experience for me, so even the beginning of this question scared me haha I love George's process for reviewing a piece. That initial reaction may prove to be true, but sitting with it for a week and allowing your thoughts to process before giving feedback would absolutely help me to critique things and give solid, thoughtful advice to other writers. This made me want to sign up for another writing workshop immediately.
Poorly led writing workshops can be difficult for someone whose precious story was essentially dismissed or railed on by a snotty fellow student.
I’ve attended over a dozen WWs while in a MFA program and at summer conferences. At one of these summer workshops the teacher, Bob Shacochis, left the room as I was in mid air, explaining why this woman’s story needed to lose the first page and a half which listed the names of all the dogs of all the people in a small apartment complex. The story only had three pages for chrisakes. He came back with a shot of vodka for me. He said it’s good to relax.
Indeed.
Since then, I’m happy to say I’ve become quite good at leading workshops which pretty much follow George’s and Bob’s approach. The comments must be aimed at being helpful. I’ll take a pedantic bore aside at a break to give her a verbal shot of vodka. Relax, this is not a Mensa meeting, it’s a conversation, a helpful conversation among fellow writers…etc. etc.
On another note…
I’m convinced many classic short stories would not be highly appreciated in a WW. For example - from A Swim in the Pond in the Rain - Turgenev’s The Singers, would be criticized for taking so long describing the people at the pub. Pages and pages of what these men wore and not one of them seemed to matter to the story. As I read your after thoughts I went into recalcitrant snit mode. How can George tout this story as a masterpiece? What the hell?
I need a workshop. And since the topic this week is workshops, would anyone like to dip into the conversation about The Singers ?
George - if this story is one you will ask us to read, then just say so and we won’t go into it.
Great comment on Singers. I got bored through all the description and lost interest in the story. I also wondered why this was considered ok or even good. Had it not been in Georges book, I would have not read it through.
I'm fairly new to the craft of creative writing, and joined a workshop at A Public Space (apublicspace.org) in Brooklyn, right before lockdown. It went to zoom after about three in person sessions. I have to say how grateful I was to have had that group of writers (each of us submitting early drafts of a novel for critique) to hang out with virtually on those Wednesday nights when you could hear the ambulance sirens wailing all day and night, and were still afraid to go out, even to walk the dog. Since then I've joined a few other writing groups and read a bit more on the art of the writing and workshop (Ursula K. Le Guin's Steering the Craft was memorable) and my takeaway has been: "The reader is always right (even when they're wrong)" Which is to say, that I'm looking for honest responses to my work - and those responses can guide me in any number of ways (They hated a character (YAY!) or They hated a character (Oh NO!!).
One thing that drives me totally berserk is when a critique begins with a preamble stating all the wonderful things they say they saw in my writing. It usually sounds like, "You have such a marvelous facility with language and your writing is so compelling, blah blah blah...." Maybe I'm just lucky that the groups I've been in favor complements over criticisms, but this sort of thing absolutely makes my skin crawl (can you see the smile frozen on my face as I listen patiently and try to look appreciative). I'd just rather get down to business, please give me something useful I can write down for later.
I re-read it often, because I find my tendency as a critic is to try to re-write another persons work, which while being amusing for me, is not at all helpful to the person being critiqued. Elizabeth's idea of radical empathy is actually very commonsensical. Give feedback to help someone write the book *they* want to write, not the one you think *you* would write if it were your book.
I'm still reading all the responses here. So much to take in!
Hi Sadie. I read the Gaffney piece. I need to dig deeper into her website, I think. I'm not quite understanding how her view of critique works in the real world. I'd love to see an example of her comments on someone's story. I completely agree that we should never re-write someone's work and/or try to make it into something we would write. Absolutely. But in practice, what are some ways of approaching the work of others? (Also i love that you don't want to hear all the good stuff first, as readers are often instructed to do.)
Mary, I can think of one example where my response to a person's work in a workshop was not particularly empathetic. The writer in question was writing a book about a the unjust imprisonment of a person accused of a murder in his town. The sections of the book that I felt jumped off the page, were not about the crime, but about the writer's own life - and I got a bit carried away in pressing that he should be writing a memoir that tracks his obsession with the crime, instead of a book about the crime. Elizabeth shut me down pretty quickly. While my reaction was honest, it was not particularly helpful to him at this moment. She brought the convo back to what his specific goals were for the selection he had presented.
Thanks for this. Okay, so the writer asks for comments regarding their specific goals. That makes sense to me (and it's been discussed here in these threads--it's something I do for my brother when he asks me to read his work). I wonder what would have happened if you'd made your point without pressing it--if you'd said something like, "Have you ever considered making this into a memoir? Because I love the parts where you write about yourself and your obsessions." And then just left it at that. Would that have been acceptable? Because that sounds like a good comment to me, and not something to shut down.
Yes, I should have phrased it more like you suggest, except that apparently his first draft was in a non-fiction format, and now he was trying to fictionalize, and I think I had been told this. I still think he should go back and take another stab at the non-fiction version - but he (rightfully) needs to follow this train to the final destination before he can change lines. I think more to the point is that in these classes we often see writers of varying abilities and we all have to work through our own process to achieve our various goals. I had a friend in the same class, who completely ignored my request for specific feedback (on transitions during multiple timeline sequences) and all she wanted to talk about was the lack of continuity of the protagonist (who is shown at different ages). This is after I had explained that continuity was not something I was focussing on, and wouldn't be until I had finished getting all the story on the page. I wasn't hurt by her comments that my character didn't seem like the same person in the different timelines, it just wasn't helpful to me at the time (it might be later). All of this said, I think teaching, and being a good citizen in a class that involves critique, is a subjective activity and does require empathy to be done well.
Thank you, George. While this wasn’t the question I sent to you, it’s close, so this was very helpful. (My question concerned ways of critiquing others’ stories, but not as part of a workshop.) I do appreciate the idea of not making any immediate comments, and about marking places where more specificity would help. What this method doesn’t take into account, however, is reading a story that just does not work. (Dealing with specificity is more a question of style--word choice, sentence structure, rhythm, tone, being too wordy, etc,, while dealing with a story that doesn't "work" is a question of story in its purest sense.) I think, George (and I could of course be very wrong), that perhaps you are used to critiquing stories by only the best new writers, those who have shown their writing chops, those who have studied writing. I don’t know the last time you critiqued a story by a new writer. Commenting on the work of a new writer--someone who may not be used to getting critiques--can really be a minefield. (My question was about making comments for these types of writers.) It’s hard, sometimes, to know where to start. I understand “meeting a writer where they are,” but that can be hard, too. I have to remind myself that someone who wrote a story isn’t expecting it to run in the New Yorker. But I also have to respect their wish to write a story—something that works as a story. I find this very, very hard, and actually no longer teach fiction classes/workshops because I felt I sucked at this part of teaching. Which is a crucial part of teaching!
Let’s say someone (a new-ish writer) asks you to read a story and tell them what you think. Usually, that person wants you to say, wow, you can really write. Also, they want to hear that their story worked for you, that it moved you, that it’s ready to be sent out. When you can’t say any of these things, it’s painful. I don’t want to patronize others. I don’t want to pretend that they are onto something. I want to be kind and give them something to work with, something helpful. But, oh, man. Again—I may just not be cut out for this sort of thing.
I had a teacher once who suggested that we tell each other first what ‘worked for us,’ and then ‘what wasn’t working so well.’ At times I couldn’t find one thing that ‘worked’ for me. At times, I actually heard myself saying well you got it all down on paper and that’s a lot more than most people. New writers are so tender. I’ve had people cry in my workshops. I’ve been, basically, yelled at. (I have also been praised, I will admit to that—I’m not always terrible.)
All of it makes me lose sleep.
My son is a writer. He send me his stories. I use “insert comments” and just tell him exactly what I think needs to go, stay, change. I ask questions. I’m completely honest. He appreciates all of it. But he knows me, trusts me, and knows that I believe in him. Also, he can write. I love doing this for him. He’s one of the few people I can do this for successfully. My younger brother (also a writer) often sends me work in process. He only wants to know one thing: when did the story “drop” for me? Where did I feel myself pull way, get bored, feel like skimming? He very clearly does not want other comments. So I can do this successfully for him as well and enjoy it.
I’d love to know your advice as to what, exactly, to look for and comment on with a new writer and a story that is not very advanced. I hope this doesn’t sound terrible of me—it’s not like I’m an excellent writer who doesn’t need comments myself. But the beginning writer—this gives me trouble. I want to be kind and sometimes it is hard.
As far as writers groups and workshops—I do not like them at all. If people ask me (they really don’t very often), I tell them to look for two things: comments from the instructor. And comments that are repeated—such as if four people all say the ending didn’t work. That’s a pattern to pay attention to. Also, don’t bring in a new story or a work in progress. That’s a sure way to destroy your story. Really, don’t show anyone a work in progress ever.
Sorry so long. Thanks for reading.
When I was learning to teach at Univ of Kansas in a program called V-6, the director instructed us in critiquing newer (not “bad”) writers. He said, “there’s always something positive you can offer to the writer. Even if it’s just a single word - ‘you used THAT word right there SO well’” That approach makes you look for that which is good. And there is always more then one word that’s good. Sometimes students from the plains of Western Kansas, like elsewhere at the beginning of a term, their writing could be quite rough. But we strived everyday with the thought - anyone can learn to write. And that kept us going, kept us looking for those well-placed words.
Thank you for this, Lee. I often would look for the "one good thing," as you say here. But that often felt false to me. It seemed like complimenting something just to be complimenting. It could feel patronizing and not truthful. But then, I'm not sure I believe that anyone can learn to write. And--don't hate me--I think there is some bad writing out there. I mean, I've read published works I thought were poorly written. I think analyzing stories as we do here is really fun and interesting and that every once in a while we are going to find something here that contributes to our own writing in a positive way. But really, the only way to learn to write is by writing. And reading.
Reading this made me have one other thought. I was once told to think "what about this performance would you like to hear again next week?" So yes, I definitely felt as you did, not very truthful, saying things like "I love how carefully you counted those long notes," but then I came to realize that I would, in fact, like the student to continue doing this, even though most musicians would consider it the bare minimum. So I would guess the same would be true in writing: ask yourself what should remain in the next draft and compliment that.
