FUBAR Feedback (Part One)

This morning I woke up thinking about a certain email exchange from March of 2004, when I wrote my friend Shannon Hale to share my impressions of her first published book, The Goose Girl, and she responded with a rebuke.

In a writing workshop, there's an etiquette to giving feedback: first, you tell the person what you liked about their story/poem/essay/play, then you talk about what, if anything, didn't work for you, followed (in some cases) by a constructive suggestion about what the writer might do to address the problem(s) you identified.

I stuck to this standard workshopping format in my email to Shannon.

First, I told her how much I had enjoyed the book, listed some of the reasons why, and predicted (correctly, it turns out) that she had found her calling as a writer.

Then (to quote directly from my email), I said, “If I had any criticism (and I share this only in the spirit of our old-time writing group critiques) it was that you went a little overboard on the similes, esp. ones about the sun. If I can use a make-up analogy I remember from some bizarre book my mother used to have, it was like saying, "oh what pretty eyeshadow she's wearing!" instead of "oh what pretty eyes she has" -- meaning that occasionally the simile called too much attention to the art involved in crafting it. On the other hand, you are so gifted at coming up with the unexpected comparison that I'd hate to take any of the fun out of it for you with this (unsolicited) observation (which is truly the only negative thing I thought while reading it, and it wasn't a big deal).”

Her response was chatty, and friendly enough, but reading it made me feel shamed, like she'd just slapped my hands with the ruler of writerly self-righteousness.

After going on a bit about how well everything was going with the reception of the book, she said (quoting her email directly), “I had to laugh at your proffered criticism of Goose. Once a book is published, there's not much one can do. It's sort of like giving someone feedback on something they can't change (e.g. 'Your hairstyle isn't quite right for your face shape' vs. 'I find the sound of your voice grating.') A writer simply cannot please everyone, and I wouldn't dream of trying. It is certainly the right of any reader to dislike any part of the story or the way I told it. Often, though, what one person dislikes is another's favorite aspect, e.g., many other readers and reviewers have cited the descriptive language (esp. of the natural world) as exemplary. Rest assured that I didn't take one word of my book lightly, every part went through 15-50 drafts, and I worked with 4 editors.”

I was struck by the “I had to laugh” followed by feedback on my feedback that seemed, to me, not all that ha-ha. Apparently, I had stepped on her ego (as a writer), and I therefore needed to be taken down a peg myself (as a reviewer). That laugh, I felt, was dismissive. Of course I realized that the book had already been published, and could not therefore be revised. I figured she had a long career ahead of her, and I gave her my honest opinion because I thought she might appreciate it. Apparently, however, she not only didn't appreciate it, she also thought I was an idiot for thinking she might.

So I had a complicated reaction when, a couple of weeks ago, Shannon's Facebook status update read something like, “Cutting similes from Princess Academy 2 – I overwrite them in the beginning so I can go back later and pick out the very best ones.”

On the one hand, I felt vindicated. Maybe I wasn't so dumb after all. Shannon may or may not remember what I said about the similes in her first book, but at some point, two or five or eight books later, she decided that some judicious simile-pruning ought to be part of her pre-publication process.

On the other hand, I felt humbled anew, because my comment, however “correct” it may have been, most likely had nothing to do with what she's learned about herself as a writer over the years.

Maybe other reviewers voiced criticisms similar to mine. Maybe her editors kept saying, “Hey, I love your similes, I'm a big fan, but let's not go bananas, okay?” Maybe, after hearing my comment echoed a time or two by people whose opinions meant more to her, she finally felt like listening.

However, I think it's more likely that, on some level, she knew her soft spot for similes was a potential weakness in her writing long before she laughed at my “proffered criticism” of her first novel. The only difference is that back then, she felt defensive, whereas now, she can make a matter-of-fact announcement: there were too many similes, and now it's time to get rid of some of them. She overwrites, and then she cuts. That's what works for her.

In other words, it was clear to me that Shannon has learned to trust her own voice. And I'm betting she learned that by writing, not by listening to what other people say about her writing.

All of which brings me to a question that's been much on my mind lately: when it comes to art (and by "art" I mean creative expression, whether we're talking writing or sculpting or quilting), is there such a thing as constructive criticism? If so, what does it look like? This is a big topic, a messy messy morass, and this post is merely our first foray into it. More to come....