Green Lens Media

Tag: rewriting

  • Nursing the Bruised Ego — Why Tough Feedback is the Best Feedback

    Image: CC-BY Writer’s Block I by Drew Coffman @ Flickr flic.kr/p/8kvbSL
    Image: CC-BY Writer’s Block I by Drew Coffman @ Flickr flic.kr/p/8kvbSL

    It takes a lot to be a successful writer. For starters, it takes persistence and hard work. It takes imagination. Passion. Love for what you’re doing. But it also takes a whooole lot of objectivity.

    I don’t care if you’re Quentin Tarantino or Ernest Hemingway—if you’re not objective about your own work, you will never reach your full potential. Still, easier said than done. Objectivity can be a tough thing to grasp as a writer. So what do we do? We turn to feedback.

    Feedback is one of the most important tools in a writer’s arsenal, and good feedback (along with a writer smart enough to incorporate it) can be the difference between a mediocre first draft and a spectacular final draft. But brutally honest feedback (which is of course, the best feedback), can be a tough pill to swallow.

    I’m sure the majority of writers reading this know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve finished that first draft. You’re in love with the kick-ass protagonist, the thrilling plot, and the pitch perfect comic relief. You send it out to some peers for review, and wait for your gold star and firm pat on the back. Then… the feedback arrives.

    Turns out that kick-ass protagonist is a wimp. That thrilling plot is a boredom factory. And as for that pitch perfect comic relief? About as funny as a funeral. At this point, most of us go through one of two phases.

    A: We fall into a deep depression, convinced we are hacks who aren’t worthy of writing Twilight fan fiction.
    B: We reach the logical conclusion that the reviewers are the real hacks; a bunch of amateurs who clearly can’t grasp our brilliance.

    Sometimes, if the work is really important to us or we’re particularly proud of it, we’ll go through both. But as with any grief, eventually there must come acceptance. Okay, so maybe we haven’t written our masterpiece, but that doesn’t mean we might not further on down the road. And that road is paved by rewriting.

    We toughen up. We go through the feedback again, side by side with our story, and we assess every note with absolute honesty. Yes. Maybe that witty dialogue we thought was the funniest part of the story really does nothing but bring it to a complete halt. Maybe that plot convenience we thought was perfectly legitimate does make life far too easy for the protagonist. Maybe the entire second half of the story is boring and doesn’t make a lick of sense. Whatever the case, we keep working.

    Having said all this, I do think it’s important to remember that not all feedback is valid. Sometimes a reader really won’t get your story, even if it’s an awesome one. In that situation it can be wise to discard some (though perhaps not all) of their feedback. However, if the number of people who aren’t getting your story keeps pilling on high, then maybe they aren’t the problem.

    Avoiding bad feedback becomes much easier if we seek out the opinions of people we respect. Whether they are fellow writers, teachers, or just friends who have good taste, people who have similar storytelling sensibilities to ours and who aren’t afraid to bruise our egos are invaluable resources. We owe them a great debt. Without them, our stories might never reach their full potential. Though perhaps we shouldn’t let them know, or they might start charging.

    When we’re watching a movie, especially one by a creative team whose work we aren’t familiar with, we have no problem being objective. If it’s garbage, we will say it’s garbage without so much as a whimper. If it’s amazing, we will praise its name from the rooftops of the tallest skyscrapers. To be an accomplished writer, we have to treat our own work with that same kind of objectivity. We have to take pride in our work, but we also have to be the first to point out when it’s not up to snuff. It’s as simple as that.

    PS: You’ll probably notice the similarity between this and the post on rewriting. We might be exploring familiar ground, but that’s only because this ground is so important. I’m a big believer in the theory of “first draft, worst draft”, and that if you want to really bring your work to the next level, you’ve got to be willing to keep rewriting and keep rewriting.

    So if you haven’t checked out the post on rewriting—which you can do so here—and you found this one useful, give it a look through, as these topics go very much hand in hand.