The thing is, sometimes a story needs a complete rewrite. There may be a seed there, something wonderful that has the possibility to grow into a story. But you can't tell a writer to hold on only to that seed and let the rest go.
I would totally take "a seed that has a wonderful possibility to grow into a story" (wrapped up in the warm blanket of "this is just my personal opinion"). This may be just me, but I'd prefer honesty (especially from someone I trusted) over plugging away at something that might not be working.
Until they get it themselves... much like in counselling. The client has to see their own issue themselves. You might have seen it far earlier but they do, the change will be temporary.
I have recently had the same lesson with my first book. Now I am completely rewriting it and I feel excited by the change even though it means much more work. Before doing writing courses, I could not see the faults. I was too emotionally attached, but now. I can separate myself from it and know where it needs to be changed... which is pretty much all of it! But the seed remains.
Thank you for feedback notes too. VERY helpful. 🙂
Yes, this is so true. The writer has to see the issue and understand it. Gently pointing them in the direction of where their story needs help--harder for the writing instructor, I think! That emotional attachment that you mention....that's a minefield for the writing instructor. Tears are expected in a counseling session. When someone gets upset during a writing workshop, then everyone gets upset. Glad you liked the feedback notes. If i ever go back to teaching, I'll be using them myself!
I'm not sure if you've heard of Dean Wesley Smith (no need to look him up; he's a sci-fi writer with a no-nonsense attitude) but he would have no qualms about telling someone that. He actually says that one should never revise, only rewrite if you decide an idea shouldn't be let go. I don't agree with his stance on revision, I only bring it up because he's been telling people to just chuck a failed story and write something new based on the same idea and he's managed to get quite a following. There's probably a tactful way to say it, but I don't think all writers would be offended by what you're trying to say. (Not sure I said that clearly at all...)
oh my god, the writers I worked with would have stoned me.
But don't you have to say what, to you, that seed is? Maybe it is not the seed the writer meant or wants. I've done that. Written a story that was unfocused enough that readers provided focus that was waaaay off my intention. Sometimes, hearing this, I realize that my intention is off and I can go back and redirect, with the people and events in that piece. I wrote a story that takes place in a doctor's office. Readers didn't pick up on the beginning notes and the end chord, same key, so I realized that while I thought I was writing about X, I'd wandered. I do that kind of stuff less frequently now. I am doing a lot of pre-writing planning that I didn't do before. All very interesting, everyone's take on what helps us, isn't it?
I'm collecting some of your comments in a document. Also Mary's comments, and Diana Mullins and others because they're helpful, and I don't want to forget what you've shared. The teachers in this class are so generous with information!
Yes, you have to say what the seed is. If that surprises the writer, then....well, there's a lot for that writer to think about.
I agree with that. No better way to learn to write than to write. And read.
I struggled at first as well with the idea that pointing out the use of a single word seemed patronizing. And I was awfully critical as a first year or so teacher. Red pen maniac.
But I came to understand that students were all at different spots on their writing path when they arrived in class with me. So to praise a single well-placed word really could be a game-changer for a writer who struggles. And I’ve helped many weak (to be kind) writers become better, if not good, writers.
There are definitely many published books (and a god-awful amount of self-published books) that are not good writing.
I took my teaching cues from a graduate literature professor. He assigned so much reading that it was difficult to keep up. I asked him why at the end of the term. He said, “if you read the books, you gained from them. There’s a benefit in merely reading the books. There’s not much more I can do for you.”
I modeled my writing classes after his example. I gave students many opportunities to write. The ones who looked at the assignments as opportunities to learn, did. Writers learn by writing. Not by me standing in front of the class.
I’m chatty today. I shall stop. Ha!
What worked best for me as an instructor was when I gave writing exercises with specific goals in mind. That way, we could critique whether or not the writer had met the goals or not.
That has now been taken to an extreme in community college rubrics so much so that it degrades true evaluation and assessment. Points for name on the page, capitalized first letter. Title in title case etc. it’s an exercise in following instructions rather than in writing.
Not my cup o’ tea.
Yeah, that kind of rubric helps exactly no one.
You're so right Lee. 'Writing by Numbers sans the Vital Creative Quotient'
I studied writing and theatre. From the theatre world, I learned a whole set of useful phrases to say to an actor who had just stepped off a stage and just felt vulnerable. "That was amazing!" and the vicious, "You've never been better." And I've been on the other side as well, parsing the comments for some sense of ulterior meaning. My Dad, a former actor on Broadway and 60's TV, when he finally relented to seeing me on stage said, "You reminded me of a young Gary Cooper," and I've been trying ever since to understand whether he meant that as praise or it was simply the best he could muster at the moment. (The fact that he was a narcissist makes it even harder to parse because he never praised anyone else unless it somehow reflected back on him.)
I feel your reluctance to be anything but honest and helpful. Ambiguity is evil (in my view.) In writing, I want to know whether the reader was engaged and where they dropped out. I also want to know why they responded to something because sometimes they're right for the wrong reasons. I've changed stories that were praised for things I didn't intend. "That passage was so funny!"
But the one thing that writing workshops taught me is to pay more attention to my own responses to others' works. Go around the table enough with amateurs and you hear a lot of the pot calling the kettle black. Once I realized that projection was heavily involved in young writers, I started listening to myself and seeing if I had committed those sins in my work.
Yes on projection! I think about that a lot, throughout my life. (Comparing you to a young Gary Cooper sounds pretty good to me....)
That’s lovely!
This reminds me of what one of my piano professors used to say (jokingly): "So you played the right notes. What do you want, a medal?" And another professor said that sometimes your positive comment for the day might be "I love your shoes!"
Very interested to hear what George has to say. I don't have any great ideas myself, but I definitely hear you. Working with beginners in any field takes a special kind of person.
Hahahaha! OMG. In the theater, we used to joke about seeing an actor after a show that didn't work. You can just point and say "You! You! Come here and give me a hug!"
“You’ve done it again!”
An ability to find the ruby or sapphire in the compost, and pluck it out, I imagine.
Once, I was in a writing class where one of the students blew up at the teacher. The funny thing was, I saw it coming and the teacher did not. I took the class with my friend, she does hair, I'm an esthetician––we'd never taken a writing class outside of college...but we knew this particular student was going to be a problem, even just sitting next to her. Like bartenders, we've learned to "read" people who come into our beauty shops. I knew this particular person was ready to blow up, and so did my friend. I can't explain how we "know" things, but it comes with the territory of meeting and touching so many random people. There's a Korean word for that knowing, "nunchi." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nunchi
I felt bad for the teacher, though, he was not prepared for the tirade. Thankfully, the person who raged at the teacher dropped out of the class, and we could continue on with no drama. I'm friends with that writing instructor now, and glad I signed up for the class, but I always brace myself for the next person who will blow a fuse when getting feedback in those situations.
Rage seems to be the new cool defense against ever having to be vulnerable enough to actually learn something.
Right? It's an ego trip, too. It was uncomfortable. But there wasn't a way around it, she was going to do that (blow a fuse) no matter what. Beginning something is so scary. I've been in the same yoga class with the same teacher for 25 years, but my first day I was so terrible, so wobbly, the teacher told her husband, "I don't think that girl is ever coming back to class." Now we joke about it, those early days when I had no idea what I was doing. The struggle is a trip to humble town.
Every time I try to start a new story I think, there it is, I am the worst writer they ever was.
If it helps, I feel the same too, and it feels sort of ok to share that with you, from my point of view, though it's like a weird inversion of the 'World's Greatest Mum/Dad/Teacher' mug: how can these things be multiple?
I should have a coffee mug that says, WORLD’S WORST WRITER, to spur me on every morning.
God! I'm so glad you're here, David. You're so fantastic and fun to chat with. I just "know" you're a great writer, because you seem to care about other people, and there's no way that doesn't translate into caring about the reader. Negative voices suck. I have them. It really takes the joy out of life.
You’re far too kind, Stacya, but I appreciate it greatly. I thought I was a great writer at 14 when TIME Magazine published a letter I wrote them, but apparently I was only an egg. So much to learn!! A long road, but one well worth being on. I hope you can find a way to tamp or damp down the negative voices. They have plagued me also, all my life. Hmm, there’s a story in there…
i'm also a David Snider fan
Ego is such a snare. It just gets in our way.
'I can't explain how we "know" things, but it comes with the territory of meeting and touching so many random people. There's a Korean word for that knowing, "nunchi."
That is wonderful. My world just grew a little, and it also seems kinder and more full. Thank you.
It's just really interesting to learn something that feels simultaneously new and like it was always there.
nightmare!
Wait a minute, I don't think this is fair to your friend. Okay, she does hair, which doesn't rank high on status jobs, but she signed up for the class and wanted to learn. You don't say anything about Why she blew up; could it be that she was frustrated because she wasn't getting useful feedback that would help her correct her problems? Did your teacher not expect to ever have anyone who might get emotional and have ways to defuse the situation? This seems to put all the onus on your friend, when I think there's more of a possibility your teacher is at fault since they're the ones in charge of the situation and have to expect to deal with all possible situations. I feel sorry for your friend. She wanted to learn and was instead so frustrated she blew up and feels like she made a fool of herself. That's not a win for her and it's not a win for the class since her anger may have been based on some valid criticisms of your teacher's knowledge and methods. She sounds like she's the one with the most passion and who needed help the most and your teacher failed her, and it doesn't sound like you were much of a help either.
The friend (still my good friend, a wonderful writer and hairdresser) didn't blow up. My friend is the one who also knew the person next to us was going to blow a fuse. To clarify, we all had feedback from the teacher. This is always tough, but he's a nice guy, and wasn't a jerk to anyone. I was pointing out how we, two beauticians (you are right, we don't rank high on the status jobs, as you point out) predicted that this particular student was going to get defensive and angry about the feedback.
haven't been to an esthetician before so I can't really say, but the person who manages to do my hair ranks WAY UP THERE in status to me! Thank god for the people with the artistry and compassion who help people feel better about themselves.
