Tag Archive for: Writers Resources

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A couple of months ago, I posted my first round of shout-outs. Methinks I’m due for a second round of gratitude-filled thanks to the awesome folks who’ve been helping me out. Here we go, in no particular order:

Cheryl Perez from You’re Published did the interior design/layout and back cover and spine for the paperback version of Forgotten April. She does great work and is reasonably priced. She’s launching a new website soon, but for now, you can reach her here.

Steve Tannuzzo of Tannuzzo Copywriting has a connection with a printing company and was able to print up all the copies of Novel #2 for my beta readers. He’s also a fabulous writer/copywriter/proofreader, in case any of you are in need of one of those.

My beta readers rock my world! They include the Nobscot Niblets (writers group) and some family members and friends who are like family. If any of you are reading this, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Someone on Twitter asked me the name of the song I use in my book trailer for Forgotten April. The great thing about Animoto, the software I use, is that it offers a vast music library and all the licensing is taken care of. I mentioned in this post how I stumbled on some music by an artist I’d met many years ago (and I ended up using his composition for my short story “Crush“) and how he’s now writing musical scores for movies in Hollywood, which is way cool.

Anyway, when I looked up the group that sang “Happy,” which is the song in the Forgotten April trailer, I decided to Google the group to see what I could find. The name of the group is Secrets in Stereo. Here’s their Facebook page. And below is the group singing the full version of “Happy.”

Enjoy!

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I’m self-publishing my debut novel in May. This is a book I’ve worked on for nine years. No, wait — 10 years (since 2001). It’s gone through six top-to-bottom rewrites. It’s been laid to rest once, only to be resurrected a year later when, out of the blue, I figured out how to fix the beginning, which had been dogging me since version 1.0. It went through a bunch of beta readers, and each time, I revisited the piece and reworked it some more. I wrote, rewrote, put it aside, rewrote, revised, proofed, and then this past fall, I finally felt it was ready.

And when I say “ready,” I mean ready to go to a copy editor, not the virtual bookshelves at Amazon or B&N.

As I mentioned in this post from last week, we indie writers have an enormous responsibility to put out polished work. (Yes, all writers do, but bear with me here.) Indie writers don’t have to use an editor, whereas traditional writers do. But I believe all indie writers should use a professional editor, even if that means pushing out the date of your release or working a second job for a little while to get the funds to pay for one. I’ve read too many indie works lately that have punctuation errors on page one. Page one! There’s no excuse for that. None. Don’t peddle schlock. Put out your best work.

I’m lucky. I’m friends with a professional story and copy editor. Her name is Laura Matthews and she owns thinkStory.biz.

We met in Niblets (my writers group). What I love about Laura is that she’s a “literal” reader and writer. I’m not. I’m all about the implied and the indirect, so Laura provides great insight into my work. She also is great at calling me out on my crutches: I know I overuse words like actually and just; I exorcised most of those from my manuscript before she got it, but she pointed out the crutches I missed because I’m too close to the work. Words like really and starting too many sentences with and.

Before Laura edited this version, she read version 5.0 and provided feedback on the story, characters, and the arc. I made some revisions based on these comments and then continued making more until I got to the point I was at this past fall. Then I sent it to Laura around Christmas. She sent it back to me the end of January, and I’ve been working on the edits ever since, poring through every line, every scene, and debating titles (another thing that dogged me with this book. I finally came up with a title I’m happy with — more on that in another post once I finalize the cover art).

I really think indie writers are doing a disservice to their work, to their readers, and to the self-publishing industry in general if they don’t go through this process. While I had only a handful of actual typos in 371 Word doc pages, Laura caught enough inconsistencies, lazy language, crutch words, etc. to show why an editor is needed. It’s not simply a worthy investment; it’s a necessary investment as well. If you’re an indie writer, don’t skimp.

What do you think, readers and writers? If you’re a reader, have you ever read something and wondered where the author’s editor was? And writers (indie or traditional — we’re all the same), do you make sure your work is professionally edited (before you self-publish or before you pitch an agent or publisher or submit to a lit magazine)? Feel free to share info about the person you use in the comments. Copy editing is not an easy job. Props to anyone who does it and does it well! (And in case you couldn’t tell, I highly recommend Laura.)

