Pigs with Pencils
  • Critique
  • July14th

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    Really?

    Posted in: Critique, Musings

    I took a silly little on-line writing analysis test..the same scene, both my POV rewrites for hero #1 and hero #2 submitted together mishmashed.

    Apparently, my project sounds like a combination of L. Frank Baum, Chuck Palahniuk  and Vladimir Nabokov. Not by content per se, but by word choice, sentence structure, description—and yet, crazy as it is–it actually does touch on content as well. There are elements of each one in the story as a whole. I am dubious that 1,000 words could show that. Computers can’t read and understand mood or tone! And yet surprising accurate.

    With that summary of style and intriguing set of comparisons, one could write a  knock-out sexy back of the book cover copy. I shall squirrel it away for a future moment.

  • July10th

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    My critiquers and my first readers have vehemently opposing opinions on my changes to this story. And now I’m not sure myself whose opinion should hold more sway.

    Art is thankfully so much more simple. It’s obvious when something isn’t looking right or if the picture is too static. Writing is not like this apparently–either that, or perhaps my changes have been too sweeping, to all or nothing. I am that kind of person, you know.

    So here I am mid-redraft, and unsure–again. Changing the POV changes the story. My critique partners say good–my readers say not good.

    Where does the compromise lie in this situation? I can rewrite my opening section and keep the same POV. I can add to it all the dynamics that are in the new draft, add some new elements that have come to light, and go forward. It still changes the story though. But it has to change, I trust the writers, not the readers on this issue–but what part has to change?

    I ask myself, knowing I limited myself severely in my initial draft–is it enough change to partially satisfy my critics if I do everything they advised–except change the POV? How critical is that change? Why did they tell me do it?

    Hero #2 carries the plot. His is the more complex journey, his decision carries the weight at the end. Hero #1, my critique partners felt–did not have the strength to carry the plot. Her actions only involve herself and her world, an infinitely smaller place, with seemingly smaller complications and consequences.

    But my readers–who have not read the synopsis–like the story from hero #2 better. It’s got a melancholy mysterious tone that is wiped out when the story comes from hero#1. The pacing is slower, more deliberate. Hero#2 is completely in the dark about things that are happening. But critique partners found her too passive in her ignorance, too accepting of cruelty in her helpless child way. Readers said its okay that they do the emotional heavy lifting–so long as it doesn’t last through the whole story. They have real attachment to hero#2 after reading the opening chapters.

    Will the attachment transfer to hero #1 if I open his story with the scene where he gets a reassignment card–his worst nightmare come true? Something terrible has happened to hero#2 which my readers have just witnessed. Hero #1 is devastated–and he doesn’t even know what happened, but he expresses that grief. And then quite shortly experiences the horror first hand–expressing even more of what I would suspect the reader is feeling as well. They should identify with him. Very personally identify with him.

    This whole damn story is a gamble. No matter where I start it, no matter whose POV it comes from. I ask a lot of emotional investment from my reader–and then I yank them around by their heart strings. Mercilessly.

  • June23rd

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    My third critique partner gave me some very radical new ideas verbally and then forgot to send me the written file–which I am dying to read.

    I guess the biggest thing is the idea that I could slow my story down and really explore and show the reader the relationship between my two leads. Maybe it could be very interesting to watch how things develop over time. I had intended to plow right through it, cut to the chase. But I’ve already got such a mysterious thing happening right from the start. I could add the second viewpoint very early–without revealing everything. Limit it to the interactions at hand. Sit back and watch how small little things lead into disaster.

    See why I’m dying to read that file? I want to know more about this possibility. It does mean however, that my current synopsis changes. It might mean more than one story–which I don’t want to do–but, I’m never afraid to go down new rabbit holes. I don’t mind rewriting a new opening. The problem for me is one of focus and direction. If I can just get a better grip on how exactly I am going to tell this story–the momentum will pick up again. I’ve stalled out, but this new idea has got my interest.

  • May30th

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    Yes. It’s true. I’m back.

    I had expected with an hour of time set aside we’d have  lot’s to say to one another. But we didn’t. These turned out to be very brief and very unexpected moments.

    My two critique partners were very different authors from each other and from me, in age and writing credentials. My opinions of what they both told me, continue to shift over time as the experience takes on my own biases. But here is what I need to remember, here is where the truth will ultimately remain.

    The first words out of the mouth of my first critique partner were, “I want more. I want more of this story.”

    The first words written in the notes from my second critique partner were, “This is a very promising start to a novel.”

    For a very first try at writing novel length fiction, how much  more can you ask than that? The hour critiques we were supposed to have, ended up being only ten to fifteen minutes, maybe 20 on the second. We had very little to say to one another. My second critique was more technically intense, with ideas for later drafts–grammar, a shift in the plot line, a thought about who might really be the main character when it’s all said and done, a reminder to fulfill what has been promised at the start of the story…

    Now that I am back, I ask myself—why did I go? If I went looking for validation, I got it. In spades.

    So I am sitting here in my chair, looking at my boards, looking at where I stopped. In reality, my critiques answered nothing of tangible help to solve this…problem. It’s my burden to carry. There was no hint of it in what I sent in to be read and there was no good way to ask. The answer to the question is to be found in the writing of the novel. No one else can walk in those shoes. And I have the feeling that the real help, the answers to the questions I have, can only be addressed by others when the book is really finished and thoroughly read, start to finish.

    The prep work I did for the critiques went unused. But I now have a nice primer on the main symbolism of the story, and some very strong exposition on the resolution of the conflict. That should assist me at some point. But for now, I guess what I really need to do, is go back to work. I have to finish this second draft–whatever it takes–outline, note cards, magic marker on the floor…just get back to a solid work schedule. Try hard not to burn out.