Thankfully, all kinds of people take writing classes. I tend not to pay attention to status, but as subject matter I find class or class consciousness interesting, and I'm always drawn to reading about it, the ways we dodge the issue in this country, and love reading work by people who challenge us.
I am so interested by your comment, and half of me agrees. But I am Gemini - therefore there is an opposite side, which is saying 'But. So the story is not working for you. It might work for many others - in markets you might not frequent.' Thats what worries me - how do I give honest critique about a story's publishability (which is in the end what most want to hear - how close am I??) when the very term 'publishable' is SO wide? From The New Yorker, to ... add inf.
Yes, this is another problem to think about. Thank you for raising it. We have to always find the right teachers--the ones who speak to us, the ones we can hear. It's like finding a therapist, sort of. So you tell your students or workshop mates if the story works for YOU, and why. And then they can decide if they want to listen. You'll never be able to tell anyone whether or not a story is publishable, because who can know that? You can only tell them if their story works or not.
Yes. Love that about finding the right therapist. The one who can finally convince you to stop looking for therapists.
Yes, point taken - all 'publishable' can mean is 'I've read plenty worse than this, out there...it stands a chance.'
I do ask writers who come to me for tuition a couple of questions, before reading their work: 'What would you like the readers of your story to take away when they've finished it? What are you aiming for?' - then at least I have something to measure the words against. An imperfect science, all this.
But I also know that just as I can become creatively jaded, I can go through patches of teacherly 'flatness', if that makes sense. In a perfect world, I'd stop then, take a break. Not always possible though, is it?
I'm afraid publishability is not a question I'd ask many people! I have four stories one reader has said are "eminently publishable," and no one has published them. Publishability has a lot to do with the popularity of certain types of stories, certain subjects, certain voices. So I ask readers to tell me where this grabbed them, if it did, and the spots where attention wandered. If you want to, I say, you can tell me what you think the story is "about," but, boy is that all over the place with a lot of readers! I have a great reader. She doesn't get what I am doing on early drafts AT ALL! But she alerts me to lack of focus and wandering into byways. I will send her a piece and start reworking it immediately, reading with her in mind. Good help, that. Later, the finished story, she usually does get. And she has praised me for adding things that we there all along. Which means that for several drafts, I've buried them. And now have finally finally cut away the confusion and reached that silk thread. My advice to people who ask me to read is, I'll say what I think is going on, and tell you if and when the story grabbed me. But basically use any criticism to look again at what you have - maybe you need to cut and tailor. Maybe you need to add. Nobody really knows but you. Use readers to help you read the story again. And again.
If every editor has their own subjective criteria, not to mention all the other pressures on them, a given story’s publishability spectrum is not knowable. (I have to laugh about stories by famous authors being rejected when sent back out as pranks.) Skill has to connect with timing and luck, it appears. Which is why we must stay on top of our game, while submitting broadly. (Which sounds exhausting, no?) One moment at a time, as in opening a space for love, or for a child to thrive in. (Love that Gemini balancing act by the way!)
Writers are yes very delicate, even the tough ones. I have several readers and I always ask for what I want as a response, and it's always: 1. When does it grab you? (If never, I need to know that too.) 2. Can you tell me in one sentence what this story is about, to you? 3. If it grabbed you, where does it flag? 4. What link do you see between the first paragraph and the last?
Here’s one idea I try. “How does this piece connect with something fundamental about being human?” Often, even if the piece needs a lot of work we can affirm its impulse to connect with the reader. What is the conflict or longing beneath the piece?
Wonderful inquiries.
That's so wonderful that you are able to give your son feedback! Lots of people can't accept that from a parent, so you and your son must have a very special relationship. One question I've found helpful in a workshop is "what was your intention here?" (directed at a particular passage, not at the piece as a whole). If the writer can explain it, then you can comment on how the passage illuminates that intention (or doesn't), and at least you aren't completely at cross-purposes. And if the writer can't explain it, they will be forced to ask themselves some constructive questions.
oh that is very good. What was your intention here? Or, when critiquing, saying: This is what I believe your intention was in this story. Thank you. (And yes, I'm very lucky when it comes t my son. He reads my work, as well. For some reason, it works, and I'm so grateful to have story writing as common ground to share.)
Daddio, you need to take a chill pill.
(This is a joke, I am joking, I am not advocating taking drugs.)
So long, So rewarding. For the read, Mary. Thanks.
Here's the tuppence worth that happens to be crossing the dimmed stage of my so, oft, dimmed mind:
Each and every writers group and workshop is only, ever, as good as its collective openess to fresh thoughts from which new ideas roll out and, beat the one in ten - or poorer, chance that may make sense to 'significant others'.
I’m terrible at giving feedback too although thankfully I’m not a teacher! But, doing course, one of the requirements is to give feedback on student forums. I have problems understanding terminology and how to apply it so that also causes problems. I wish there were courses on how to give constructive feedback. I’d be the first one to sign up! Even a book would help!
these are some notes i have in my files that were helpful to me when i taught composition (but I see now that they would work for writing workshops as well--i didn't have them when I taught or was in workshops). I don't know where i got them from. Someone deserves credit for them, but i don't know who:
These are the hallmarks of a tactful, softer phrasing:
"possibly..."
"I felt ..."
"It didn't work for me when ..."
"I thought it would work better for me if..."
"I'm not sure but ..."
"Perhaps ..."
"It strikes me that ..."
"Maybe ..."
"I didn't care for ..."
"another idea might be..."
"you might consider...."
"have you thought about...."
Assume the author knows what they're doing. Assume any criticisms you make are because of your personal limitations as a reader, not their failings as a writer.
I'm not sure about this. I have never attended a writing group, but if any of these phrases were said to me I would be very on the alert that it was veiled criticism.
Yeah, I know. This is the problem--what to say and how to say it.
The best phrase I've found is "What if..." ~ I got this from poet Baron Wormser of Maine
Yes, that's a good one to add to the list! Thank you.
That is a good idea for a class or a book.
Since I used to be an elementary/middle school writing teacher I've have this odd, dichotomous responsibility for encouraging fledglings and also editing bold storytellers like my late father who could spin a yarn like a legend but then butchered most things he set to paper. Since Dad both needed and wanted to put things in print because he'd started a successful local magazine, and also had some great stories to share, he needed great gobs of editing, some of which he accepted.
When it comes to tender writers, though, I try to get their ideas into the air, get them just-started talking (like my pops), and hopefully stir them into a passion about what they're trying to convey, so eager to finish that when they are suddenly only allowed to then use their printed words to do so they're ready to write them all. Then come my rules: no sharing the story, aloud or written, until finished. And no critiques allowed afterwards from anyone unless and until asked, especially not parents. This is how to prevent a kid who hates to write. And unless someone's writing and writing and writing, and finishing, we never have anything to shape. So many valuable stories––and story writers––are ultimately lost to this self-guarded hesitancy. I think that's tragic.
Like you said, Mary, no new stories or in-progress stories. The easiest time to hear input on something is after we've had our say and the story has, also.
My mom is the same. She has these incredible, shocking and hilarious stories, but I asked her to write them and she self-edited the spark out of it. She can tell a good story, but can’t write one. So I started taping her in person or on calls. I’m hoping to write her stories while she is still here to tell them.
I did that very thing in a Senior Hospital. Many of the patients wanted to get their stories on paper for their families. So I taped and transcribed and helped them arrange their stories. Several were really old and were afraid of the tape recorder. In those days I had a reporter's memory ( developed by writing down conversations I overheard on the commuter train), so I'd listen listen listen, then go home and write what I heard. I'd take the typed version to the patient and read it aloud to them. It was a fantastic year and five of these fabulous old people came away with exactly what they wanted: a well-told story of their young lives to give their grandchildren. Most satisfying work I've ever done.
Oh my gosh, I love this. What a gift you gave them and their families.
I believe it!
That's a wonderful plan, Lanie. I hope that you do, and tell us where to find them, also.
I never wrote any of my father's stories while he was alive, but just edited his for print, mostly grammar. He didn't always listen to me on even the basics but that was some of his effective charm as a verbal storyteller. Then, though, he'd try to add my name to the bio and I had to insist that he (please, really) not do that because I certainly would have done things very differently if those stories were all my own!
I'd like to read those stories! It would be cool to hear the tapes, too, like a mixed media art installation.
This sounds like a great way to work with young writers. Giving others encouragement to put words on the page--what's better than that? (Of course, the workshop model is completely different, as the whole point is.....workshopping.)
Indeed. It's really important, then, that one understands the perils of engaging before they do, but do any of us really know how we'll handle a critique until we receive one? It's a rite of passage, that first time, especially. Now that you've described your critiquing style, Mary, I think a good writer is privileged to have you as a reader. (I'd sign up for one just knowing you're there.) I'll carry your advice to watch for repetition and patterns from readers so am glad for that wisdom here.
Thank you, Traci! The main thing I found during workshops (as far as my own work), is that the further away from my writing I was (in terms of time), the easier it was to handle outside comments. I'm far less attached to work that's been sitting for a while.
That feels wise. Innumerable are the pieces I began, showed too soon, and gave up on. Live and (hopefully) learn.
That’s so interesting, Mary. I was part of several writing groups a decade ago and, although I learned some things, ultimately found them to not be very helpful. It was discouraging to encounter what seemed like a pandemic of myopia. But I feel more encouraged lately!
I have a writing partner. We end going for walks, having coffee (outside) and talking about books, life, whatever. Sometimes we never talk about writing in our meetings. It somehow works better that way for us.
Sounds like the friendship part might be more important than the writing part, though I imagine it’s all part of the same river.
Glad you are feeling encouraged. The workshop method works for some and doesn't for others. Probably there are workshops out there that produce good works and great friendships and that is wonderful.
Mary, I hear you and want to offer something useful. After many years running writing workshops, I found the work of Harvard Prof. Nancy Sommers 'Responding to Student Writers' who suggests the use of the "Dear Reader..." letter. In it, writers ask for pointed feedback on specific attributes of their pieces. This allows a student writer to self-assess based on criteria set by the student writer herself. This directs the responders to look for/analyze/critique only those attributes the writer is most interested in hearing about. I also recommend the use of a self-assessment inventory where students look for craft strategies themselves in their pieces.
