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Mar. 29th, 2011 02:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ann_leckieSo, authors responding to reviews. Don't do it, right? The latest one is like a car wreck--you know you should just drive on, but you can't look away.
Many commenters, in the original thread and elsewhere, have laid out the explicit, obvious lesson to be learned from this sort of thing. But honestly, I think most of us get that lesson pretty clearly, most of us see that in ten foot high flaming letters written across the blog posts and comment threads where authors self-destruct so publically. That lesson, while absolutely true, isn't what really interests me about this latest flake-out.
Let me tell you what interests me. It's the moment where the reviewer posted sample sentences from the book in question, pointing out that these were only an illustrative few, but the book was full of such sentences. Here they are:
So. These sentences--particularly the first example--remind me strongly of sentences I've seen in slush. It's the sort of thing that tells me in the first few paragraphs that I probably won't be reading much further. The second is eye-crossingly bad, and only a few subs I've run across have anything like it on display.
So, what was interesting here? The fact that the author insisted in a subsequent comment that there was nothing wrong with either sentence, her writing was fine.
Sometimes, when I read a sub that's got sentences in it like this, I think, "Did this person write this sentence, and then say to themselves Yes, that's it, that's exactly how it ought to be, that sentence is good enough to be published in "My Life's Ambition Is To Appear Here" magazine? Really?" I'm never sure if the subber thought those sentences were the bees knees, or whether they just figured "Eh, good enough," when it wasn't, or what.
The author's insistence suggests to me that at least for some percentage of subbers, the answer is, "They see nothing wrong with those sentences."
That's tricky. How do you know if you're in that category? How can you fix something if you're utterly unaware of it needing any kind of fixing at all?
This is where those of us who beat ourselves up over our writing have a slight advantage. I don't know about y'all, but while I'm writing, even when I'm fairly sure the project is worthwhile and the sentence I've just spent time working and reworking is pretty good, I'm plagued with doubts. I know I can't see my own work terribly objectively, I know I'm capable of writing horrible sentences that look wonderful to me until I let the draft lie for a while and come back to it and go "Oh, ick, no." I know that just because the work in front of me seems all right just this moment, that's no guarantee it's any good at all. This makes for a fair number of neuroses surrounding writing, and myself, I try to consider these scenery. "Oh, that's the internal critic trying to sabotage my work. Hello, Internal Critic, you just chatter a while, I've got some writing to do. No, I don't care what you think. I can fix any actual problems in the next draft."
Even so, it's unpleasant. But it also makes it easier to acknowledge that maybe I've messed up somewhere.
Some of us spend a lot of time and effort trying to contain, tame, or just plain shut up our internal critics. But some of us might benefit from cultivating her voice. In a controlled way, of course--we need that internal critic, we just need her to be working for us and not against us. But that's its own post.
And then of course, seeing the difference between an awkward but grammatical sentence and something much better isn't easy. It comes more or less easily to some folks, and it comes more easily the more reading you do. Like any skill, mindful practice can make a big difference. But for all of us, we're going to pass through a time--maybe quite a long time--where that's invisible to us.
I don't know the answer--I don't know the magic key that will explain to you the difference between terrible sentences and good ones, if you don't already have that. Understand, though, it's not grammar. You can write a completely grammatically correct sentence that's ugly and awkward as hell. Grammar will not fix this problem for you, if you have it. Grammar is only the very first step. It's important, it's very basic, you have to have it, yes, but it won't solve the whole problem.
Anyway. If you learn one lesson from this latest author flameout, don't let it be "Don't respond to reviews." Because you've already learned that one, haven't you? From other examples? Instead, learn this lesson--your writing may not be even remotely as good as you think it is.* And that's fine--as I've said many a time, everyone has to start somewhere. But it's not fine if you decide to cross your arms and insist you need no improvement. Because then you're just stuck.
____
*Of course, if you've already achieved this self-doubting state of mind, I'm not actually talking to you here. You have already learned the lesson. Maybe too well. Your job is not to cultivate your internal critic, but to domesticate her. She is--or will be, when you've got her under a bit of control--your ally.
