I Checked All Your Adverbs

woman drinking a cup of coffeeThis seems like a complicated point to make. When we write, at least in a subconscious way, we imagine a reader who is reading it, and as we imagine that reader, we picture them understanding our text exactly the way we want them to. If it occurs to us that the imaginary reader will not understand something, then we change it.

Sometimes, however, when a real reader actually reads what we wrote, holy Jesus! how did they come up with those ideas? That’s not at all what we meant. The fact is, as a writer, you really don’t know how a reader will perceive what you’ve written. Until a reader, or multiple readers, see what you’ve done (and tell you), you’re guessing whether or not it works. After all, writing is not merely about writing, it’s about being read. We do not write just to admire the alphabet.

As hard as writing is, as much blood as you have to leave behind while doing it, when you finally have a finished manuscript, if you can get the opinion of some readers before you hand it out to the world, you can feel more confident of what you have. You don’t necessarily have to change anything based on what the readers say, but if three people are all confused at the same point, would you pay attention to that? I certainly would.

Getting this kind of help is one reason people seek out and attend writing groups. For a novelist, however, there are two potential problems with such a group. One problem is inherent in any group, the difference between critiquing and copy editing. Critiquing is seriously considering the content in a piece of writing as well as how it is presented (style, structure, and so on). Copy editing is only looking at what is written to see whether it has any mistakes, without much attention to the content.

Many people who attend writing groups, in their “critique” of someone’s writing, will merely copy edit, pointing out a mistake here and there, or talking about some feature of style they personally like or don’t like. This slight copy editing, which requires little effort, creates the illusion that they are taking part in a writing group. It isn’t serious, and it isn’t much help.

The second problem with a writing group applies particularly to novelists. Even if the members of a writing group are both competent and willing (and you’re damn lucky if you find both of those things in a group of people), the group members necessarily read only in bits at a time, so if you have a novel, then you eventually need a critique of the whole book, and you can’t get it there.

Thus, when you finish the draft of a novel, you’re fortunate if you can find someone who is capable and willing to give you a critique of the book. It’s quite a lot of effort, and a lot to ask of someone. And yet . . . it’s incredibly, incredibly helpful to a novelist. I’m jealous of writers who have a circle of writer friends who gladly expend the effort to give critiques. I mean, I assume such a situation must exist, although I’ve never encountered it.

With the last book I wrote, The Invention of Colors, I found two people who were willing to give me a critique. One of them even went so far as to ask if she could do it. I felt lucky to find two very smart, well-read people who would do this. I felt lucky, that is, until they both fell off the earth and disappeared, and six months later I have heard literally not a word from either of them.

I’m currently critiquing a novel for a friend, and my focus is on two things. First, I’m thinking about overall plot flow and whether I see problems in the logic, in plot, or in the flow from section to section. Second, I’m focused on the psychological reality of the characters. One point I’ve found to criticize, which I’ve seen in other books, is when a character does something not because that character would actually do such a thing, but only because the author needs for it to happen in the plot. That’s weak writing, and I’ll always jump on that like a bulldog on a wedding cake, or . . . anyway, you get the idea.

But whatever I say, the book doesn’t belong to me. I will offer advice, and then the writer decides. The writer should always own the writing.

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Filed under Giving Birth to a Book (That's Why I'm Screaming), Writing While Living

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