Hi Diana. Thank you so much for this. I remember reading Nancy Sommer's work when I was in school (MA in Rhetoric and Composition), and I did take her strategies to heart when i taught courses in argumentative writing. Commenting and helping students revise their papers in those courses was, to me, much, much easier than commenting on fiction writing, as is done in fiction writing workshops or classes. The composition assignments told students exactly what was expected, the rubrics covered the basics of what was to be graded. Overall, I managed to help students craft better papers through the revision process. It was, mostly, very satisfying. I'm not sure, though, that such things would work in a fiction-based course--to have students self-assess based on their own criteria, but then again, I haven't tried. I mean, how do they know what they don't know (if that makes sense)? The writing workshops that you taught--were they fiction writing courses?
As a teacher of middle school, high school, and undergraduates, I taught all genres over the course of the year beginning with poetry, then fictional short stories, expository ('how to...') and analytical essays (response to literature). We created self-assessment inventories together for each assignment based on the craft strategies taught in my lessons. All genres have certain things in common: embodied narrative voice, logical flow (organization), descriptive power (figurative language), etc. The purpose and audience of each piece-by-genre changes, but not the attributes that make for good writing. Make sense? ~ and then peer-response is directed according to what individual writers want most to hear about after doing their own self-assessment.
Sounds like this works really well for you. When I taught argumentative writing, I did similar things--self assessments based on certain writing strategies, and (as I've said) making expectations clear and then looking to see if those expectations were met through rubrics, comments, assessments, and discussion. I'm not sure I could teach fiction writing this way, but I'd have to think about it more. It would work, I think, when doing exercises of some sort. Like a description exercise where parameters are set forth in advance. Then, you could see if the writer completed the exercise correctly (and so could the writer). The "attributes for good writing" that you mention--some of these can't be described when talking about fiction. At least, I can't describe them. Writing fiction is magical, really. It can't be created with the mind (you know what i mean). It has to come from a deeper place where conscious thinking isn't available. The only thing I can think of is to present a list of questions that speak to a conventional story and then have students ask them of their own work. Things like: Do events eventually rise into a crisis moment? Is that crisis moment depicted? Does the main character have to make a character-defining choice? Do we see that choice in action? I could see, perhaps, providing a list of questions (such as those) and then having the students look at them before and after writing. That might lead to some not-so-good stories (created not by dreaming but by thinking), but at least there would be something there to look at and assess. All of this that I'm talking about would be for beginning writers, though. Most workshops I'd be involved in now would be made up of people who already write and who bring their stories in, looking for help. Commenting on their tender stories without ruining their passion or desire--that's what I would like to be able to do. Thanks for the discussion. Lots to think about. (Come to think of it, a list of questions for writers who bring in a completed story isn't a terrible idea. It just won't work for all stories, though, because not all stories are conventional.)
Mary, I agree that reader commentary must strive to encourage passion in the writer. I've studied/done research on this very topic in my doctoral program and learned the methods that seem to effectively accomplish this goal. One is using mentor texts (as George does) in order to notice what strategic fiction writers do. When we identify 'moves' a writer makes we can then try out those same moves in our own writing: symbolism and repeating motifs; circular patterns or call-backs; point of view; complex villains; power dynamics; vivid descriptions; etc. When we dive into a finished piece of writing that we love and analyze it, we can discover some of the attributes that we love and wonder how we might mimic the process-moves that an author made when writing/revising our own stories.
I agree that there is a spectrum we find ourselves on: magically generative and mysteriously creative writing on the one end (the heart and soul-sub/un conscious as David Snider says); and conscious striving to accomplish a particular strategic move on the other (the logical mind). We can be at all places along the spectrum while writing/revising. I believe that access to the total spectrum is what good teachers support while teaching writing!
When analyzing a piece of fiction (or poetry ~ or any imaginative moment in any piece of writing) written by others AND ourselves, the discussion with peers/teachers can be inquiry-based and driven by open-ended questions, i.e., 'Why is this your favorite moment/line?' - 'How do feel when the character does/says x?' - 'Where in the piece do you first feel that you must read to the end without stopping to do anything else?' - 'Graph your engagement (high, med, low) with each paragraph and note the reasons' - 'Where are you confused?' - 'If you could ask the author a question, what would it be?' - 'If you could tell your readers what your story is about in a few sentences, what would you say?'
Research has shown that most teachers of reading/writing ask closed-ended questions (those that require a yes/no answer). These classrooms are not supportive of creativity because they model evaluation and summary instead of contiguity (connecting thoughts and making associations). When we focus on what the author most wants to accomplish and then help them achieve their authorial intention (as shown by the reader response) the workshop emphasizes how to achieve clarity all its forms ~ the goal is to communicate what we most want to communicate.
When the students leave my classroom, I want them to learn from every text they will read over the course of their lives. I try to instill the importance of learning more about how to become a strategic writer with their own goals that change over time, but goals that they are capable of setting for themselves. This is where the self-assessments serve them best. Each writer chooses what they most want to accomplish and then after each revision, they see how well they believe they have accomplished their goals according to the 'moves' they've made. Then, they write a 'Dear Reader...' letter that invites peers/teacher to weigh-in on those same 'moves.'
I would be interested in continuing the conversation with you and sharing materials if you/others here would like to do so.
Hello.. I'm just now reading this conversation. As a writing teacher, it interests and intrigues me as well. But as far as assessment goes, it's one thing to treat assessment in a classroom of expository writing and quite another when dealing with fiction. The magic of fiction just doesn't boil down like other writing. Even if we can identify that all stories have rising action, pulses, and a climax, and strategies to keep a reader's attention, it seems multivariable in fiction far more than in other kinds of writing. Just as George at one point imitated Hemingway, and many others are imitating George, you can analyze their stories and copy and try to do the same thing, but a writer won't have the same success. There's one Hemingway, and many lesser imitations, and there's one George Saunders, and many lesser imitations, even following strict rules of "this is how you write a story like this." There still is that magic of break this rule, break that rule, extend this pulse, blunt this pulse, expand this description, keep description here at a minimum. The variables are so minute that they can't be taught by rubric. I definitely think you can teach broad brush-strokes for story writing, of course. If story writing couldn't be taught, we'd not have the institutional authority of MFA programs that we do. But I think most of the learning is at the writer's desk late at night, figuring out how to be herself.
If I'm speaking out of turn, forgive me. I'm going to go back and follow the conversation more closely again. I love this kind of discussion, and I'm always looking for strategies for teaching writing - other than mashing creativity into confining rubrics and patterns.
I like the way you and Mary are honing in on this, kind of distilling your own criteria into the mix that George laid out. It’s complicated, I think, in that each story is kind of an energetic microcosm of the universe. So much to learn; so much to look at!
Diana, you must be a fabulous instructor. I've definitely done some of what you say here. I've taught classes where we've looked at published stories, analyzed them, and then imitated some part(s) of what we find there. I don't teach anymore, and I probably will not teach again. My main question here in these threads is not really about teaching. It's about reading someone's story and then telling them what I think. Over the years, I've had people ask me if I'll read something they've written (a completed story, to their mind) and tell them what I think. I'll say, what kind of comments are you looking for? And they'll say, well, let me know if you like it, if it needs work, if it's done, etc.... And then I'll read the story and think, oh dear, this story really needs a rewrite. Or I'll think, this piece is a mess. Or I'll have any sorts of private thoughts that I won't print here! And then I'll be....oh, wow, what am I gonna say?? I'd like to know how to be the kind of reader who can respond kindly and honestly without completely bursting anyone's bubble of hope. (I've written so much in these threads by now that i'm losing track of what i'm asking for--but i think this is it here. I want to know how to read a bad story that doesn't work and make constructive comments. And I really do think that some stories are bad--sorry if that sound cruel.) This type of exchange isn't about self-assessment rubrics or letters. It's just person to person. And often I'm at a total loss about someone else's story. I'll have no idea what to say or where to start. Because of this, I usually don't read other people's stories any more. It's too painful and hard. So that's what I'm asking people here and George. If you read a story that really needs to go in the wastebasket, how do you tell a tender writer that? How do you comment on work that needs so much work? In my case, I just don't go there anymore. (Mostly. You know who you are!)
Is there movement in the story—and in the reader? Would this story invite a reader to feel or think differently, after reading it? Is there a catharsis of sorts?
I like that idea of a story coming from a place deeper than the conscious mind. Is it coming from the heart? Or from the subconscious, or unconscious, or from both? Is it coming from the soul? Or from the entire chain of being? From mind, body, emotion and connection?
Questionable questing…
David, see my newest reply (7-16-22) to Mary above.
That is so compelling, thank you!
Are you talking about workshops or feedback in general?
I'm sorry--this comment (from you, Sarah) has fallen way down the physical page here on my computer screen and I can't tell which comment it is in reference to. Or even if it is a question for me.
I was responding to your initial comment about what kind of feedback to provide beginning writers, whether this was general comments of the type you'd give after reading and reviewing a story or whether you're referring to a workshop situation.
I suppose I meant both situations. I've been a workshop instructor and have also been a member of a workshop (as a student--and with another person as the teacher/leader). In both cases, I've been stymied as to how to respond to writing that needs a lot of work. It was especially hard, though, when I was the instructor, because I really wanted to be encouraging. And sometimes I found that hard to do. I always wished I had some sort of go-to words or some guidelines for how best to respond to new writers. I'd often really wrack my brain, trying to respond adequately, kindly, helpfully. As I've said here already, i lost a lot of sleep over it.