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If you had asked me a year ago if I’d ever self-publish, I would have given an emphatic “No.” At the time, I was busy at work on the draft of my second novel, and I was still caught up in the dream of landing an agent and a traditional publishing deal.

Now, I won’t lie: parts of those dreams still exist in me, but thanks to the digital revolution that’s taking place before all our eyes, I’m quite excited to be part of this venture. I don’t even cringe internally anymore when I tell people I’m going this route and that I’m self-publishing my work as eBooks.

That said, I’m aware of what some people — both fellow writers and readers — are thinking. Self-publishing is a last resort. Self-publishing means you couldn’t make it as a “real” writer. Most of the self-published stuff out there is crap. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t take it personally. How can I? I was one of the people thinking those same things not even nine months ago.

And here’s the dirty truth: a lot of crap is still being self-published. I mean “crap” in a totally objective way. In other words, the author doesn’t have the piece professionally edited (your mom and BFF don’t count, unless they’re editors in real life), resulting in numerous mistakes in punctuation and grammar. And the author hasn’t received sufficient feedback from beta readers on the story itself.

I think we indie writers have an important task at a pivotal moment in this revolution: we MUST be committed to putting out quality work, even more so than traditionally published authors, just by virtue of the fact that we self-publish, which, in essence, screams, “I feel strongly in this work and think it’s ready for prime time.”

Rushing something to market just because we can doesn’t mean we should (this isn’t an original thought, by the way). Unfortunately, those who do are the ones who really give self-publishing a bad name (and it’s the main reason I avoided it for so long). Thanks to people like Joe Konrath and Amanda Hocking and so many other serious writers who take pride in the quality of their work, that’s changing.

But we ALL must adhere to this first commandment in the indie writer credo: do no harm; put out the best work possible no matter what. And yeah, that might mean postponing the release or taking a step back to review the work one more time. Just to make sure. Do it (I’m doing it too). It will be worth it in the end. And maybe — just maybe — we can dismantle that ugly indie writer stereotype for good.

Indie writers, what do you think? Should this be the first commandment or can you think of something more important?

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Okay, so that title is misleading. Sure there are rules. I have rules. That ultra-particular person in your writers group definitely has rules, and rules for his rules. Your seventh grade English teacher had rules. Agents have rules. Publishers have rules. But here’s the funny thing about rules, at least in writing (and probably in anything): they’re fluid. They evolve.

Remember the “rule” that you had to use two spaces after a period? Not anymore.

Or how ’bout the rules that got your English papers covered in red ink, like ending a sentence with a preposition, verbifying nouns, or splitting infinitives? (See how I just broke one of ’em?)

Even things that have rules — like commas — grammarians and fusspots still debate about. (See that? I just broke another rule.)

So my point in saying there are no rules is just that: there aren’t really any rules. There are accepted ways of doing things. There are even “more correct” ways of doing things. But for every correct way you show me, there’s at least one writer out there breaking that rule — and breaking it well.

The problem with rules is they can be restrictive, especially in the wrong hands. For example, don’t change a sentence that reads and sounds right because you — gawd forbid — ended it in a preposition and you’re “not supposed to do that.”

Laura Matthews, a friend of mine in my writers group (and a fabulous editor as well), offered this bit of wisdom the other night: Be intentional with everything you write. So if you’re going to end that sentence with a preposition, and you have a good reason for doing so even though it violates a “rule,” do it. But it has to be intentional. Don’t break rules out of laziness. Or ignorance. Which brings me to another important point: you need to learn the rules first before you can break them with intention.

So learn them. Learn the conventional and accepted ways to use a semicolon. Learn what a comma splice is and how to fix it. Learn how to remove that preposition from the end of the sentence. If you’re taking a class with a fussbudget for a teacher and he or she is set on some (in your opinion) inane or arcane rule, follow it in that world, knowing that you can break it in yours.

Agree or disagree? I know writers on both sides of the aisle on this one, so weigh in. (Just keep it civil.)

