I belong to a wonderful group of writers1 who meet monthly to give feedback on our fiction writing, with the occasional poem and non-fiction piece thrown in for variety. We’ve been together for years and have become very good friends.
We generally like each others’ writing. Sure, we have plenty of suggestions and ideas for how to improve each piece, and the discussions can get pretty lively with lots of points of view. But, overall, we like each others’ work.
Most of the time.
Sometimes one of us will dislike2 the odd story or chapter. The discussion always starts out slowly, but once we get warmed up, the inhibition goes down and we can be pretty ruthless. It’s all in the interest of constructive criticism, but when you’re on the receiving end of negative commentary, even seemingly benign stuff can feel like an quick jab to the solar plexus.3
To deal with these awkward, organ-crunching instances, we’ve created the “You’re not my target audience” defence mechanism. When you’re on the verge of crying or punching a good friend’s critical lights out, a “You’re not my target audience” through a clenched-teeth smile is our safety tap. Our “Back off, motherfucker, or you’re going to have my hari-kari on your conscience.”
I think it takes incredible balls to send your work out for critique. Even to people you trust and like. Even when you know the critiquers4 have your best interests at heart.
Sending your work out to complete strangers? Now, that’s just nuts.
Several months ago I sent out my sort-of-finished novel to the Writers’ Federation of Nova Scotia’s Atlantic Writing Competition. The contest is unique in that every entrant receives feedback from the judges, win or lose.5
I was confident sending in my novel. I knew I would never win, but I was happy to finally have something semi-worthwhile to submit. As we came closer to receiving the judges’ comments, however, I got more and more nervous and embarrassed. What was I thinking putting my piece in this competition? The comp skews heavily in favour of literary works, and my piece is about as non-literary as one can get. Despite my terror, I did eventually open the envelope when it arrived.
First judge’s comments:
“I totally enjoyed this story and read it in one day. I love the relationship between the women—reminiscent of Candace Bushnell does the Maritimes. However, lose all the extra e-mails, forwarded jokes, etc. It bogged down a great piece of work. With some work this could be a great take on chick lit. Don’t give up on this one!”
Well, colour me stunned. That was worth the $30 entry fee alone.
Second judge’s comments:
“Fiction is an art form.6 It transforms and heightens reality to make a particular author’s perceptions and view of life interesting to others. What you present here seems like a direct copy of text messages between people we don’t know. In fact, some of the “forwarded messages” I’ve received myself. If you use a format such as this, it would be advisable to condense and refine it, to avoid the endless repetitions and useless markings and spacing. Also the profusion of typos and misspellings,7 even though they do appear in many text messages, become quite annoying in a written work. The Prologue and Epilogue are intended to give this some structure, but the characters are not sufficiently developed or described to give them any individual identity, and unless these people become real to the reader, their lives do not evoke much sympathy or concern.”8
Yikes!
Knowing what an oversensitive stress-bag I am, you must be wondering why this one didn’t elicit the afore-mentioned ritual self-disembowelment.
Well, it’s mostly because I read the other judge’s comments first.9 Not only did the first judge’s comments make me all warm and glowy inside and out, but the juxtaposition with these comments also highlighted in storey-high neon letters that, Judge #2? NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.
I mean, it’s like they didn’t even read the same book. And that’s perfectly OK. I know my book won’t appeal to A LOT of people. But those who like it, seem to like it a lot. This poor soul clearly did not get what I was trying to do or say and I feel for him/her—it would be torture to have to trudge through an entire book you hated or didn’t “get.” I know, because that’s how I feel about a lot of literary fiction. Luckily, I am not contractually obligated to finish a book I don’t like. These judges—volunteers who make a huge commitment of time and energy to help aspiring writers like me—have to read whatever they get handed. This judge must have been ready to rip his/her eyeballs out after the first chapter.
Point #1: Not everyone will love everything you do. When you’re feeling battered and bruised by rejection, repeat this saying in your head or aloud (as the situation permits) to your rejector: “I fart in your general direction.”