It is hard. Like you, I've sat in both seats, as facilitator and student, and it's not easy either way. So much dread--I used to stack the papers on my kitchen table and do a minuet -- forward/back--until I got down to business. What helped me was what a much wiser mentor once said and something I used to pass along to students: drafts are messy and imperfect and they should be because writing is a process. It's hard and it's not easily conquerable in a semester-long class. One of my course requirements used to be a minimum of three drafts of a story or essay and I adjusted my rubrics accordingly, going from the very general aspects of fiction, say--structure, character and point of view-- and then looking at how each of them improved on these aspects in subsequent drafts. So while the standards that I used were hallmarks of an effective short story, I was looking for how the student had improved from draft to draft. And they usually did, even the most hopeless ones, if they're doing their work.
That's a great method. I didn't teach fiction at a college/university. Just at my kitchen table, as part of a small company that hired published writers as teachers. I guess I thought, well, i've been published, I can teach. ha! I was professional in my approach, but still there was an easy-goingness about things (as opposed to using rubrics, etc.). Looking back, I really didn't know what I was doing. I wanted so badly to be a good teacher. I think if I went back to it now, perhaps I'd feel better about things and have more tools at my disposal. My students were all over the place in terms of story making. Some were already quite good. Some had no idea what a story was. But I think if I'd started out with something general--like, this class is about story structure and so that's what we will look at in each story--that would have helped. (As I write this, I remember how close we all became, my students and I. And we hung together for several years. So i must have been doing something right. I'm my own worst enemy, i think, always remembering the worst of myself and not the good stuff. Be nicer to yourself, mary g.!)
The meta-specificity of this post is so helpful I'll want to share it in workshops going forward before diving in again. In the past, I've experienced workshops akin to some of the psych or spiritual groups in which I've participated: a real (hazardarous/helpful) opportunity for me to view myself and my writing voice from a distance, as well as to view the experience of story––feeling it, thinking it, writing it, reading it, hearing it reflected through others' experiences––as an opportunity to dig deeper into myself and also into bigger questions and issues. It's easy, then, to dig so deep soometimes that I lose the story which drove and delighted me in the first place.
This post causes me, though, to want to join up with others again in an authentic, intentional group with current work. Specifically, though, I'm carrying out these two lines in my brain folds now: "So: the more specific the critique, the less empty, hurtful judgment there will be in it", and "The main thing, in my view, is to continually be introducing the limitations of the format as part of the class itself."
The thing that often breaks my heart is to hear how dependent others are on any analysis from others, and I just want to rush to them/you/my younger self and say, "Be fierce! Your story needs your courage." We can always change our minds about a thing, but now I try to be tougher to move than that origin of my story is, the tender thing.
Ferocious courage. And I liked how George said something like, once you’re done with the workshops, it’s time to pursue your own vision, possibly defiantly.
If the criticism strikes a vibrating cord in you, by all means, listen to it. If you say: Wait. I wasn't trying for x, y, or z. Then get other opinions. You can have 15 readers and get 15 different takes on your work. Eventually you want a minor concensus: "this piece is about x. I got a, to , b, to c, then there is a funny gap. .., but eventually I got to x. Do you need h through w? And so on. It's your story. If you need h - w, and this reader "got" your story, then work on making those sections sing. I have a story I've reworked for more than a year. Only one reader "got" it in all this time, until I went in after an enforced delay and focused. Focus is my problem, not a doubt! Meanwhile, I have learned that some readers aint gonna get it no matter what. You learn to tell the difference. Most of the time.
This is where I think of what Mary wrote about paying attention to the patterns of feedback because yeah (I say) it's worth honing things for maximum impact but sometimes too easy to be swayed by an outlier.
Wow-up there Tracie.
'The meta-specificity of this post is so helpful I'll want to share it in workshops going forward before diving in again.'
Do not proceed. Rather please, please, unpack the density of this sentence for me? It sounds good, it really does, but I'm clueless as to what this word string means.
So, please I'm asking, gently unpack and enlighten me Tracie?
I don't know, Rob... I'll need you to be more specific.
You wrote the sentence Tracie. The ball, in this post Wimbledon week, is definitely in your court: if you don't know who can know what your opening sentence means, in general let alone specific terms.
BTW: if I'm just seeming 'dense', 'obtuse', 'awkward' or 'whatever' don't you - or anyone else - hesitate to point me towards the meaning of your opening sentence.
hey Rob. The post's "meta-specificity" speaks strongly to her. And so she wants to share the post with any future workshop participants (before she participates in the workshop itself). That's the best I can do! Hope it helps. (I'm not sure how best to explain "meta-specificity" but in this case I'll say it acknowledges an awareness of how specific this specific post is on specificity. George's post is very effective and specific in explaining the importance of being specific.... And now that i've written that, my mind will explode.) Over and out!
So, when I got to look in the cupboard, the cupboard wasn't bare, but the speaking sign on the S-word shelf said "So sorry, S-word shelf's shut Saturdays." 🙄
Sometimes Sundays start sundering on a subliminal, serendipitous, synchronistic slant.
Specifying specific species specificity sporadically until soporific spore
spectacular spew!
It might be here just to confuse you. I'm like that sometimes. :)
Sorry? Am I getting this right: you set out to confuse, sometimes?
Justify? You have, in my book, no right to waste your reader's time, on what strikes me as a mere capricious whim.
I repeat justify?
<backs away from convo quietly...>
I’ll be happy to critique with you, Traci.
I just followed your Substack, Lee, so I think you'll have a private email for me now, and perhaps David will do the same?
You both are welcome to contact me anytime:
canyonwrenvibes@gmail.com
I just want to say I love your email address.
Thank you! Do you know that birdsong, of pure sonic joy?
I do and it is one glorious burst of song.
Fantastic. Glad to know you both, Traci and David, and look forward to some emails.
Likewise! I might let the two of you take the lead to begin with. We just moved, and I have some work to do before I have everything set up desktop-wise (I am working on something with pen and paper in the interim. And, I have a highly energetic four year old on my hands!) It might be nice to focus on one piece at a time to start with. I like the way George laid out ideas for helpful feedback. (And the part in MVM’s post, “This is what I think the story is trying to do. This is what I think the character is trying to do.”) Anyway, we may want a few guidelines laid down, at least loosely, to encourage specificity in feedback / critique. Looking forward!!
Same here!
I don't get it about the workshops. Kafka said this about writing, “You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” In other words, you need a good intercourse with the muse, how can it happen in front of ten people and a father-instructor??
Such a beautiful quote! Ah, but even Kafka had Max Brod to read his work, encourage him, push him to publish, and to save all of his writing after his death (against his wishes! Kafka wanted all the unpublished work burned). Kafka had at least one person he entrusted with his words. Not quite the same as a workshop, I know, but I still think that when Kafka was done with his pages, he did "leave the room," in a way.
I often think about a line from Stephen King's "On Writing," the one that goes, "Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open." Rewrite with the door open. I love that. Let the muse converse with the world, open your work to the possibility that what influence she brings back might improve it . . .
I agree, Minimeh. And I keep that same Kafka quote in my stash. That's one of the best things about writing, one of the reasons that I persist in doing it: it can be done alone, no committee necessary.
“A good intercourse with the muse.” That’s going on my wall, thank you. Now for some relaxing foreplay…
Haha, sure thing.
A good practice in general.
Minimeh, I think this quote is wonderful as it speaks to the creation phase of writing, for which there should be no interference. The accomplished writer, however, can benefit from the critiques of others who can be trusted. Some lucky people find this sort of benefit within a writers workshop. I'm guessing the high level of students in George's workshops at Syracuse give feedback that is helpful, both for the person giving it and the person receiving. Those students are most likely turning it finished stories, however.
Mary, I agree that for some folks it is probably beneficial in the beginning to see if what they write is 'any good'. My quibbling is about then what are editors for? First I check with the workshop peers and then I do it again with an actual editor?? I reckon there is an element of fear lurking in the background perchance the 'real' editor will reject it even without a comment! Therefore I say, write and spread it without fear. If any good, some editor will pick it up. If not, know that you are not ready or if shameless or ballsy enough, there is Kindle self-publish. Hey, even Nietzsche did it!
I suppose we can’t all be Franz Kafka, but it’s well worth the attempt!
Neither can Kafka be us. Just sayin.
He tried though, and found it endlessly, repetitively disturbing.
Wonderful quote. Writing that down, thank you.
The benefit of a workshop is from reading work in progress -- rather than published stories or novels -- and understanding what the writer's vision is for that piece and helping them get there. It's how I learned to revise my own work.
I love this post as it shows what real beauty can come out of a workshop - and it really emphasizes that a workshop should be about the writing and discovering what the writing can do/is doing. This post also sees the nuances of the workshop environment just as one would try to see the nuances of a story.
One of the most useful phrases a colleague used in our workshop was "Here's what I think the story is trying to do...", as well as "Here's what I think the character is trying to do..." This wording gave the writer a sense that the commentary was absolutely about the writing, not the writer. This wording also gave perspective: the reader is providing an impression, not a fact. The writer can then decide if what the reader saw was what they were trying to achieve.
That all said, thank you for such an inspiring post, yet again, George. It is so very generous to everyone under the sometimes "hot lights" of the workshop setting.
I like those phrases. Thank you for sharing them. Very helpful.
Agreed. Active feedback, they are, as in active listening.
Really enjoyed this post. Read it in my lunch break today, in a coffee shop in London's Square Mile. Stepped out into the sun feeling thoughtful and empathic, as George's posts often make me feel, and immediately saw a woman sitting on a low wall, eating lunch on her own. Nothing remarkable at all, but the slightly lonely image of it has (I think) removed a blockage that was stopping me progressing with my current story.
Openness to the world, learning how to work with one's thoughts. Huh.
That is majestic.
This was both a great question and a great answer. Every workshop should start with this advice. It applies to editing too.
I always try to be a teaching editor: these are my suggested changes and why. But I always say - especially with creative work (but also academic) - that it’s *their* work and in the end, they need to go with their gut. I won’t be offended if they ignore my suggested edits or comments.
One thing I love about this story club is that many of George’s answers, teaching and commentary feel like they could just be applied to life in general. I felt this a lot in today’s office hours. That and the kind, insightful group of participants. Turns out virtual discourse among strangers doesn’t have to be toxic. Who knew?!