On a separate note, I’m happy I got to use the words fusspot and fussbudget in the same post. Like the word hogwash, these are great words that I don’t use nearly enough in my day-to-day life. I’m trying to remedy that. (Hey, it’s the little things, people.)

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I get sucked into the crime/thriller show marathons that stations like TNT run (Law & Order, anyone?). Bones is one I watch, although I don’t love that show as much as L&O or SVU. But I do have a bone to pick with the writers of Bones: it always irritates me when a character is a writer, but she NEVER writes.

Dr. Temperance Brennan, or “Bones,” is a forensic anthropologist and is wicked smaht as we say back here in Beantown, but a wicked smaht person does not a writer make. I know she’s in the exceptional category and she can compartmentalize and hyper-focus and  such, but that still doesn’t take away the fact that writers need to write. A lot. Especially when they’re cranking out bestsellers in their “spare time,” as this show seems to suggest. I think I’ve only seen her character actually writing once (and I’ve seen a lot of the shows, though not all), and that was a hospital bedside scene where Bones was waiting out Booth’s coma.

ARGH.

This sort of portrayal does a disservice to new-ish writers or people who “want to write a novel” because it suggests that it’s easy.

It ain’t easy. It takes work and practice and commitment and daily effort (or full weekend effort or full night-time effort…keyword is effort).

One of the reasons I appreciate Sex and the City (also now in marathon runs on E!, gawd help me. I’m dreaming about Mr. Big again), is because it shows Carrie writing in every episode. And not just sitting there tapping away on her keyboard and making it look easy. It shows her stopping and thinking and getting up and procrastinating and late nights and deadlines (remember when Aidan was stripping her floors and she was on deadline and had to go to a hotel to get some quiet?).

What other shows — past or present — get it write (ha!). I mean get it “right” in terms of how it portrays writers? What other shows get it wrong? I’ve been trying to think of other shows where the main character is a writer, but beyond the ones mentioned and maybe Dave’s World (based loosely on Dave Barry), I’m coming up empty.

Weigh in. Can you think of others? Do you get annoyed, too?

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I have a good friend who is struggling in her job. She wants to leave it — she really does — and she would like to write full time (freelance and creative stuff; she’s a novelist). But she’s scared. Scared of the unknown. Scared of being poor in a tough economic climate. Scared she won’t make it. Scared she’ll become depressed. Scared about feeling scared.

I get that. Back in early 2001, I came to a crossroads in my radio “career,” where I’d been since the tender age of 21. I had always planned on it being a short-term gig and that I’d leave to go write the Great American Novel, but the one-year plan turned quickly into three, then five, then close to seven. I used the excuse of money (and without getting into it, I’ll say it was a legit excuse) for my reason to bail (morning show producers get paid squat and I wanted a raise that would put me in line with one of my male colleagues, but it wasn’t going to happen). I really wanted to leave and write, but how could I? I was almost 28 — a grown up — and past the age of ditching it all to follow an elusive dream. I had rent to pay, a cat to feed, and well, I mentioned the grown-up part, right? So I found another job: teaching reading to children. I convinced myself that this was related enough to writing and that it would give me time to write and it did pay more money and I had to do it. Even when I accepted the job and gave my notice at the station, I think I knew I’d never work one day at the other gig. I needed to write. I needed to figure out a way to make that happen. (I imagine many of you are thinking this: why couldn’t I write while I was in radio? Very good question, and trust me, I kick myself now for all the time I wasted in my 20s. My only excuse is lack of sleep — my days started at three in the morning and by the time afternoon hit, my brain was fried. I know, I know. I should have pushed through it, but alas.)

Back to the story. My last day in Radio Land was on a dreary, wet Friday in February. I was supposed to start the new teaching gig on Monday. But my mind was racing. I was a mess. And so I did what I often do when I need to think: I drove. I drove all the way to Nauset Beach on the Cape, one of my favorite places in the world (a good 2.5 hours away) and communed with the ocean (I’m a Pisces baby). And that’s when I decided I was going to give it a go: I was going to write full time.

