Showing posts with label feedback. Show all posts
Showing posts with label feedback. Show all posts

Tuesday, 29 July 2025

Grey, Baggy and Holey -- sharing a first draft Sheena Wilkinson

I like to start a new writing project at the beginning and keep on until I get to the end. I work on the principle of ‘first get it written, then get it right’. My first drafts tend to be overlong and messy, but more or less a recognisable version of the final version.

And one thing is for sure: I don’t show those first drafts to anyone. I would be mortified.

However, my current work in progress has been giving me a hard time. It’s a dual timeline, a device I like as a reader so long as it’s well done – by which I mean the stories should link, be of equal import and interest and the pacing should ensure that the reader is sorry to pause one timeline but then be immediately captured by the other one, either because you left it at such a cliffhanger, or because something in the first timeline has revealed something that makes you want to plunge back into the other one. When it’s well done, with reveals at just the right point in the narrative, it’s such a satisfying reading experience.


Turns out, though, that it’s not that easy to achieve. I’m over 70,000 words into the first draft of a dual timeline novel, set between the 1940s and 2020s, with my main characters linked by a house, and some drawings. I knew I had a good mystery, and even a twist, but I also knew that my modern timeline wasn’t pulling its weight. I was whingeing voicing my frustrations about this to a wise writer friend last week, when she generously offered to read it. 

I can’t let you see an unfinished first draft! I demurred. I would be too embarrassed. It would be like going out in public in my knickers. Grey baggy ones. With holes. 


But the wise writer friend (we’ll call her Emma, since she is in fact the insightful and generous Emma Pass) said that didn’t matter, and, since I really was in despair about how to fix it, and I didn’t think my usual strategy of just writing to the end and then editing it was going to work, I sent her the draft.


She read it quickly and said the encouraging things I needed to hear – especially that she hadn’t guessed the twist! – but agreed that the contemporary timeline needed another element. She had some suggestions, some of which chimed with my vision of the book, some of which didn’t, but – and this is why this was so helpful – in considering them, I chanced on what would work. 


The ending of this story could be that I returned to the MS today with fresh ideas, happy to be going in the right direction and not wasting any more time, but it’s more complex than that. When I looked at the progress I’d made with his book since starting it 14 months ago I could see that, more than anything else I’ve ever written, it has been interrupted many times along the way – by another book which was commissioned by a publisher and so had to take priority, and by editing two other projects for publication later this year. I've shared the relevant pages to show you just how many times the project has had to give way to something else. 

My writing is often stop-start, because of having to make money, but when I sat back and looked at this project, I realised that I had rarely had the chance for a really good run at it. I also realised that some of the 'new' ideas I'd had this weekend after talking to Emma were already there in my notes: I had just forgotten about them. No wonder it wasn’t exactly coherent. I’m sharing this to remind people of the importance of seeking help from other, trusted writers; of not being too precious about works in progress; of understanding that what we 'always' do might not always work, and of realising that we might already have had the answers all along.


And now I’m getting straight back to that manuscript. Grey, baggy and holey it might be right now, but thanks to being brave enough to expose it, and thanks to the wisdom of Emma, I know how to fix it. 

 

Friday, 30 August 2019

Stages of Receiving Feedback - by Tamsin Cooke

I’ve been thinking about my reactions to receiving feedback.  Recently I handed a manuscript over to my agent. I was filled with such hope and excitement … until I received her thoughts!

Now I want to make it clear that I trust my agent completely. She is incredibly warm, generous and most importantly honest when she reviews my work. And for this I am utterly grateful … 
but perhaps not straight away.
So I thought I would share the stages I go through. (This also applies to receiving feedback from editors.)

Prior to receiving feedback I am in a state of Hopeful euphoria.
I know my agent will love it. She hasn’t quite got back to me yet because she’s making each page into wallpaper for her living room.  Or she hasn’t got to me yet because nothing needs altering. Right now she is contacting every publisher she knows, and a huge bidding war is a about to start!!!
OK, maybe not exactly this. But I definitely hope that my agent will love it. After all I’ve been working on it for months and I think it’s the best it can possibly be.  

During this time, I am constantly refreshing my email. And yes, I am driving myself mad.  At last her email arrives and:

Shock
I read and reread the email in dumbfounded silence. The words aren’t quite computing. 

This is quickly followed by Denial
What does she know???
How can she not have spotted the genius in the manuscript?
She obviously hasn’t read between the lines to see the inner conflict …

This is followed even quicker by Panic
She’s right. She’s absolutely right!
The whole thing is awful. Why am I even a writer? I should give up now. At the very least I should throw this story into the bin, never to see the light of day again.





A little bit of time occurs before the next stage.  Often chocolate, jellybeans and gin have been consumed.