Many commenters, in the original thread and elsewhere, have laid out the explicit, obvious lesson to be learned from this sort of thing. But honestly, I think most of us get that lesson pretty clearly, most of us see that in ten foot high flaming letters written across the blog posts and comment threads where authors self-destruct so publically. That lesson, while absolutely true, isn't what really interests me about this latest flake-out.
Let me tell you what interests me. It's the moment where the reviewer posted sample sentences from the book in question, pointing out that these were only an illustrative few, but the book was full of such sentences. Here they are:
"She carried her stocky build carefully back down the stairs."
"Don and Katy watched hypnotically Gino place more coffees out at another table with supreme balance."
So. These sentences--particularly the first example--remind me strongly of sentences I've seen in slush. It's the sort of thing that tells me in the first few paragraphs that I probably won't be reading much further. The second is eye-crossingly bad, and only a few subs I've run across have anything like it on display.
So, what was interesting here? The fact that the author insisted in a subsequent comment that there was nothing wrong with either sentence, her writing was fine.
Sometimes, when I read a sub that's got sentences in it like this, I think, "Did this person write this sentence, and then say to themselves Yes, that's it, that's exactly how it ought to be, that sentence is good enough to be published in "My Life's Ambition Is To Appear Here" magazine? Really?" I'm never sure if the subber thought those sentences were the bees knees, or whether they just figured "Eh, good enough," when it wasn't, or what.
The author's insistence suggests to me that at least for some percentage of subbers, the answer is, "They see nothing wrong with those sentences."
That's tricky. How do you know if you're in that category? How can you fix something if you're utterly unaware of it needing any kind of fixing at all?
This is where those of us who beat ourselves up over our writing have a slight advantage. I don't know about y'all, but while I'm writing, even when I'm fairly sure the project is worthwhile and the sentence I've just spent time working and reworking is pretty good, I'm plagued with doubts. I know I can't see my own work terribly objectively, I know I'm capable of writing horrible sentences that look wonderful to me until I let the draft lie for a while and come back to it and go "Oh, ick, no." I know that just because the work in front of me seems all right just this moment, that's no guarantee it's any good at all. This makes for a fair number of neuroses surrounding writing, and myself, I try to consider these scenery. "Oh, that's the internal critic trying to sabotage my work. Hello, Internal Critic, you just chatter a while, I've got some writing to do. No, I don't care what you think. I can fix any actual problems in the next draft."
Even so, it's unpleasant. But it also makes it easier to acknowledge that maybe I've messed up somewhere.
Some of us spend a lot of time and effort trying to contain, tame, or just plain shut up our internal critics. But some of us might benefit from cultivating her voice. In a controlled way, of course--we need that internal critic, we just need her to be working for us and not against us. But that's its own post.
And then of course, seeing the difference between an awkward but grammatical sentence and something much better isn't easy. It comes more or less easily to some folks, and it comes more easily the more reading you do. Like any skill, mindful practice can make a big difference. But for all of us, we're going to pass through a time--maybe quite a long time--where that's invisible to us.
I don't know the answer--I don't know the magic key that will explain to you the difference between terrible sentences and good ones, if you don't already have that. Understand, though, it's not grammar. You can write a completely grammatically correct sentence that's ugly and awkward as hell. Grammar will not fix this problem for you, if you have it. Grammar is only the very first step. It's important, it's very basic, you have to have it, yes, but it won't solve the whole problem.
Anyway. If you learn one lesson from this latest author flameout, don't let it be "Don't respond to reviews." Because you've already learned that one, haven't you? From other examples? Instead, learn this lesson--your writing may not be even remotely as good as you think it is.* And that's fine--as I've said many a time, everyone has to start somewhere. But it's not fine if you decide to cross your arms and insist you need no improvement. Because then you're just stuck.
____
*Of course, if you've already achieved this self-doubting state of mind, I'm not actually talking to you here. You have already learned the lesson. Maybe too well. Your job is not to cultivate your internal critic, but to domesticate her. She is--or will be, when you've got her under a bit of control--your ally.