Not Ready To Hear It

I was recently asked for some advice . . . and I inadvertently gave too much advice. And the response was "she's not ready to hear that yet." And that was likely true and my fault because I didn't gage the circumstances correctly. Sometimes you can have a depth of knowledge--on any subject--and just go on and on without really ascertaining if that's how much information the person you are talking to wants. A good sign that it's too much--the eyes glaze over.

Of course, the best humorous example is the apocryphal joke. A mother has been worrying for some time about the day her child asks about the birds and the bees. She studies books about precisely how to handle this. Yet still she worries. Finally, the little child is 5 and asks, "Where did I come from?" Mom whips out charts and pictures and diagrams and uses all the anatomically correct words. And the little kindergartener walks away, shaking his head and muttering, "But Billy's from California . . ."

As a writer, and as an editor, I get asked ALL the time to give critiques. I usually do my homework first and check out from the referral if the person is really ready to be critiqued. I don't want to waste my time (or in some cases, THEIR money) creating a critique only to have the person not even ackowledge what I've said, with a "I guess it wasn't your thing," or "I know my character so it has to be that way." And that's it. You've paid for a 10-page comprehensive critique and THAT is all you have to say? Or you've sought me out through cyber connections asking for a favor and "I guess you don't get my writing" is all you have to say?

You know that idea that the recipient's eyes glaze over when you tell them too much? That's a sign youve spoken to much. But not being ready to be published also has signs.

If your FIRST inclination is to defend every aspect of your work . . . you are simply and 100% "not ready" for the big show. Period. Get real with yourself. Real honest. Think about this. If your FIRST inclination is to explain to people why they are wrong, you aren't ready. Not for real publication. If your face says one thing when you hear criticism, but your stomach knots with a small flash of anger or you tense up . . . you're not ready. It means you didn't ask for criticism with any openness, ready to accept some insight. And that's the first sign of someone not ready.

I am not talking about criticism delivered with snarky nastiness, or criticism tossed out by a contest judge with a superiority complex. I am talking about SEEKING out criticism from trusted sources and then somehow by process of elimination only retaining your fans.

Trust me. When you GET a professional editor, they will put you through the writing paces. So it's all practice for the big show. My editors, by virtue of PAYING ME to write and having me on their list, are my biggest professional fans. They also make me work harder than anyone else.

Last night, I had a talk with a friend of mine (you know who you are). It was actually a continuation of an email I'd sent him yesterday. The short version is I had submitted a proposal to one of my favorite editors. She liked it but said, "If you REALLY want this to be the kind of book that gets people talking, that is a book club book, there has to be more depth--it can't ONLY be about a cold case and ONLY be about feminist history." I heard her. But for a year now, the book has sat at page 167. And unfinished life. I had walked around that book backwards and forwards, dreamt about it, did a rewrite and STILL . . . I couldn't fathom how or where I was going to go deeper. Last week, I had pretty much made up my mind to change the main character to a less passive person. But I also know while that may have been necessary, that wasn't anywhere NEAR what the editor meant. And then yesterday . . . I got an idea. I got one of those ideas that is a viper's nest. That you KNOW is precisely the depth required (and I am talking huge) . . . and will mean, basically, a total 100% deconstuction of every single scene and word. It will mean the hard work, the really hard, why am I taking this on, kind of work. And yet, the change for my story to one with elements of lesbian history in the U.S. will add a depth and a complexity and then the change to a commune and a different kind of crime will add a darkness to the cold case. It will change everything. I know it's the fix. It is the atomic bomb of fixes.

And I never would have, a year later, even salvaged what I feel is the best book of my career, had I not been open. And had I also not lived with the knowledge and owned it for a year. My response to my editor was an internal "she may be right." I never tensed. It didn't pain me. I didn't feel defensive. I was ready to hear it, even if I didn't have the fix.

In the course of my writing life, I meet so many open and wonderful writers. I adore them! And amongst the ones I am closest to, it almost becomes this knowing nod, or this exchanged glance, and for a few of you, it's been an exchange of emails between us, that moment, of "yeah, he really isn't ready" or "she really is SO defensive, I should have warned you." And you can know in these glances what is unsaid. They're not ready.

Thoughts?