Oh, gawd, even writing that makes me queasy. Man was I green. Clueless. I was smart to go for it, but just about every other decision I made for the next two years after that was pure idiocy. But I suppose I had to go through that to get to this point.

The short of it: I backed out of the new job (and was told in no uncertain terms that I was “unprofessional” — the only time in my entire life that I’ve ever been called that, at least to my face [or via phone]). I moved back home (yes, at 28, when all my friends were getting married, buying houses, and having babies). I rented a room on the cheap from my brother’s computer company and called it my writing studio. I was pretty green when it came to the Internet (this was before Twitter, Facebook, and Google was in its infancy). I lit candles and played jazz and pretended to be an artiste. And then I ran out of money. My parents didn’t charge me rent, but I’m a proud girl and I had bills to pay and I hated living at home (due to my pride) and then 9/11 happened and then I went back to radio full time for about nine months as the station’s promotions director, a gig that was almost the death of me, but I learned a lot. Then I left radio (again), got serious about my copywriting business, started teaching writing at the grad school level (that’s another story), got serious about my creative writing, did NaNoWriMo, started a writers group, wrote about six top to bottom rewrites of novel #1 over nine years, earned my MFA in creative writing, moved out of the house, wrote a second novel, invented cool programs for my business like The Copy Bitch and Rent My Noggin, and embraced the indie writer revolution. (Aren’t you glad I didn’t give the long version?)

And you know what? I’m not going to say I wouldn’t change a thing. There’s a lot I’d like to change. I wish I had gotten serious with my writing in my 20s. I wish I hadn’t spent close to seven years living back home. I wish, I wish, I wish. But it’s done. It’s over. And all of it has informed the writer I am today, and that I wouldn’t change.

So back to my friend. I can sympathize with her fear. I think I’ve spent the last decade more scared than not. But I’ve also never been freer in thought, in the possibilities, and in the control I have over my own life. Sometimes fear is the biggest motivator out there.

What motivates you as a writer?

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Former agent, current author, and all-around-nice-guy Nathan Bransford is running his annual Stupendously Ultimate First Paragraph Challenge over on his blog. Over 1500 writers (this one included) posted the first paragraphs of their WIP (work in progress). Sweet Jesus! That’s a lot of writers, a lot of dreams, a lot of late nights, early mornings, lost showers (ahem), and lost relationships, no doubt.

The sheer number of entries humbled me. Think about it: those are just the people who decided to enter. Think of all the others who were too shy or too scared. Think about all the writers who aren’t familiar with Nathan’s blog (I’m sure there are some). Think about all the writers in non-English-speaking countries who have the same dreams.

It’s times like these when it becomes clear — like Technicolor clear — that talent and persistence aren’t enough. You really do need a good dose of Lady Luck or an ardent belief in The Secret or some sort of direct conduit to the Publishing Gods.

I often say there’s enough room for all of us, but I think reality dictates that I revise my statement to this: there’s enough room for most of us. Try as we might, some of us won’t see our dreams manifest into reality. Will it be me? Will it be you? Who knows? Sure, we can all go to our graves saying we’re writers and that we worked hard at our craft, and that’s nice and all, but this writer right here wants to be read by more people than her best friend and mother. I’ve made some inroads to that end. Thanks to digital publishing, short stories that had been traditionally published and long since forgotten have had a second chance at life, which is great. And I’m releasing my debut novel in May. But still, I wonder.

(I mentioned the humbling part, right?)

What humbles you as a writer?

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In Monday’s post, I talked about the pros and cons of an MFA in Creative Writing, from my point of view. As I mentioned, I received my MFA from Lesley University in 2008, and one of the best things I got out of the program was the reading lists my faculty mentors and I generated for three semesters (we didn’t have a reading list during our final semester, which was our thesis semester).

Writers are always told to read, read, read — and read widely, at that. This is great, smart advice, but there are a lot of books out there from which to choose. So I found it really helpful to have reading lists that my teachers and I developed together based on what I wanted to write.