  • Rewriting: If You’re Going Through Hell, Keep Going

    Rewriting is a sobering experience. All too quickly that story you’ve been convinced is better than anything Hollywood’s churned out in the last twelve years isn’t so great anymore. Suddenly the holes seem a lot more apparent. The little sections you knew needed to be rethought grow much larger. You realize you’ve got a lot of work left to do. You realize it’s time to rewrite.

    To be clear, I’m not talking about revising here. Revising is fun. When you get to that stage, you already know that the story works. The structure is tight, the character arcs solid. Revising is tightening things up, getting them to be the best they can be. That last bit of polish before your baby is ready to be seen by the world.

    Unlike revising, rewriting is scary because there’s always that fear—as small and as in the back of your mind as it may be—that the story might completely collapse. I’m currently in the rewriting process, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to share a few of the things that help me when the going gets tough.

    As it often does.

    Treat your writing like it’s your worst enemy’s.

    This is basically another way of saying “be honest”. If you read my post on the writing of Breaking Bad, you’ll recognize that we’re treading familiar ground here. Take a step back. If you can stomach it, a week or two away from your story is often extremely helpful. It helps clear the mind, obviously, and if you like bouncing back from projects, I recommend starting to work on something else.

    Then, when you’re ready, come back to your story and prepare to be brutal. When I say treat it like it’s your worst enemy’s I mean go into it expecting to hate it. Call yourself out on everything. The small stuff, like dialogue that’s too on the nose or blatant exposition. And the big stuff, like a protagonist that’s rarely proactive, or a weak (and often criminally short) third act.

    This is the stuff that’ll make or break your film, so be honest about whether or not it works.

    Find people you respect and ask them to critique your work.

    I can’t stress this enough. As honest as we can be about our own writing, ultimately, we are way too close to it. Our stories live and breathe in our heads, and they’re much more expansive than what an audience will ever see. Often we might take elements in them for granted and leave out important information, or worse, not realize what our movie is really about.

    To avoid this, it’s vital for any serious writer to find someone they can count on to provide honest feedback. Preferably, multiple people with different qualifications. A fellow writer who understands the art of structure and pacing can be an invaluable resource; but an average-Joe who doesn’t know anything about movies other than that they like them will often catch things a pro might miss.

    If you can, get both perspectives. I’d say in general, avoid best friends or family members unless you know they’re not going to pull any punches. Also, if your critic is a writer, it’s only natural that you offer to give them feedback on their work as well—plus, this will most certainly benefit your own writing as well.

    Know that it takes time, but it will be worth it when it’s done.

    This might be the most important bit. Rewriting can be a long and painful process. First off, if you’ve even finished that first draft, give yourself a well deserved pat on the back. You’ve gotten farther than a lot of aspiring writers ever do.

    Just know that it’s not over.

    You’ll have to throw away some of your favorite scenes and replace them with brand new ones. You’ll probably delete entire characters you thought were vital to the plot. And almost every small change you make will ripple through the story in some way (or at least it should), and you’ll have to play clean up and make sure everything gels together. It’s a lot of work. But when you’ve got a second draft sitting in front of you, I guarantee you’ll very plainly see the difference in quality from the first. All the hard work will finally seem worth it. Then, it’s time to go through the process again.

    When it gets hard, remind yourself that most movies go through four, five, or even more drafts. A story that always inspires me comes from Rian Johnson, writer/director of the film Looper. While working on the script, Johnson came upon the realization that the second half wasn’t working. So he threw it out, and wrote an entirely new one.

    That’s the kind of honesty and (this one’s important, folks) willingness to do the work it takes to be a professional writer.

    Finally, to end on an amusing anecdote. For the life of me, I can’t remember where I came across it, so apologies to whoever thought it up. It puts a smile on my face and fills me with just that bit of inspiration required to keep going. Hope it hits you likewise.

    In the first draft, the characters are strangers. In the second draft, they are friends. In the third draft, they are family.