Acceptance
Someone I trust deeply has read my story and she has my best interests at heart.  And she does in fact love lots about it. I have only been concentrating on the negative. And when I dig deeper into the negative, she has a point. I begin to see where my agent is coming from. 

A-   Yes, admittedly my protagonist doesn’t really grow that much. 
B-   Ah, that might be a gaping plot hole.
C-   Yes, I did forget about that secondary character. 
D-  Ok that wonderful scene that I adore more than anything is in fact a red herring and has added nothing to my story

This stage can also incorporate FEAR as I am now stuck in plot hole Hell… What can I do???? Will I ever get out? Plus SADNESS. Yes, it’s true. I have to kill off my beloved character.

Then I get to my favourite stage:
Inspiration
Now that I’ve take everything on board, and I have thought about what she’s really saying, my brain starts firing with all these different ideas and possibilities. I know how to fix these problems. I can see the direction my story needs to take.

And I can’t wait to get going again.

Receiving feedback can be hard. But if you trust the person, and know that they want to get the best out of you, it can be the most rewarding experience - especially when you edit your story and you know that this draft is the best it could ever be. You just hope your agent agrees when you resend it to her in a state of Euphoric hope

Tamsin Cooke
Author of The Scarlet Files Series and Stunt Double Series








Sunday, 28 October 2018

Peer feedback in writing workshops - Clémentine Beauvais


This is less of a ‘this writing life’ blog post than usual, and more of a vox pop, to gather ideas from authors who regularly do creative writing workshops. How do you deal with the feedback part of the workshop, and in particular, what are your strategies for making sure the texts shared with the group elicit ‘good’ feedback from peers ?

In my own workshops, I would say peer feedback time is often, to begin with, the most squeezed. There’s just never enough time for it – we’ve talked too much before, or the writing bit has run overtime, and maybe that’s just me being a poor timekeeper but I can never sacrifice a good present conversation for the sake of a future perhaps-mediocre peer-feedback session. So, that’s a first issue.

The second issue is that there are so many possibilities for it that I sometimes end up overthinking it, in a labyrinthine sort of way. Of course, there’s no right or wrong answer, ever : it’s about deciding which strategy, this time, for this workshop, for this particular purpose, will be the right one. Evidently, you won’t organise peer-reading in the same way for an eight-month novel writing course for adults and for a one-off haiku writing workshop for 8-year-olds. Not to mention that different workshop atmospheres might lead you, on a particular day at a particular time, to decide suddenly to do thing differently. And that’s particularly what I find difficult, and fascinating : the act of making a final decision, of saying : ‘that hugely important, exposing moment, will be done in that way, structured as such, for reasons X and Y.’

Here’s a map, really schematic, of some of those possibilities for the different steps of peer-reading and feedback.

Sharing 

When it comes to sharing the work itself, there’s already two possibilities : do they have to, or is it optional ?

If it’s compulsory, there’s an added responsibility for the teacher – and everyone – to make it feel safe and comfortable. But if it’s optional, it’s only superficially more free, because of course some people might never dare – and yet secretly desire – to get peer feedback on their text.

In either case, you can also ask them to share it with the group in class, or later (say, online).

And make it anonymous, or let them see everyone’s names ?

Whether the latter or the former : do they get to share it with the whole group, or with just a part of it ?

If the former, of course, it’s a lot of work for everyone – but theoretically, everyone benefits from seeing everyone’s work – but in practice, they might take less care in reading and commenting on each individual piece.

If they share it with a fraction of the group, how many ? one person ? two people ?

If the former : the person directly next to them – who they’re likely to have picked as a friendly neighbour – or mix up the papers, at the risk of causing awkwardness ?

If the latter : as a chain (A gives their text to B who gives theirs to C who gives theirs to A), or as a triangle (A gives their text to B and C, B to C and A, etc.) ? 

In any case : do they read it out loud ? Or just let the reader read silently ? If they read out loud : their own piece, or another person’s ?

And that’s just the sharing part. Then we get to the reading part.

Reading

Ideally, peer-reading should be guided and focused : the workshop itself should have introduced a theme, motif, literary device, something to hold onto, that the writing prompt itself should have contributed to intensifying in a particular writing exercise : so the reading, similarly, should close that feedback loop by focusing, ideally, on how well that particular something was done in the text.

Ideally. Because of course, whatever you do, peer-reading is going to be about a lot more than that something. You might be tut-tuttting all you want in the corner, but if this particular workshop was about characterisation and everyone you can hear is telling their neighbour how much they liked the style or the plot structure, it’s not necessarily your fault. Texts are of course always in excess of the prompt you’ve so carefully chosen.

