Nearly eighteen months have passed since finishing the complete draft of my latest novel, Love Flowers in Freedom (working title).
I spent nearly 9 months—coincidentally the same time it takes to make a baby—tinkering the technicalities and tweaking the text, striving for perfection. I read and reread. I camped out at coffee shops. By September 2024, I could take it no further on my own. I needed an editor—someone to nitpick word usage and point out typos, multiple someones to comment on the text.
Obtaining honest feedback
With my previous two novels, I regularly relied on a circle of close friends for input. They enjoyed my writing enough to read every word but were also educated and honest enough to suggest edits and improvements. Unfortunately, life happened.
One of those ever-reliable voices tragically died. Another is preoccupied raising kids. And another drifted from me over a decade ago and could be anywhere doing anything by now. These events have left me looking for new editors.
Again, life happened.
Someone hacked my Facebook account and sent a woman from my past a spam message. What was an honest mistake turned in my favor. I told her I was working on the book, and she agreed to read and offer feedback—knowing damn well she inspired parts of it and what emotions it could stir.
I later approached a former boss of mine for her wisdom. She owns her own publishing imprint and has decades of experience writing and editing. Moreover, she is familiar with my work and abilities and offered feedback on my first novel. She kindly agreed to help.
Surviving the offensive
Handing off your writing to others for feedback is how I imagine a general feels sending his troops into battle. You know your precious manuscript is going to return bloodied and broken. Still, you ask yourself: Will the core of your story survive? Will you?
Build energy off the positives
Initial criticisms were intense. My first commentator wanted me to rid of the politically charged parts of the book. But, do that, and you end up with a flaccid story with little context on why the main character is as angry at the universe as he is.
Rather than dwell on her dislike of the political scandal in part one, I focused on what she liked about my story and that she had next to no notes on the scenes written from the perspective of a probation officer and single mom.
Listen to the experts—sometimes
One of House, M.D.’s greatest strengths is its medical realism. To achieve this, the show’s writers regularly consulted scientists and doctors. Where the show takes liberties, it covers those faults with frequent dialogue about Gregory House’s outlandish behavior, questionable ethics, and unorthodox practice.
On the other hand, historians, critics, and classics professors lambasted Troy, Wolfgang Petersen’s unfaithful silver-screen adaptation of Homer’s Illiad. But modern audiences would never sit through a line-by-line retelling of a Bronze age epic poem. BBC One and Netflix tried to get closer to the classical texts with Troy: Fall of a City but ended up with slow-moving soft-core porn.
Should the filmmakers have listened to the irritations of classics aficionados? Hardly. The movie grossed $497 million worldwide.
Opposing opinions sometimes lead to one truth
Speaking of the classics, my first complete draft of my novel started in media res. I thought this worked because I introduced both main characters and virtually every conflict the book contains in the space of a few pages.
Unfortunately, the first commenter’s daughter read the first couple chapters of my book and did not understand what it was about. My former boss thought the first part of my novel was impressive, but the middle parts seemed a bit disconnected from the beginning and the end.
Together, the comments uncovered an unfortunate truth: Beginning in media res and following it up with a non-linear narrative was confusing—even with datelines in every chapter. I have been playing around with it ever since, moving part two to part one. This makes the novel more chronological and doesn’t leave the reader waiting eighteen chapters for some of the conflicts to re-emerge.
If one person saw it or thought it, someone else will too
This particularly applies to awkward phrasing or depictions of behavior that may have read fine twelve months ago at the coffee shop but later make your character sound like a coyote pouncing at its own drool puddles—in a grocery store no less.
As you edit, think about your audience. Is your writing sending them the message you intend?
Balancing solipsism against criticism
Every week, my day job as a proposal strategist/writer reinforces artistry’s greatest bromides: Everyone’s a critic. And it’s impossible to please everyone.
Postmodern reactions to this have been to indulge one’s thoughts and whims—no matter what. While you should always be true to yourself, this Bohemian spirit has its limits. Given art is an extension of communication, you can only get so abstract before your horse is no longer a horse or you deconstruct your sentence into meaninglessness.
Think about your audience. Think about your intended message.
Are you saying what you want to say?
Nobody is truly creating art only for themselves.