I need to back up for second: I was accepted into the fiction and nonfiction tracks at Lesley, but I had to choose one or the other when I started the program. I chose nonfiction, for a variety of reasons that I’ll address in Friday’s post. But I ended up graduating with a multi-genre thesis (fiction and nonfiction) since I also worked on fiction in semesters two, three, and four. That’s the reason why the books on my reading lists are primarily nonfiction. In some cases, and for various reasons, my mentors and I made changes mid semester, so I didn’t read every single book on our lists (writing this post reminded me of this fact, which is great –more stuff to add to my Nook library).

My favorite list is from my first semester, where I worked under the very talented Elaine Mar. It’s below.
1. A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway (pictured to the left). Every writer should read this book, regardless of what you think of Hemingway’s fiction (I feel the same way about King’s On Writing).

2. A Cab by the Door by V. S. Pritchett. Good nonfiction. I picked up some of Pritchett’s short stories, which I REALLY liked.

3. Slouching Toward Bethlehem by Joan Didion. Didion is one of those names all “serious” writers of nonfiction are supposed to read, and for good reason. The woman is great (interestingly, I haven’t read her fiction, which is supposed to be equally as good).

4. The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. Loved the book, which won the National Book Award in nonfiction. Also loved the one-woman play based on the book, which I saw at The Lyric Stage in Boston.

5. Alice, Let’s Eat by Calvin Trillin – I can’t remember why, but mid-way through the semester, we decided to put the Trillin titles on hold. I need to get back to these.

6. Travels with Alice by Calvin Trillin. Ditto.

7. The Gay Talese Reader: Portraits and Encounters – Talese is a master. I didn’t read all the portraits, however.

8. A Writer’s Life by Gay Talese. We axed this one; still on my to-read list.

9. The Bullfighter Checks her Makeup: My Encounters with Extraordinary People by Susan Orlean. She’s one of my favorite writers.

10. Partly Cloudy Patriot by Sarah Vowell. She’s one of those writers more people should know about (she is well known, especially to the NPR and Jon Stewart crowd, but I think she deserves to be a household name).

11. Barrel Fever by David Sedaris. A combination of fiction and nonfiction, when, apparently, Sedaris was trying to figure out what he wanted to write. Insanely great book.

12. Naked by David Sedaris. Ditto. LOVE him (both reading and seeing him live, which I was able to do this past April at Symphony Hall in Boston).

13. Boys of My Youth by Jo Ann Beard. Her essay, “The Fourth State of Matter,” which I had read a couple of years before, was THE reason I wanted to write nonfiction. The book includes that piece as well as many other brilliant essays, but you can read “The Fourth State of Matter” in the link above for free.

14. Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs. Lived up to the hype, at least for me.

15. This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff. Classic grad school fare – you can’t call yourself a “serious” nonfiction writer (or so they say) unless you read his classic along with his brother’s book below. I actually agree that nonfiction writers should check ’em out, not only because they’re interesting reads, but also because it goes to show how one’s perception of events shapes reality.

16. Duke of Deception by Gregory Wolff. See my comment above.

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I read an interesting article the other day in Slate Magazine called “MFA vs. NYC: America now has two distinct literary cultures. Which one will last?” It’s one of those subjects that’s been around since the dawn of MFA programs, although it’s evolved with time.

I received my MFA in Creative Writing in 2008 from Lesley University’s low-residency MFA program in Cambridge, Mass. I debated with myself a long time before I made the decision to apply to a program (and I have a very distinct memory of printing applications to other full-time MFA programs, like Brown’s and BU’s, on September 10, 2001. We all know what happened the next day. To say I lost focus after that is an understatement).

I’m a commercial writer, not a literary one (or, at least, not what I consider to be a literary writer). As you can tell from this here blog and website and Facebook page, I have no problem promoting myself (I’m a marketing copywriter by day), which is something that many literary types loathe. The bottom line for me is I want to be the best writer I can possibly be and write stuff that matters to a passionate tribe of fans. Not everyone will like what I write, and that’s okay.

So why did I finally decide to go for my MFA? A few reasons. At the time, I thought I might want to teach full time (I’d been an adjunct professor at Mass School of Law), and the MFA is considered the terminal degree in the writing field. I thought being involved in a program would help take my writing to the next proverbial level. And I thought the degree would provide validation: to family, friends, and myself.