So you can structure the reading by asking the participants, for instance, to annotate the texts or highlight them only for what they do with the particular prompt. E.g. : if the prompt was about metaphor, only read for metaphor. Not the most natural structured reading, but after all it is close to some methods of literary criticism they might already be familiar with.

You can also ask the participants, while they’re reading, to divide up their attention, and therefore their feedback, between the prompt-specific device and the rest.

Or you can ask the group itself, either individually or collectively, to decide – and tell their peers about – what they would most value as feedback ; in other words, what they would like their peer to focus on when listening to, or reading, their work.

Feedback

When it comes to feedback, again, it’s a maze of possibilities. Ask them to structure the feedback, using, for instance, feedback sheets ? there’s many examples online and most workshop leaders create their own, to fit each workshop, each group, tailoring it to the ages, notably, of the participants.

Or let them give unstructured feedback, and risk an avalanche of ‘yeah, wow, I liked it’, full stop, at the end ?

Ideally, you’ve talked with the group about the feedback process. In contexts where workshops are conducted over several weeks, you can afford to spend half of a session brainstorming all together what constitutes good feedback in writing workshops. Often, it lasts a long time, because it’s a real philosophical discussion : it’s not enough to say ‘constructive’ or ‘encouraging’ or ‘honest’ : you have to dig deeper. What does it mean for feedback to be those things ? In one-off writing workshops, it’s much more complicated to find the space for that group discussion.

The famous ‘I liked this particular thing, because…’ and ‘I felt this could be improved, because…’ is a lovely thought always, and everyone greets the suggestion with energetic nodding, but in practice I haven’t often observed the phrases tumbling freely out of people’s mouths when it comes to actually giving feedback...

Should the feedback be written up, or given orally ? If the latter, who, if anyone, takes notes ?

And then after…

Will anyone get an opportunity to revise their work, and resubmit it ? If so, to whom ? The same person, or another ? And how is that second session going to be run ? Oh, no ! we’re back at the start of the maze…

This is just a very brief overview of some of the possibilities. Obviously, it’s somewhat pointless to overthink them in the abstract – they should always be tied to purpose, situation, audience. There’s also space for much more creative ways of doing things – I haven’t even covered those here.

I’m very interested in opinions from authors, teachers, practitioners who overthink those things as we are prone to doing. So please share your tips, observations and existential questionings in the comments !

-----------------------------------
Clémentine Beauvais is a writer and literary translator. Her YA novels are Piglettes(Pushkin, 2017) and In Paris with You (trans. Sam Taylor, Faber, 2018).

Friday, 30 June 2017

Courses for authors? Hilary Hawkes

“What course do I need to do to be a writer?” someone recently asked.

I had to think for a minute.  Not because they aren’t plenty of courses out there that claim to help would-be-writers and not because I couldn’t think of a few in particular that have a good reputation.

My pause was more to do with the fact that someone could think that a course, as a qualification I suppose, would turn you into an author – as long as you completed it. Because, really, that on its own probably won’t will it?

When I decided I wanted to be a writer, or discovered I was a writer, there wasn't the choice of online, in-person or in-classroom schools where you could go to learn skills and tips and progress along the how-to-get-published route. There were a few – but really hardly any. Back then there were books such as Teach Yourself Writing and (my favourite but now out of print!) To Writers With Love by Lesley Conger. I was 17 when I read it and found it all sort of nurturing and wonderful. Writing, sending manuscripts out to publishers and agents felt like quite a lonely business, but this book, you see, was on my side.



There weren’t even any very helpful author groups either. There was something wonderfully amateurish in my home town that called itself The Writers’ Group and which was mostly made up of elderly ladies who liked writing poems. They were nice poems, actually, and it was  friendly, but I was a teenager.

Later, after I’d had some modest success with getting some short stories published, I did take an online course. I loved it. The tutor recommended a particular agent and it was that particular agent who took me on.

Are courses useful, not so much for teaching about story structure, characterisation etc but for the contacts and support? And perhaps they replace the feedback editors used to have time to give on manuscripts that are rejected.

Can improving as a writer in those early stages (or at any stage) be done just as well by reading lots of the type of books you want to write – and studying some of the brilliant how-to-write/structure/create characters etc texts that now abound? Plus, maybe, some individual mentoring/critique feedback?


Something to ponder: if you were right at the start of your writing career now would you apply to take one of the well regarded courses? 

Today I really do think children’s authors are blessed with support and advice, including from organisations such as the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and the Society of Authors group for children’s authors (CWIG).

Perhaps what the good courses do so well is help budding authors consolidate and practise writing skills, give feedback and then, very importantly, suggest contacts. That nurtured and wonderful feeling in addition to being amongst others who are on your side and share your passion and hopes definitely gives confidence, support and the impetus needed to persevere. 

What are your thoughts or experiences of courses?

Hilary Hawkes