I mentioned more
than once the importance of a workshop for your fiction, a place where you and
other writers may read each other’s work and offer ideas for improvements.
However, it seems
that every workshop contains at least one of the following people. These people
hurt the workshop and hurt themselves in the process.
Don’t act as one
of these people.
The Explainer:
Remember, when someone reads your fiction, you
won’t stand over them to explain your literary decisions. Your words must
stand by themselves.
I always want to
slap my face when I deal with an author who wants to interrupt everyone’s
critiques to explain the whys and how comes of their work.
You will, as this
person, not only sound rude and defensive, but you will eat the clock, lose valuable time that your fellow writers would otherwise spend to share
their thoughts on your work.
Some exceptions
apply, usually in the form of follow up questions.
Let’s say that
someone said they confused two of your characters. You could (and should) ask
questions to figure out when this confusion started and where you might best
correct it.
Don’t waste
precious workshop time to explain and defend why your character needs to go to dental school. If your
fellow writers felt the information unnecessary, nod, smile, scribble down the
criticism, and try out a draft of your story without the flashback to dental
school. Then, decide for yourself.
You don’t need to
use all the advice your workshop provides, but at least consider with an open
mind whatever advice anyone offers.
If people expect
you to grow defensive and/or launch into a longwinded explanation of your work,
they will less likely offer advice. They will more likely just want to move on
to the next author’s work.
The Pseudo Intellectual:
I don’t care how damn brilliant your work feels to you. If nobody “gets” your
story, the blame rests with you, not
your readers.
Super geniuses do
not comprise a large demographic. You might want to tone down your “talent” if
your work makes your readers scratch their heads with confusion.
I did not say that
you ought to appeal to the lowest, common denominator. I did not say that you
ought to write for idiots.
Most people can
appreciate a thoughtful, insightful piece of literature (even those who insist they
cannot). However, you should reconsider your story if nobody can wrap her or
his mind around your its premise.
The greatest
message in history proves useless if no one understands it.
True, if one or
two people say that your story felt “too complicated," that person or people might exist as slow-witted. If, however, most people at
your workshop deem your story overly complicated, take another look at your
material.
Brilliance can,
and often will, exist in its most simplistic form.
Think of all those
board and card games that layer themselves with overly complicated rules when,
at their cores, they exist as little more than a dice toss competitions.
Compare those
games to the ones that appear deceptively simple, but hold endless
possibilities for clever strategies.
The overly
complicated remains a smoke screen for that which offers little substance.
True brilliance
often appears deceptively simple—at first glance.
The Asshole:
This rat always deems everyone’s story a rip-off of some preexisting version.
Did your story
involve virtual reality? “Oh. Great! Another Matrix wannabe.”
Robots? “Terminator? Again? Really?”
Cows? “City Slickers? Gee. I haven’t seen that in years.”
These same people
try to summarize every movie with, “It’s basically <insert previous,
comparable movie here>.”
These people annoy
everyone and sound sarcastic at all times, even in bed (“Oh yeah, sure baby,
that feels so damn good. You’re not
putting me to sleep at all”).
The
Autobiographer: No, I don’t mean that person who writes a terrible, true
story about him- or herself and tries to deflect any and all criticism with, “It’s a true story. That’s what
happened.”
I instead refer to
the people who quickly turn the conversation (every conversation they can, I
assume) from the material on the chopping block to a story about her or his own
life.
“I noticed that
your protagonist joined the Army. When I joined the army, back in oh-one, I
jumped off the bus and came face-to-face with . . .”
“Your character
seems to love his dog. I owned a dog back when I lived in Texas. Her name was .
. .”
“You antagonist
turned to drugs after her father abused her sexually. I turned to drugs after my father
abused me sexually. I dragged a mattress into an abandoned building and I stuck
myself with needles. Look! I still have the scars.”
That last one happened.
Thanks for reading.
Daughters of Darkwana received a sweet, succinct
review, which you can read here, http://www.thebookeaters.co.uk/daughters-of-darkwana-by-martin-wolt-jr/
Also,
the third book in my series, Diaries of
Darkwana, will hit Kindle just as soon as I find a new cover artist. I have
a few candidates already, thank goodness.
An
inside look at my novels (such as Daughters of Darkwana, which you can now find on Kindle) at Darkwana.blogspot.com
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