I don’t regret my decision at all. But I’m not pursuing a teaching gig (and I don’t see that in my future, but never say never). I had an epiphany over the summer (with the help of Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird) that validation needs to start with me. All that said, my writing did reach the next proverbial level, I think. Would that have happened anyway over the course of two years? I’d like to think yes, but who knows? I do think it happened faster because I was in a program.

Like anything else, there are definite pros and cons to an MFA program. Here’s my list, as I see it.

Pros

  • Justified time (one to two years) devoted to your writing (I say justified because for those people in your world who don’t understand that writers need to write, it’s much easier to say, “I have something due for school” and have the person understand and accept it)
  • Someone else – faculty members – devoted to your writing
  • Meeting other writers
  • Expansion of thoughts and worldview: new books, new ideas, new ways to think and do things
  • Terminal degree, which is needed if you want to teach writing at the college level
  • *Might help your queries or submissions get noticed (I am a true believer that in the end it’s about the writing…but if someone is willing to read a couple of extra pages – be it a fiction reader or editor – because of the MFA, well okeedokee)

Cons

  • Writing programs are filled with published writers who teach. A published writer does not a good teacher make. I actually have a theory that editors would make better writing instructors because a good editor will see what’s working with your piece, your voice, your vision and will help you shape it and take it to the next level. Too often writers who teach don’t know how to teach beyond the way they write. This isn’t criticism. It’s merely an observation.
  • Some writing programs are notorious for being cutthroat and ultra competitive. Personally, that’s not an environment I would flourish in, although maybe it works for some people.
  • More debt, as in school loans, and often later in life when you’re likely to have a mortgage and kids’ educations to think about.

Some other thoughts, and these are just my opinions, so accept or reject at will.

  • You don’t need an MFA to write quality fiction, nonfiction, or poetry.
  • You don’t need an MFA to get published.
  • You don’t need an MFA “to be a writer.”
  • You do need an MFA (yes, there are always exceptions) if you want to teach writing at the college level.
  • You don’t need an MFA to learn to become disciplined.
  • You don’t need an MFA to make connections.

That said, an MFA can help with all of the above, if you decide to work it that way. For example, if you decide to pursue an MFA because you’re serious about taking your writing to the next level, well, then, you likely will. But it’s you who is making that happen – not the MFA (however, the MFA program might give your subconscious a “reason” to focus…and the MFA program will likely provide an environment that will help you succeed in your goal – a thesis deadline will do that for a person).

An MFA can be a good “excuse,” if you need an excuse, to focus on your writing for one to two years.

So, you might be wondering, if I had to do it all over again, would I?

That’s a good question. I definitely grew as a writer during the program, and while I’d like to think that growth would have happened anyway, I have no way of knowing that with any certainty. The biggest thing I got out of my program is the different writing I was exposed to. Yeah, I love to read, and I know, as writers, we’re supposed to read widely, but it does help to have some guidance from veteran writers on just how wide to cast the net…and where to cast the net. I loved the reading lists my faculty advisors and I put together for my first three semesters (I’ll share those lists in another post). I’m not sure I would have found some of those writers on my own, even with my good intentions of reading widely.

Okay, now it’s your turn. Are you considering an MFA? If yes, share your reasons, your reservations, etc. And for the MFA veterans out there, what do YOU think of my pros and cons? Agree or disagree? Any to add? Get the discussion started in the comments.

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I’m obsessed with writing group posts this month. The good news? Many of the topics — like how to comment on someone’s writing and the reality of the green-eyed monster — also apply to the larger topic of writing in general. And so, I continue.

Today’s topic? How to receive feedback on your writing. The whole “thick skin” recommendation is a crock of you-know-what. We’re not lizards or alligators. Our skin bruises. Easily. I think what writers need to develop is Bounce Back. Feedback, even the best intentioned, will *likely* sting, bruise, hurt, and, in some cases, completely shatter your soul. (Notice I use the word “likely” a lot when I’m making these generalizations. There are always exceptions to the rule. I’m sure there’s a Teflon Writer out there who doesn’t feel a thing when receiving feedback. I haven’t met this person. But, like Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster, I’ve heard about rare sightings.)

