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Written by Elizabeth Genco
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Tuesday, 12 July 2005 |
Elizabeth shares her hows and whys of getting a second (or third, or fourth) opinion on a finished draft. Part two in a series of writing well with the help of others.
So, you've got a story. Better yet, you have a script. It began as a faint glimmer of an idea, one that found its meat and bones slowly in notebooks and perhaps the roughest of rough drafts. You got stuck, so you took your friends down to the bar and let them have a crack at it. From there the words, scenes, and acts flowed from your head to your fingers to the keyboard and into something… else.
After a while, you pulled the script out from beneath your chair, rubbed off the tarnish and sewed up the holes. You showed it to an artist who subsequently fainted from zeal and nervous anticipation.
Yes, after a long struggle, you've come to the next fork in the artistic road from conception to fruition. And you know you're ready. You're ready. Right?
Not so fast! You're at the next stage, all right, but it's probably not the one where you bring in the artist (or lick the stamps on your submissions package, if you're writing prose). Dare I suggest a different crack team? Three guesses as to who's on it.
You do have beta readers, don’t you?
A couple of weeks ago, I got grumpy over a lack of story payoffs, a problem I run into far too often (especially in indy comics). Though this time I'm going to try to keep the grumpiness to a minimum, let me now mention another far too often indy comics problem: an apparent lack of editing.
(Okay, I'll even go out on a limb and say that this problem creeps into mainstream comics as well. No disrespect meant; I just call 'em like I see 'em.)
I say "apparent" because I have a sneaking suspicion that the problem isn't with live, overworked editors. The problem, I suspect, is with writers who are all too eager to send something unfinished into the world. Into the wild.
Remember, once you send something into the wild, it has to fend for itself. You can't be around to explain to every reader that you really meant thus-and-such. Sure, you could sigh, moan and blog profusely about what idiots your readers are, but I'd argue that such antics lack a certain amount of taste and class.
(Yes, I've seen this. Too often. From peeps who are actually getting paid to write. Truly, I am baffled. Call me kooky, but I'm more inclined to believe that the problem is with the writer, not the audience.)
Your best alternative to such shenanigans is to give your work a fighting chance. In so doing, you won't come off as the writer who was a snidge too anxious to get to the finish line. Sure, you're learning your craft and you practice every day. Unfortunately, it's not enough. What you really need is at least one trusted advisor to call you on your crap so you can flush it out of your story.
Beta readers are scary. Your good friend whom you've known for two decades is a very different person when they're wearing the beta reader hat. In fact, said hat may seem more like that smelly rubber mask that your older brother used to wear to torment the neighborhood trick-or-treaters. Yes, a beta reader's critique can make you feel like a kid again, and not in a good way.
On the other hand, maybe your friend of two decades isn't the best beta reader. Friends may not let friends drive drunk, but they may tell friends what they want to hear instead of what they need to hear.
So what makes a good beta reader?
Only you can answer that question, of course, and figuring it out may take some trial and error. In an attempt to shorten the process, here are a few things that work for me. A beta reader must be impartial and free of an agenda. They must be able understand and articulate what works and what doesn't in a story, even if their only basis of opinion is a laser-like story sense honed from years of reading (personally, this is my favorite kind). They must have your best interests at heart.
Most importantly, your beta readers must be able to deliver critiques in a constructive, friendly manner. I know that in some circles I'm really going out on a limb, here, but critiques should make you think, not make you feel like shit. A Patton-style delivery isn't very useful, either. I don't know about you, but a "tough love" approach doesn't go over with me very well.
So, you've got a few beta readers. Maybe you're even in a critique group with the best people and chemistry in the world. What else is there to consider? The trickiest part of all: should you keep the advice, or throw it back?
Why so tricky? Well, if you're going to get anything useful out of beta readers, you'll really need to put your ego in the closet for a few minutes. Okay, that's fine and all. But here's the thing: you also have to leave the closet door open just a crack. Not all beta reader advice is going to be good advice, and, ultimately, the responsibility for your story is yours.
How are you to tell if the beta readers are giving you advice that's worth taking? Sometimes, it will be obvious -- you'll let out an "Aha!", the two of you will high-five, whatever. Other times, you're going to have to put your thinking cap on. What is the beta reader really saying? What's your story really about, anyway? Beta readers shouldn't have an agenda, but I believe that writers should, and that said agenda should be fully-formed before the beta reader stage.
Above all, you must be honest with yourself. Let's consider that time when I had four beta readers lined up on the couch opposite me, and every single one was confused over the crucial scene. You know, the one that made perfect sense. It sucked; I pouted. But, the confusion of four people is evidence that any sane writer cannot ignore. The scene got re-written.
From the land of the slightly more extreme, here's a plea: if you find that you've got an overwhelming urge to explain to your reader the exact whys and hows of the utter wrongness of their observations -- please, stop right there. I know it's tough, but that's your cute to sit down, shut up, and re-write.
Lastly, here's a helpful beta reader practice that I invite you to try. Next piece of constructive criticism you get, ask your friendly reader this question: "If you were me, what would you do? What would be your solution to this problem?" Not only will it force your reader to think things through (which they're probably doing anyway, but, you know), you get a little bit of brainstorming out of the deal. It can be fun, as critiques go.
After all, finding problems is a lot easier than fixing them. Why not take all the help you can get?
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