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 writing critique. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing critique. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2014
Saturday, April 20, 2013
With a Little Hindrance From My Friends
This week we had our writing critique meeting. The meeting of five wild women wielding pens. The WWWPs.
Three of us had submitted to the same anthology. Two of us had not heard (or so I thought) . Privately, a couple of weeks ago, I had told the more brazen of the other two of the submitters that I had already heard. I heard the next day--the day after I had submitted my story. Seeing the name of the anthology on an email that quickly was definitely surprising.
The other writer-friend I didn't tell, until I knew she had sent hers in, as she is sometimes of the thinking, 'Well, they'll take yours and hers...why would they want mine?' But on Wednesday I discovered that my shy friend had indeed sent in her piece.
It was then that I admitted that I had already heard. "They emailed me the next day. 'No,' they said. It stunk so bad, they had to burn rubber getting away from the stench--that's why they answered so quickly."
When the shy submitter said she hadn't heard, I replied, "Well, that's a good sign, because apparently if they don't like it they move fast." Then I looked at the other one, and she had her hand over her mouth and had her head ducked down...like she was trying to hide from me.
She had heard as well. They were considering her story. She said, "I didn't want to say anything because I knew you'd be mad."
I wasn't mad, although I did shout out my favorite phrase in mock ticked-offness. But that was all a façade. I wasn't angry with her. Instead, I felt bad.
Talking wryly about my rejections is something I do, right along with celebrating the times I get a "yes." And when my friends get their work accepted, I'm thrilled. If it's a publisher/editor that I failed at, I might throw a colorful phrase at the friend, but I'm never serious about it. Rarely am I emotionally invested in a piece to the point that I get furious when I hear "no" because I know that at some point, I'll change the piece and regurgitate it and then submit it to another publisher.
So if you have any shouting-from-the-rooftop to do, let me know. My writing friends help me so much--either in person or via the blogosphere--and I never want to hinder or inhibit any of them.
Ever.
Three of us had submitted to the same anthology. Two of us had not heard (or so I thought) . Privately, a couple of weeks ago, I had told the more brazen of the other two of the submitters that I had already heard. I heard the next day--the day after I had submitted my story. Seeing the name of the anthology on an email that quickly was definitely surprising.
 |
| photo by mbgrigby |
The other writer-friend I didn't tell, until I knew she had sent hers in, as she is sometimes of the thinking, 'Well, they'll take yours and hers...why would they want mine?' But on Wednesday I discovered that my shy friend had indeed sent in her piece.
It was then that I admitted that I had already heard. "They emailed me the next day. 'No,' they said. It stunk so bad, they had to burn rubber getting away from the stench--that's why they answered so quickly."
When the shy submitter said she hadn't heard, I replied, "Well, that's a good sign, because apparently if they don't like it they move fast." Then I looked at the other one, and she had her hand over her mouth and had her head ducked down...like she was trying to hide from me.
She had heard as well. They were considering her story. She said, "I didn't want to say anything because I knew you'd be mad."
I wasn't mad, although I did shout out my favorite phrase in mock ticked-offness. But that was all a façade. I wasn't angry with her. Instead, I felt bad.
Talking wryly about my rejections is something I do, right along with celebrating the times I get a "yes." And when my friends get their work accepted, I'm thrilled. If it's a publisher/editor that I failed at, I might throw a colorful phrase at the friend, but I'm never serious about it. Rarely am I emotionally invested in a piece to the point that I get furious when I hear "no" because I know that at some point, I'll change the piece and regurgitate it and then submit it to another publisher.
So if you have any shouting-from-the-rooftop to do, let me know. My writing friends help me so much--either in person or via the blogosphere--and I never want to hinder or inhibit any of them.
Ever.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Take a Few Whacks At It--Like a Pinata
Late last week I had a critique night looming over my head, and nothin' to share. Wednesday evening would be here all-too-soon.
Also pushing my procrastinator's button was an anthology's deadline. I wanted to submit something, but had not started anything until Saturday night, when I sat down and wrote...a whopping three sentences.
Crapola.
On Sunday evening,instead of working on lesson plans when I had some spare time, I added to my piece. Now it was about a third or so done.
Monday evening,Adam Levine was beckoning me ("The Voice" was on NBC) my muse cooperated a bit, and I made a bit more headway. But still, no end in sight..
On Tuesday night, I got within sight of the finish line. However, it lacked some oomph here and there and it lacked cohesiveness.
When I woke up on Wednesday morning, I was able to finish it and do some much-needed polishing. After some extremely-needed critique from the WWWPs last night, I submitted my story...just a few minutes ago.
Last week the piece felt really forced. There wasn't anything easy about it. However, after working on it for a few days, and taking several whacks at it, the words busted loose...just like candy from a piñata.
When the words are dammed-up, let your writing sit for a day or two. Make several attempts. And if the writing doesn't flow then, take a big stick...and whack at it until something busts loose...
Also pushing my procrastinator's button was an anthology's deadline. I wanted to submit something, but had not started anything until Saturday night, when I sat down and wrote...a whopping three sentences.
Crapola.
On Sunday evening,
Monday evening,
On Tuesday night, I got within sight of the finish line. However, it lacked some oomph here and there and it lacked cohesiveness.
When I woke up on Wednesday morning, I was able to finish it and do some much-needed polishing. After some extremely-needed critique from the WWWPs last night, I submitted my story...just a few minutes ago.
 |
| photo by starmunki |
Last week the piece felt really forced. There wasn't anything easy about it. However, after working on it for a few days, and taking several whacks at it, the words busted loose...just like candy from a piñata.
When the words are dammed-up, let your writing sit for a day or two. Make several attempts. And if the writing doesn't flow then, take a big stick...and whack at it until something busts loose...
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