Lanie, I love all the (life) advice I've been gaining from Story Club as well. Some months ago, I think on a post about revision, George said something along the lines of, "worry is just another form of love." As a generally anxious person that idea has been a real eye-opener for me :)
*editing to add: I looked back to read it again and was amazed to discover that I'd somehow forgotten the entire thing was about worry. It's the one called, um, "On Worry."
I've been a professional writer (news, white papers, speeches, marketing) for many years. I view myself as hardened against criticism. And I am. I've participated in 8 class/workshops in the past 3 years and I find that I'm more sensitive about my fiction writing than other projects. In workshops, I'm grateful for useful suggestions and dismissive of the others with nary a qualm.
One experience, however, caused me to withdraw from the group. An informal leader didn't like the novel I'm writing, almost from the beginning. The third time I submitted part of it, she raved about her dislike. After that, a few others piled on, echoing her response in the same harsh terms. Except one: He gave me a valuable tip about how putting the end of the scene in the beginning would solve the problems he saw. He was exactly right! I still email him because he has such a sharp eye for structure.
But I left that group because, for me, it's all about the writing. I do not hang with people who attack me like that. It's demeaning and disrespectful, and it forced me to recover personally and emotionally, rather than allowing me to focus on the writing. So that's the line I draw: When a workshop helps my writing, green light; when it inhibits or harms my writing, red, red, red.
Very wise, Joan, to step away instead of continuing to endure. Your raving colleague is more to be pitied, I think. A good workshop should be about encouragement (which is not anywhere near the same as deluding the writer with false praise), and not a tour through the gulag with a final stop at the gallows. A crushed spirit has never done anything to improve anything, especially writing.
I feel pretty confident in my essays, but, yeah, I feel a lot more vulnerable with fiction.
I used to avoid fiction because I thought it was too revealing. That people would read something about me into it. The older I get, though, the less I care about that. But because of that feeling in my youth, I’m now trying my hand at it and it’s as you’d expect a novice work to be. Rough. It doesn’t help that I studied literature, so I’m well aware of it being bad, but I have to just keep at it until it sucks less.
Exactly. I have spent two weeks writing the same opening page over and over. I think the issue for me is that while writing it I am seeing what I already see…and next day I suddenly see it as the jumble a reader would see. Start again! Maybe it’s something like running or becoming a good tennis or basketball player: just keep practicing, honing, rethinking, bringing back beginner’s mind.
Have you considered the possibility, David, that after two weeks of trying that maybe the story is telling you that it doesn't start where you think it does? That maybe it's trying to nudge you elsewhere? Sometimes putting it away, absolutely out of sight & mind for as long as you can stand, then coming back to it will tell you how to proceed. I believe that while away from the problem the back of the mind continues to chew & churn & will eventually give up the answer, if we can stand the wait. I dunno, maybe that's not true for your case, but it's been my experience. Updike spoke of his stories coming on what he called the "first flowing" & I think that's what he meant---it comes as it comes, if only we let it. Lynda Barry is another one for letting the story come: following it like a water skier behind a speed boat, to paraphrase her, rather than a tug dragging the thing upriver.
You might be right. I used to write at the speed of light, but lately at the speed of slug. However this story is a new version of something I tried to do several times previously. Finally now I am starting in media res. And I think I am realizing how much I tend to overwrite. Looking at keeping only the words that are necessary for high flow. Trying, at the the speed of slug, to attain Warp 9. (But thank you, I will consider other options!)
Ha! Love that speed of slug!
Slug with fuel injectors!
I spent the past hour watching five ravens busy in the yard. The four juveniles pick up random bits of leaf and seeds and seem to show them to the workshop leader/ uh, sorry, the parent raven for approval. He nods, or not, and hops away and they all hop after him. One raven in particular wants his attention always. Periodically, parent raven pounces on him/her and she rolls on her side and submits to a pecking. Parent hops away, juvenile gets up and gathers her papers/I mean leaf, and follows. Yes, they are learning, but, oh my, at what cost?
To be fair, I have never been pecked by a workshop instructor, I just had to keep to the integrity of my raven metaphor. Fellow feathered friends? yes. My own conclusion is to ignore the student critiques, and value the leader. But I'm sure it depends on the group. I too have made valuable friendships in workshops, but if I took the criticism of fellow students of my own work to heart, I wouldn't be writing this comment today.
I have to keep reminding myself that most of us can only see what we can see, or understand what we already have learned to understand. I take comfort that if one person hates something I wrote, eventually someone else, with a completely different perspective, found it funny, or healing.
I love this. We don’t come into this as blank slates.
I don't make changes unless a reader's comment really hits home. If I read that someone had a hard time getting into a piece, I reread and if I think, yes! Then well and good. If I don't respond that way, I ignore it. We all read differently almost every day!
Those are some good totem animals. I think I heard some ravens doing crazy Jefferson Airplane covers at high pitch and high volume about an hour ago!
Yep, good spirit birds. We have a relationship. At least in my mind...
It’s not entirely in your imagination. Thank goodness for animals! Otherwise we’re stuck with our own kind.
Have you noticed Ed Yong’s new book. It sounds wonderful. I liked his Multitudes book about the micro one in us. His is how different living beings experience or interact w the world. FYI a long url that should take you to a review. https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/jun/20/an-immense-world-by-ed-yong-review-the-astonishing-ways-in-which-animals-experience-our-planet?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other
And there’s another recent one about animals and senses called Sentient. I hear about a lot of interesting books driving home late at night from work, catching the BBC. Sometimes I remember to write them down!
Sentient, by Jackie Higgins.
It just arrived yesterday. Can't wait to read it.
My copy just landed on the doorstep!
True. I've been watching them for a couple of years, and writing about them the past year. Trying to learn just by watching.
It’s only been in the last few years or so that I’ve slowed down enough to find wisdom, peace and delight in nature. I talk to the neighborhood birds when I walk my dogs. And even the pigeons that fly across my patio. They are familiar friends.
Yes. Familiar friends.
A sweet spot!
Back in 1972 :-), my first writing assignment for a Structure and Style workshop class was
to write a page of dialog based on reading stories from "In Our Time" by Ernest Hemmingway
and "Red Calvary" by Isaac Babel.
On the back of the typed page I was handing in, I quickly added a hand-written note saying
that my writing seemed stale and unoriginal, like something out of a dime-store novel.
When I got my paper back, the instructor had written: ‘Pay attention to the voice you used in your note. It sounds genuine.’ Her insight stayed with me and I still remember how I felt
when I wrote my note – wanting to give expression to something that I didn’t fully understand.
What a great story, Charlie, thank you! I was just feeling stymied, and picked up In Our Time for a minute and it was so nice—clean prose and dialog dripping with subtext. Very refreshing! On to Isaac!
Glad you liked the story. Always strange the way some things stick in your mind and other times blow straight through.
Ha. Maybe you've put your finger on quite a big notion Charlie? Maybe its those 'some' things that have in our minds from time to time that account for the way we are now? Each of use a unique character, often sometimes finding ourselves smiling wryly at the way things and we have turned out?
Thanks Rob. Yes, I agree. Achieving some acceptance provides meaning in life. Learning to recognize those original impulses when they arise is important. What's also important is what I'm trying to learn here -- nurturing them and forming them into story, which is hard work that I don't always want to do.
What we're all trying to learn here, I think, Charlie. What's more what I've felt about being in Story Club that although George has 'done it' (as in written fiction and found publishing outlets, many times over) he's still here trying not just to be the sage on the stage or to be the guide on the side but trying to learn along with us. He's the very model of fine higher educator in my book, because he - like other outstanding writers - like us has doubts when he sits down and faces up to the challenge, and the fears, of making word marks on another pristine page.
I agree with everything you said especially about the doubts and fears.
George has thrown back the curtain on how to write a story in ways unlike any teacher I've known. He believes and encourages our belief that reading and creating stories is important and worthwhile.
He's created a place for people like you and me to come and share our own discoveries, difficulties, cares and concerns. I am grateful to George and the other people here for that.
I'm sure George in his wisdom knows all this, but taking this opportunity to write this down is important to my own journey as a writer. Thanks!
This is off-topic, but I was hoping that since it is "Office Hours" day that people might be willing to share their thoughts. This morning I got a rejection letter. I believe the story came into existence about a year ago, maybe over a year ago. I revised it, sent it to an online critique group, despaired over the critiques and let it sit for months, then pulled it back out and worked on it some more. It was at the magazine for two days (not even, really. I think I emailed it to them Tuesday night). So getting rejected so quickly was quite disappointing.
The rejection was not all bad. The editor said she enjoyed my imagery and worldbuilding and "graceful use of point of view and voice" (no editor has ever said anything complementary about my voice before), but wanted a stronger character arc. So I suppose I do need to look at the positives. Here's my question for George and everyone else though: what's your next action step after rejection? My gut says revise before sending it out to a new magazine, but my gut also says the rejection hurts more because this is all I've got that was even close to ready to go out the door. I also have belonged to writers communities where the attitude is that all editors have different tastes so there's no need to fix a story before sending it out again. On the one hand, that feels like a cop out, but on the other hand it feels exhausting to have poured so much love into this one piece. I suppose I need to really work on something else before coming back to this one, but I would really love to hear what George and everyone else does when faced with rejection.
I said earlier in a response to another post, that we should review rejections more positively because it means we did the work and put ourselves out there. That said, yeah, you should send it other places and see how different people with different perspectives see your work.
If you get consistent rejections, go back and rework it. We know rejections are part of the process. We should start wearing them as badges. You know who doesn’t get rejection letters? People that don’t submit work. People that don’t put themselves out there.
Thank you! I guess the problem is trying to navigate the list of markets and the hope of reaching "the next level." This market - Beneath Ceaseless Skies - pays $0.08/word. There are two other markets (in my genre) I can think of that pay that much and are open all the time. For some of the other markets you have to hold on to your stuff until their ridiculously small submissions window is open (for instance, the one market that paid this much where I actually had a piece held for consideration is not open until November). Of course, there are other markets that are smaller out there, but you know, you want to shoot for the moon first. But even at the smaller levels, it's not too long until you get to unpaid markets. I was just really happy with this piece and thought it deserved to earn more than $20, which is what I was paid last time I was published.
