I must have skin that's a mile thick. (Perhaps THAT is why I'm so fat. It's not the chocolate and the buttered bread and the mashed potatoes...it's my thick skin. Halleluiah!) I ask for suggestions on what to cut. I relish offerings from others on how to improve my writing. I appreciate honesty when it comes to writing critique.
This past weekend I went on a writing project retreat. It was at my favorite monk-ery. I didn't necessarily get too much feedback from the group I was in, but I did get some valuable critique from the guest editor (Britton Gildersleeve...I know--what a name!) who comes every year to this retreat.
What is the best writing advice you ever got?
The Pyrenees---Southern France
Showing posts with label Britton Gildersleeve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Britton Gildersleeve. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2014
Monday, March 31, 2014
Honesty...Such a Gift
My daughter is honest about how she feels about my shoes. They're atrocious. She has tried to get me to buy some cute(r) Crocs--ones that are fleece-lined--but I stand firm. Crocs--the basic ones--are perfect because if they get muddy, you just hose 'em off and they're good to go...over and over and over again.
My dog is honest about anything that falls onto the floor. It's delicious (and is gone instantly).
My husband is honest about my hair. He'd like me to get it styled like Olivia Wilde--and then we'd look exactly alike...
Almost a year ago, I dragged what I thought was a manuscript to Conception, Missouri. The occasion? A writing retreat, led by Britton Gildersleeve. (I know--what a fabulous name, right?) Britton is not only a director of a National Writing Project in Oklahoma, she is also a voracious reader, can talk faster than a speeding bullet and knows exactly what questions to ask in order to get a writer onto the right track.
What I learned quickly from Britton was that my story lacked meat. Or rather, it lacked a thread--a thread that would connect the "layers."
(Why couldn't I have just written a straight-forward story? It's my first--and perhaps my last--novel. Why did I have to complicate things?)
By Wednesday evening, five people will have my manuscript. (Whether they read it or not is a different story.) I'm incredibly curious and will have trouble reining in my pestering questions. Dothelayersmakesense? Doyoucareaboutthecharacters? Isitanicemixofhumorandseriousness? Doesitflowsmoothly?
Why do you have ants in your pants these days? or When did you have trouble either delivering honesty of receiving it?
My dog is honest about anything that falls onto the floor. It's delicious (and is gone instantly).
My husband is honest about my hair. He'd like me to get it styled like Olivia Wilde--and then we'd look exactly alike...
Almost a year ago, I dragged what I thought was a manuscript to Conception, Missouri. The occasion? A writing retreat, led by Britton Gildersleeve. (I know--what a fabulous name, right?) Britton is not only a director of a National Writing Project in Oklahoma, she is also a voracious reader, can talk faster than a speeding bullet and knows exactly what questions to ask in order to get a writer onto the right track.
What I learned quickly from Britton was that my story lacked meat. Or rather, it lacked a thread--a thread that would connect the "layers."
(Why couldn't I have just written a straight-forward story? It's my first--and perhaps my last--novel. Why did I have to complicate things?)
By Wednesday evening, five people will have my manuscript. (Whether they read it or not is a different story.) I'm incredibly curious and will have trouble reining in my pestering questions. Dothelayersmakesense? Doyoucareaboutthecharacters? Isitanicemixofhumorandseriousness? Doesitflowsmoothly?
Why do you have ants in your pants these days? or When did you have trouble either delivering honesty of receiving it?
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