Recently I’ve had a lot of fresh eyes on my first chapter, and I was amazed at what my readers picked up on. Here’s why fresh eyes are so valuable.
This evening I finished the tenth draft of my WIP. It’s been a long time coming and the story still has a way to go, but it’s definite progress.
I have a story that runs from a beginning, stumbles through a middle, and finally reaches an end.* The number of characters who magically appear or vanish without a trace can now be counted on one hand, and I’m pretty sure no one who dies is suddenly walking around later on.
* Okay, this was also true of draft six (or was it seven?), but the plot works better this time.
The avian part of my world is still populated solely by owls, sparrows, and the occasional hawk, though.
What now? I hear you ask.
The time has come, the walrus said, to let hubby read the full draft. And, through some combination of critique partners and beta readers, to get many more fresh eyes on my baby.
I think.
Now I’m nervous. I should check my list of things to fix to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything important.
I know the draft isn’t perfect and is probably more appropriate for critique partners than for beta readers. But, through my search for the perfect critique partner match and exchanging first chapters with a lot of people, I’ve acquired a new appreciation for the value of fresh eyes on my writing.
Right now it’s mostly a feeling that’s swelling in my chest, but let’s see if I can put it into words that might help someone else.
Fresh Eyes doesn’t know what’s in your head
When I write something, I know what I mean (unless I’ve had too much to drink).
If I say “fire ran up her back” I know it’s metaphorical fire and the character’s not in urgent need of a blanket or a dunking in the horse trough.
Fresh Eyes has no idea and she will point this out:
“With all the fire burning her clothes, I’m surprised this character can concentrate on winning the tiddlywinks championship.”
Clearly, clarification is required.
I might imagine a courtyard replete with basalt flagstones, sandstone arches, palm fronds, and a salt-scented breeze. But if all I say is “she walked into the courtyard” Fresh Eyes will point out my setting is a trifle on the blank side.
That’s right. Fresh Eyes can see exactly what’s on the page and no more, and chances are that’s not what’s in my head.
Fresh Eyes responds emotionally based on how the characters are conveyed
… and not how I imagine them to be.
I don’t know about you, but I love my characters, regardless of whether they obsess about the water all over the floor while their best friend floats drowned in the tub.
I know they’re tough and resourceful whether I write them as sitting whimpering all day or going out and kicking some pirate dragon butt.
Fresh Eyes, on the other hand, might view things differently.
“I worry the MC’s concern over her horse’s strained fetlock when her whole family has just been slaughtered might make her unsympathetic.”
Good point, Fresh Eyes!
Fresh Eyes hasn’t spent ten thousand hours agonising over the plot
… and so is much more likely than you to find gaping holes in it.
“So the eel girl swam up the pipe and out the tap and that’s how she ended up in the dragon’s bathtub. Wouldn’t that mean she’d have to be less than two inches wide?”
I guess I had bigger pipes in mind.
“Why did the MC have to climb all the way up the treacherous mountain to get the sword before she could fly down on her dragon? Couldn’t the dragon have flown her up the mountain too?”
“So she could fight the ice troll who turns out to be her long-lost father” is not an adequate answer.
Darn you, two-way dragon transport!
Fresh Eyes doesn’t know what’s coming
Fresh Eyes: This scene felt slow to me.
Me: But what about the simmering tension as we wait for the MC to transform into a hawk with a woman’s head?
Fresh Eyes: Hawk? What? Where?
Me: Well, it hasn’t happened yet.
Fresh Eyes isn’t you
Fresh Eyes: Honestly, I didn’t like the MC. Her obsession with embroidery was ridiculously boring. It was all she ever thought about.
Me: How is that boring? I love embroidery!
Fresh Eyes: …
Okay, I see your point. Some things that delight me bore nearly everyone else. If I want a wider readership than the few people who collect used bolts, I should consider the effect of my writing on people who don’t share my obsessions.
Different Fresh Eyes see different things
I didn’t count how many people gave me feedback on my first chapter. Eight, perhaps?
What struck me was how little their comments overlapped.
Sure, some clunky or nonsensical sentences threw most people and some sentences drew positive comments from several readers.
But the bigger picture comments were almost entirely distinct.