I do agree that it's important what you said about getting rejection letters. I suppose the question is how many from the same piece? By which I mean, if a person gets, say 100 rejection letters (perhaps their goal for the year is to get rejected 100 times), how many stories does that usually represent? Despite my frustrations yesterday, I got myself to sit down and begin the second draft of another story. I only got through one manuscript page! (I think I worry too much over making changes instead of just pushing my intuition to do it and see what it looks like in the next draft.) This is probably another argument in your favor, but I am a slow, slow reviser. It's odd - I can write 1000 words in a day and not have it come out terrible, but I seem to actually revise slower, which when you are thinking of doing many drafts, feels like the story won't ever be done.
I feel you in so much of this. A first draft is so much easier and faster than the revising process. It often even takes me a bit to get back to it because my first feeling is that I just want it to be done. But maybe it’s not bad for me to have some space from it before revising.
The worst is submitting to contests with a submission fee. Contests can be a good way to get noticed, get feedback and get your foot in the door. But the cost adds up and the odds are rarely good.
Sorry to hijack this thread, but it's a really interesting discussion. I don't think you should beat yourself up about being a slow reviser. Revising is *hard*, and it requires a lot of thinking time to do it well. I have a full time job so I consider myself to be doing well if I write a couple of stories in a year.
Also - writing short stories really doesn't pay well these days. I was paid $5 for the first story I got published and an evening's worth of free drinks for my second (maybe worth about $15 - I live in London...). So $20, while a terrible hourly rate, is not bad for a first story, I'd say. I was thinking also that aiming for publications that pay less is probably a sensible starting point, then you can work upwards as you gain confidence and recognition. But we should all try not to sell ourselves short - publications should pay good money for good work. I refuse to pitch to those that don't pay at all.
Promise the $20 story isn't my first, but I am happy to hear you say that. Although now that I'm thinking about it the pay might have been $10 instead. I've had two stories published with that magazine, and then one published on some editor's blog for free. There was also a story I had published for a couple of bucks ages ago, but that really was a bad experience because the editor bought it and then made a ton of changes without asking, which killed my confidence for years.
For me, I keep putting writing on hold to teach, but it's summer now and the kids have other things to do, so I'm trying to revise in between the video games and reading (adulthood never worked out too well for me). My hope was to build up enough momentum to keep it going through the teaching year. Although I've been back and forth between pushing myself to do stories and trying to get a novel ready for self-publication (because it's shorter than the industry standard) so the story volume is low. And when I say "back and forth" I refer to worrying rather than working. But this was a big deal because it's the first time I've sent something out in just about a year.
I just got one too. The very short piece had been out to this group for 8 months. I'd almost forgotten it, it wasn't one that I have written, lived, agonized over. I read the readers' responses (rare to get that these days), and I - agreed 1000% percent. All three readers said in different ways, this writer writes well but the story lacks focus. I read it and cheered! That was the very thing it was missing! and I wrote back to thank the readers and ask if I rewrote, would the group consider the piece again. The answer was Yes! They like it when a writer reworks a piece thanks to good feedback.
it's great that a comment about 'lacking focus' spoke to you and that you were happy with it and knew where to go. I'm guessing some writers would need more--would need to be told what that meant and where in the piece the focus was lacking. Some people do well with suggestions that magically speak to them, though. I had an editor once who drew an arrow to a section of my story and wrote "go deeper here." That was exactly perfect for me at that time--i got what she meant and worked on deepening that moment.
Focus. Well, the three readers liked much the same things - basically the framework and the voice. All were confused by the inside, some this and some that. I know I lack focus. Often, I get so wound up with the complexities of people, I forget the thread. And in a 1500 word piece, thread is about the only thing that carries a reader through, I think. I used to have a terrible time if someone asked, what's your story about? It's about messy people! But there was, to my surprise, always a thread hidden in it, and the sooner I find it, the sooner I can hack a path through the undergrowth. Eons ago, a magazine editor sent a story back, wanting "more." "More what?" Didn't get a real answer. I didn't know what to do and never got that story taken. Maybe I should dig it out and see what I can do today.
That's wonderful! What kind of group was it? The magazines I submit to won't consider unsolicited rewrites, so if you're rejected it's a one-shot thing. I also agree with Mary below, it's great that you knew what to do with that. I wouldn't have. Hope you're getting plenty of time to do the rewrite!
Jason, I can only offer my own insight on this, so please consider it as only one person's input. If you already had a trusted critique group's eyes on the completed piece (and I'm not clear if that was only before editing), then one rejection is not the place to begin re-assessing. Rejections are coming up like flowers these days for everyone, so gather them as accomplishments all their own, because submitting work is hard, and keep planting those seeds of opportunity. You've gotta keep submitting first.
So much of editing is learning to know (in the quiet, still, honest moment) when your story is pleased with your rendering, not just what individual readers, especially publishers with deep submission piles, are feeling and needing one moment to the next. Submitting gets so much easier the more you do it. I think it is wonderful that you got back some personalized feedback, and that it was so favorable. Keep going. You can reassess after the next 25 rejections. (I just pulled that number out of nothingness, and tomorrow might choose a different one.)
Thank you! I responded more to Lanie, but I really appreciate your thoughts. I thought your statement about editing was really nice. It's the part I'm still getting used to. I used to use a revision course, complete with general overarching questions to answer and a scene-by-scene plan for a revision, rather than using George's line-by-line intuition method. I was never happy with the results I got from the course, which insisted that once you were good enough a piece only needed one revision, so I am pushing myself to use George's. (The other issue was that the course seemed only designed for the very traditional story, and fantasy/sci-fi authors are willing to do some very interesting things with form, like encyclopedia entries, that don't fit the course.) The thing is how slow the revision is, so at the moment I only have one piece that I feel (felt, maybe) was ready to go out the door.
It sounds like you're off and running, Jason, so congratulations. Writers all around me are struggling with this balance of editing and submission, recognizing completion and also being willing to rescind that declaration. Whatever you decide to do from one moment to the next, just keep writing more than everything else combined. It's like trying to steer a bicycle that's moving vs not moving, and it's better to find the routine that works for you, not necessarily someone else.
Being online is a potential toxin to the part of us that connects with our writing. The business end of things can be like that, too, necessary as it is. Just keep the ratio low, especially if you're still breaking in. If it helps to know, I've got an ok-ish routine for myself now, but I've learned that if I find myself struggling I can nearly always trace the problem back to a once-more cluttered or distracted mind, and then my Rx is ever the same: be near trees and water long enough to remember myself and then go get writing again on my schedule, in my routine. Best wishes to you!
Jason - firstly, congrats on the rejection! I know it hurts but it means you're putting your work out there, and if the editor took the time to give considered feedback, it sounds like you're getting close to an acceptance.
Personally I would use this opportunity to revisit the piece and see if you can make any enhancements. My own experience is that stories need a lot of refinement to reach that 'good enough' point that opens the door to publication. I'm not sure it's possible to overwork a story, provided you're always listening to your inner voice on whether each sentence is pulling its weight.
But it is also true that different stories will speak to different editors, and some publications may be a better fit for your story than others. I would suggest a round of revisions so your story is even stronger, a round of research to find an ideal publication, then send it out again. And take heart from being close - even if this story doesn't make it, it implies one you write will be accepted soon.
Thanks! I actually do read the magazine I submitted to, which makes it all the more frustrating because it felt like the closest fit out of the magazines that pay "pro" rates (in the past, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America used to designate a magazine paying $0.08/word or higher as pro rate, though it looks like they've removed that requirement in favor of a career earnings model to incorporate the age of self-publishing). It's not the only pro-rate magazine I can think of, but I can't think of more than five. I guess I was hoping to get out of the token payment range and shooting for the moon.
Yeah that's fair - kudos for not being willing to accept token payments. Like I say, it sounds like you're not too far off getting accepted by the magazine, so maybe you should pitch the current version of your story elsewhere and then begin a new project. I always have this fear of new projects that they'll fall short of my recent best work, but they usually end up showing some kind of improvement.
While I was having breakfast this morning, I went back and reread some passages from The Writer's Portable Mentor by Priscilla Long. The parts on Daily Writing, Sending Your Work Out, and Productivity felt like just what I needed. You might like the book too.
Rejection sucks. Always. For everyone. I'm wondering how many times you have re-worked and revised this one story. Maybe you don't want to work on it anymore. Maybe you feel very strongly that it is your best work, a finished piece. If so, then send it out again!
"A stronger character arc" says to me that the editor felt the story structure wasn't working. It sounds like you have a very nice writing voice, but that the story itself is lacking some crucial element (for that editor). Did the members of your writing group think it needed help in terms of story structure/character arc? Maybe you could ask yourself questions about story structure to see what may be missing or what may need to be strengthened.
It IS exhausting to revise, revise, revise. Working on something else and then coming back to this piece with fresh eyes sounds like a good idea that you have already thought of!
I read this today and you may find it helpful or inspiring (i found it both!): https://lithub.com/alice-elliott-dark-on-how-to-let-characters-change/?utm_source=Sailthru&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Lit%20Hub%20Daily:%20July%2014%2C%202022&utm_term=lithub_master_list
Thank you, I do! In terms of that essay, it seems that what I might do when I'm ready to revise is to look more deeply into who the protagonist is at the beginning of the story and try to clarify the limitations in her personality, then see how the events of the story give her a way to grow beyond them. Hopefully without chucking too much of the text that's already there...
This does bring to mind the way I've been considering George's method of revision. I think it's a question of how to step back at some point (perhaps not right away) and look at the entire whole of a story without then imposing a straight jacket on it. I have used methods of revision before where you basically plan - ask yourself pointed questions about the story (I have a list, but I paid for it so I really can't share), but I always felt like I was trying too hard to steer the story a certain way and the result was still something less than what I was hoping for. There are a lot of elements in this story that came as a result of George's method that wouldn't have happened if I'd been too formal about conducting the revision. But I've also questioned how one deals with questions like these: plot, character arc, etc. when one is mostly asking oneself whether or not they like the sentence they just read. Maybe I'm misunderstanding George, but I would like to hear people's thoughts about how the micro and macro interact with each other.