What is “Bounce Back”? It’s not some fancy-schmancy SEO term or a warning on your checking account. Basically, it’s the term I use to describe how quickly you bounce back from receiving feedback. Bounce Back manifests itself in how you respond over time to the feedback. Forget your immediate response, which might involve expletives running through your head and thoughts of “You don’t know what you’re talking about” rants that you’d like to deliver to your fellow writing group members. Or your editor. Or that reviewer. Or that customer comment on Amazon. Bounce Back is what happens after you’ve had a chance to digest the criticism, constructive or otherwise.

At the end of the day, it’s your writing. You get to decide what feedback to reject and what to accept. You know you’ve hit your Bounce Back groove when you find yourself doing both. If all you’re doing is rejecting everything everyone says, well, you have very low Bounce Back. Same if you accept everything everyone says (thus turning the piece of writing into what I often call a platypus). Bounce Back is kinda like the Golden Mean of feedback. It balances what makes sense to you with what doesn’t feel right…and it allows you to go back and look at your piece with an objective eye.

Achieving Bounce Back takes practice. Here are some strategies:

  • Take notes. Listening to feedback can be painful (even if it’s good overall, your mind will home in on that one comment that wasn’t). Learning to really hear what people are saying is not always easy to decipher as you’re listening. That’s why it’s important to take notes, I think. Write down everything everyone says, whether it’s good, bad, or indifferent. Why? Two reasons. First, it gives you something to do while people are delivering their feedback. Second, it gives you something to go back to after your mind has had a chance to process.
  • Put the notes aside for awhile. How long will depend upon your personality and/or it might depend on the piece. I’ll often go through my notes and marked-up drafts within a couple of days and accept all the obvious things (e.g. typos) and whatever feels instantly “right” in my gut. Then I put it aside, knowing that my subconscious is working through the more controversial recommendations and feedback. As for how long it takes before I come back to that specific feedback? It really depends. Sometimes days, sometimes years (for novels).
  • Look at the craziest idea and try it. Is someone suggesting you ditch third person and try writing it in first? Try it. Open a fresh Word doc and try writing one scene or one chapter in first person. Is someone saying they want more description? Open a new page, and try describing a room, a character, whatever in great detail. Go with it. You may or may not end up using the text, but it will flex your brain muscle in a new way. And that’s a good thing.
  • Keep it in perspective – one person’s opinions is one person’s opinions. You will never, ever get everyone to like your piece. Don’t aim to please everyone. Aim to make the writing and the story (memoir, poem, etc.) as strong as you can make it. (How do you know when you’ve achieved this? When the thought of your own death and having people find your writing when they’re cleaning out your stuff doesn’t scare the bejeezus out of you.)
  • Consider the source. Everyone’s opinion is valid; this is true. But some feedback is going to be more informed than others. In my writing group, we have some members who write sci-fi. I don’t read a lot of sci-fi, so I always preface my feedback with that disclaimer. That particular genre has certain “rules,” and I always defer to the writer and the members in the group who are voracious readers of the genre. That doesn’t mean I don’t have any relevant feedback to provide; I often do. But I think it’s important for everyone to realize they have their strengths. (Agents often specialize in certain genres for this reason — same concept applies.)
  • Receive feedback graciously (even the yucky stuff). Feedback is a one-way process: from one person to you. You should not debate with someone that he or she is wrong or missed the point. Why? Because you’re not going to be sitting next to every reader who picks up your short story, novel, poem, etc. and offering explanations when he or she misinterprets something or misses a point. Your job is to ensure that you’re conveying on the page what your mind thinks it’s conveying — the two often don’t match up.
  • Don’t exact revenge on others. If you get torn apart in a workshop session, do not seek revenge by becoming a monster when it’s your turn to give feedback.
  • Don’t give up. A tough workshop session (I’m thinking MFA programs now rather than writing groups) can leave you questioning whether you should be doing this at all. It’s a normal reaction to have in certain moments, as long as you don’t let the notion consume you and cloud your judgment.

Add your ideas and experiences with feedback in the comments.

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