From this I made a number of unscientific inferences:
- People experience your story differently depending on the knowledge and perspective they bring to their reading.
- There is no one best way of writing your story (or any given sentence). Some ways are more effective for certain sorts of readers, some ways are more effective for others. (Though some ways are universally ineffectual.)
- No character will be universally adored. A character who seems delightfully complex to one reader will seem disjointed and contradictory to another. A character who is admired as tough by one reader will be spurned as heartless by another.
- A certain level of craft and confidence in your opinion are required to make good use of feedback. Not all comments should be acted on, and it can be hard to tell which you should take seriously.
- Bullet points make me sound more serious and smart.
And thus a swelling of emotion is transformed into a ramble of words.
How are fresh eyes helpful to you? Have you been surprised by anything a reader has picked up on or by how they’ve interpreted something you’ve written?
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I do sometimes think that the search for perfection is a risky strategy. Do we hold out for that one ideal critique partner, or do we seek out many different points of view? Not so much a partner as a team. A collective. As you say, we all see things from different perspectives, so why not take advantage of that? Even Neo needed Trinity and Morphius and Seraph and … you get the picture. Even “The ONE” needs a team.
I’d be happy to offer my perspective as one of several. But a full-blown pardner? That’s a different ask.
The search for perfection can also be a double-edged sword in our writing. Yes, we should polish and polish again until we have a product that is of a good enough standard. But the danger of being constantly in polishing mode is that we always give ourselves that excuse that we can fix it later. We never have to commit to a final product because there is always another iteration.
You make excellent points, Will, and I agree with all of them.
My hopes for a CP are a close writing friend who gets heavily involved from the early stages; to be used in combination with others such as beta readers. And as you say, perfection is absolutely not a good word for what I’m looking for. 🙂 Any my problem isn’t that I haven’t found anyone I want to work with, rather that I found too many people I want to work with.
I can totally see that the endless cycle of polishing is a risk, but I’m confident I’m not at that stage yet. The only reason I have so many drafts is that I polished to a high shine before getting outside eyes the first time, and then realised I needed to rewrite half the book.
Great to read–I’ve had a hard time with writing partners in the past because they either don’t like the type of stories I write or they read a bit and then forget to tell me anything about it, so I’ve learned they’re too busy and don’t ask again.
Perhaps eventually I’ll find a Meetup writing group around here again and see how things turn out, because yeah, all those things you mentioned certainly are causes of concern. It’s one thing I’ve tried to teach kiddos when we had to do writing camps. You know what you’re thinking, what you know, what’s in your head. But for the same reason teachers demand homework and classwork done and turned in, we poor readers don’t know. It might be perfect in your head, but we’re only gonna see what you spit out on the page. And if it makes no sense to us, it means there’s some clarification needed.
Kinda reminds me of that thing by Lucas called Episode One of a certain franchise I won’t name. There were all these books written to explain things to make the film make more sense, but that means Lucas failed because the movie should’ve been compelling or well thought out enough to translate that universe to the rest of us. If you need a bunch of fan-written books to elaborate and explain everything, you didn’t do your job. (And I think of that film as a great example of needing a dialogue editor…shudder.)
That does sound frustrating! I made an effort to look for people with a similar level of commitment to me, but time will tell whether I run into such issues as a disinterested CP.
I tend to avoid all gems created by things called Lucas, but I confess I like the idea of an army of fan-writers coming along to explain the parts of my book that don’t make sense. Takes the pressure off, you know? 😉
Good luck finding a useful writing group!
It’s revelatory, isn’t it? 🙂
That it is, my friend!
Feedback is essential for all the reasons you mention. Also essential is to decide when to stop seeking it . . . because there is and always will be more tweaking one could possibly do on any manuscript, to the point where it will never see the light of day.
Oh, yes! And that’s another place where judgment comes in. Is it ready? Dum dum! (That was dramatic music, in case you were wondering.)
I enjoyed your article! and agree with your points. Our life experiences colour our interpretations.
Thank you! It’s lovely to have you stopping by. 🙂
Yes, yes, yes, and yes. All great reasons. There is nothing quite as eye-opening as a fresh set of eyes! I’m always floored not only by what I no longer see, but how different readers, see different things.