Most of my rejections are boiler plate emails. So I think getting a rejection that is specific to your submission is a really positive thing. Maybe send them a thank you note for reading and commenting on your work and also asking the editor if they would be interested in a revised version. If you have something else ready, I would submit that to the magazine as well. I would send your original story out again while you think about whether or not to revise it.
What workshop is best for, in my opinion, is tricking you into learning how to better read and edit your own writing, by first doing it for your peers who, at the end of the day, act as reflections of your own writing.
I've been in one weekend workshop and I came out of it completely flattened, as by a steamroller equipped with spikes. I'm sure nobody intended that outcome for me.
It was the first airing of my first novel beyond my cosy critique group. It was... July 2017. The critiques were given by young and polished publishers' editors and agents and they were dismissive. Also maybe hungry.
Or maybe more honestly - I *felt* dismissed. I also I felt ageism in the room. Also my draft was not good.
It took me a long time to unsplat. Being hit upside the head (as I think Americans say) can be a wakeup call or it can send you spinning -- or both. Fortunately for me, it was both.
I like everything George says about specificity and useful feedback - he says it so goshdarn well. I can say in all modesty that I've given useful feedback to other writers for many years now, in that mode, and been acknowledged for same. It might be suggested that editing / critiquing is more my metiér than creative writing. But I'm not ready to go there, at least not yet--though I do find it a fruitful and enjoyable practice. Because if I don't finish this damn novel, I'll never see the end of it!
A friend turned me on to the 100 rejections goal. I love it. It changes your perspective on rejections. Every rejection also means that you worked, you wrote, you put yourself out there. It’s a celebration of doing the work. You know who doesn’t get rejected? Those who never put anything out there.
Such a cool and useful way of judo-ing the hyper-self-critical mind.
I know exactly what you mean by this, Jackie: "young and polished publishers' editors and agents and they were dismissive." I'm going to borrow that phrasing in my comment below.
Back in my book editor days, we had a fairly uniform way of writing editorial letters to our authors after they submitted the first draft of their books. First, we read, almost as if we had picked up the book at a store and were just going to devour the pages (sometimes this was easier than other times). Then we wait, as George mentioned, and stew and finally reread. Only afterward came the letter.
Without fail, we would always begin our editorial opus, which usually ran from 7-10 pages in total, on what we liked about the book. Specifically. Not, "that was a great read, I tore through the pages," but rather, "I loved how you introduced Sally on page ten with her just coming into the room like a tornado and blathering away." This "good news" was usually a fairly long paragraph or two. We're a soft bunch, us writers, and it's important for editors (or workshop members) to convey what worked in order to ease the blows of what is to follow....
The criticism--or, more generously, how to make this book great. We almost always started with a whole section focused strictly on the narrative. What kept it moving, where did it get hitched up, were there holes in the plot, etc. Then we moved onto the main characters: who was believable, who not, who was fully crafted, who basically a cardboard stand, and how/if the dynamics with the other principals felt real. Next came the writing itself: too much imagery, not enough, cadence of the sentences was too clipped or not varied enough, overwhelming description or dearth of it. And finally, we bore down on the page-by-page comments: (p. 18 - "we don't have a sense of place here"; p. 87, "this dialogue feels stilted.")...until we reached the end of the manuscript.
Now, not every workshop read can offer such detail, but proximity can be reached. When criticism was given with such specificity and thoughtfulness, a writer will typically appreciate it, and the work will be better for it. The intention was never for them to agree with every one of our points, but rather to urge them to consider giving certain parts of their work reconsideration--to make sure they intended what came off on the page.
That's my two cents as a new member here at The Story Club!
Neal
Rule s to any readers of my work. 1 I don't want to hear, I like, I don't like. So I ask for specifics, my my, that word again. 2 Where did it grab you? If it didn't grab you, never mind. 3 Where are there moments of lull or confusion. 4 Can you tell me in one or two lines what you think this story is "about." Or a one- or two-line precis.
Hi Neal! This is Maren (in Frankfurt). Marco sends his regards, also. Great to find you here.
Hope you two are well!
Reading a story I've written aloud will always be a terrifying experience for me, so even the beginning of this question scared me haha I love George's process for reviewing a piece. That initial reaction may prove to be true, but sitting with it for a week and allowing your thoughts to process before giving feedback would absolutely help me to critique things and give solid, thoughtful advice to other writers. This made me want to sign up for another writing workshop immediately.
Poorly led writing workshops can be difficult for someone whose precious story was essentially dismissed or railed on by a snotty fellow student.
I’ve attended over a dozen WWs while in a MFA program and at summer conferences. At one of these summer workshops the teacher, Bob Shacochis, left the room as I was in mid air, explaining why this woman’s story needed to lose the first page and a half which listed the names of all the dogs of all the people in a small apartment complex. The story only had three pages for chrisakes. He came back with a shot of vodka for me. He said it’s good to relax.
Indeed.
Since then, I’m happy to say I’ve become quite good at leading workshops which pretty much follow George’s and Bob’s approach. The comments must be aimed at being helpful. I’ll take a pedantic bore aside at a break to give her a verbal shot of vodka. Relax, this is not a Mensa meeting, it’s a conversation, a helpful conversation among fellow writers…etc. etc.
On another note…
I’m convinced many classic short stories would not be highly appreciated in a WW. For example - from A Swim in the Pond in the Rain - Turgenev’s The Singers, would be criticized for taking so long describing the people at the pub. Pages and pages of what these men wore and not one of them seemed to matter to the story. As I read your after thoughts I went into recalcitrant snit mode. How can George tout this story as a masterpiece? What the hell?
I need a workshop. And since the topic this week is workshops, would anyone like to dip into the conversation about The Singers ?
George - if this story is one you will ask us to read, then just say so and we won’t go into it.
Hahaha I now love Bob, and you, and the woman and her dogs. Thank you for all of this.
Great comment on Singers. I got bored through all the description and lost interest in the story. I also wondered why this was considered ok or even good. Had it not been in Georges book, I would have not read it through.
I'm fairly new to the craft of creative writing, and joined a workshop at A Public Space (apublicspace.org) in Brooklyn, right before lockdown. It went to zoom after about three in person sessions. I have to say how grateful I was to have had that group of writers (each of us submitting early drafts of a novel for critique) to hang out with virtually on those Wednesday nights when you could hear the ambulance sirens wailing all day and night, and were still afraid to go out, even to walk the dog. Since then I've joined a few other writing groups and read a bit more on the art of the writing and workshop (Ursula K. Le Guin's Steering the Craft was memorable) and my takeaway has been: "The reader is always right (even when they're wrong)" Which is to say, that I'm looking for honest responses to my work - and those responses can guide me in any number of ways (They hated a character (YAY!) or They hated a character (Oh NO!!).
One thing that drives me totally berserk is when a critique begins with a preamble stating all the wonderful things they say they saw in my writing. It usually sounds like, "You have such a marvelous facility with language and your writing is so compelling, blah blah blah...." Maybe I'm just lucky that the groups I've been in favor complements over criticisms, but this sort of thing absolutely makes my skin crawl (can you see the smile frozen on my face as I listen patiently and try to look appreciative). I'd just rather get down to business, please give me something useful I can write down for later.
Elizabeth Gaffney, the writer and teacher who leads the workshop at apublicspace.org now has her own free space for writers and she has a nice little essay on critiques posted there: https://sites.google.com/view/24hourroom/craft/groups/radical-editorial-empathy?authuser=0
I re-read it often, because I find my tendency as a critic is to try to re-write another persons work, which while being amusing for me, is not at all helpful to the person being critiqued. Elizabeth's idea of radical empathy is actually very commonsensical. Give feedback to help someone write the book *they* want to write, not the one you think *you* would write if it were your book.
I'm still reading all the responses here. So much to take in!
Hi Sadie. I read the Gaffney piece. I need to dig deeper into her website, I think. I'm not quite understanding how her view of critique works in the real world. I'd love to see an example of her comments on someone's story. I completely agree that we should never re-write someone's work and/or try to make it into something we would write. Absolutely. But in practice, what are some ways of approaching the work of others? (Also i love that you don't want to hear all the good stuff first, as readers are often instructed to do.)
Mary, I can think of one example where my response to a person's work in a workshop was not particularly empathetic. The writer in question was writing a book about a the unjust imprisonment of a person accused of a murder in his town. The sections of the book that I felt jumped off the page, were not about the crime, but about the writer's own life - and I got a bit carried away in pressing that he should be writing a memoir that tracks his obsession with the crime, instead of a book about the crime. Elizabeth shut me down pretty quickly. While my reaction was honest, it was not particularly helpful to him at this moment. She brought the convo back to what his specific goals were for the selection he had presented.
Thanks for this. Okay, so the writer asks for comments regarding their specific goals. That makes sense to me (and it's been discussed here in these threads--it's something I do for my brother when he asks me to read his work). I wonder what would have happened if you'd made your point without pressing it--if you'd said something like, "Have you ever considered making this into a memoir? Because I love the parts where you write about yourself and your obsessions." And then just left it at that. Would that have been acceptable? Because that sounds like a good comment to me, and not something to shut down.
Yes, I should have phrased it more like you suggest, except that apparently his first draft was in a non-fiction format, and now he was trying to fictionalize, and I think I had been told this. I still think he should go back and take another stab at the non-fiction version - but he (rightfully) needs to follow this train to the final destination before he can change lines. I think more to the point is that in these classes we often see writers of varying abilities and we all have to work through our own process to achieve our various goals. I had a friend in the same class, who completely ignored my request for specific feedback (on transitions during multiple timeline sequences) and all she wanted to talk about was the lack of continuity of the protagonist (who is shown at different ages). This is after I had explained that continuity was not something I was focussing on, and wouldn't be until I had finished getting all the story on the page. I wasn't hurt by her comments that my character didn't seem like the same person in the different timelines, it just wasn't helpful to me at the time (it might be later). All of this said, I think teaching, and being a good citizen in a class that involves critique, is a subjective activity and does require empathy to be done well.