No, no no. That’s not it.10 Rather, say, “YOU ARE NOT MY TARGET AUDIENCE.” Say it whether you believe it's true or not. Trust me. Just say it.
Point #2: Congratulations and respect to the winners of the Atlantic Writing Competition.11 But, really, all of the entrants are winners. Not because we all get desperately coveted feedback, but because we had the courage to send our babies out there into the cruel, merciless world of the Judgey MacJudgersons.
I know I’m proud.14 I hope all of my co-entrants are, too. We did it! Well done! We rock! We write! We rebound!
And the-e-en, we write again...16
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1. I call us “The Fictionaries.” Admittedly a little poofty, but, damn, don't I think I’m clever sometimes.
2. Loathe.
3. Like this. With the bad hair. And the people laughing at you as your writhe on the floor. Yep, making you stronger.
4. Is “critiquer” a word? Critic seems too Roger Ebert-y.
5. It may not sound like much, but in an industry where feedback is practically non-existent (unless your book/story/article is picked up/signed by a journal/publisher/agent), this can be gold.
6. Uh oh. This ain’t gonna be good.
7. The typos and misspellings are on purpose. Seriously.
8. This critique was typed, by the way. And I left in the two spaces the critic used between the sentences. Just sayin’.
9. Props to WFNS for ordering the judges’ comments appropriately. Methinks they’ve talked more than one destroyed writer down from a ledge and thus know what they’re doing!
10. But, after all, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
11. I hate you. I fart in your general direction. With a French accent.12
12. Just kidding!13
13. Except about the French accent.
14. And eternally grateful to the judges. ALL of them.15
15. But especially to my Judge #1. XO!
16. Caper inside joke. :-)
Showing posts with label Now We're Talking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Now We're Talking. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
My hair looked fabulous yesterday
...for about 15 minutes.
More blogging soon, I promise.
That is all.
More blogging soon, I promise.
That is all.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Don’t drink and clean
Ever see that historic moment vignette about women getting the vote?1 The bit I always remember about it is not the classic “Nice women don’t want the vote” line,2 but rather when the trusty narrator says, “It did not go well for Mrs. McClung.”4
So... I decided to have a glass of wine while cleaning the kitchen yesterday.
It did not go well for Mrs. Reid.
It started out innocently enough. I waded through the stacks of dirty dishes, got the first load in the dishwasher, hosed down one busy counter and started rearranging things in the fridge. I decided to organize and replenish the juice boxes, so I grabbed the cello-wrapped pack of Five Alive from that one clean counter, jabbed a hole in the packaging, then struggled mightily to get the stupid thing open. And, when it opened, oh boy, did it open—busting apart sending juice boxes flying in every possible direction. One ambitious5 box kamikazied for the aforementioned wine, sending the glass spinning and tumbling in spectacular lawn-sprinkler-like6 fashion.
To which I responded, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS is EXACTLY why I don’t clean!”
The area where the wine—spilled just doesn’t do it justice, so let’s go with—EXPLODED is the stupidest corner in our very small house of unusual spaces. It’s a catchall counter that faces the side of the fridge, which is less than a foot away. The lower cupboard’s doors had to be jerry-rigged with hinges in the middle because the space is too small to open them straight out. It’s a perfect place to put the cat’s food and water.7 However, because I can only wedge myself in there sideways, it is an absolute horror to clean. I can’t tell you how much time I spent wiping up the GD mess, because I think the part of my brain in charge of telling time was the precise part I kept poking with the idiot fudgestick.8
At any rate, it took a very long time to clean.9 So long, in fact, that I decided that I had had quite enough for one day and I gave up. That’s fair, right?
So here’s an interesting side lesson: you know how some things turn green and mouldy when they go bad? Remember how I was organizing the fridge? Well, I had taken a huge bowl of leftover macaroni out and placed it on the counter (thankfully not the crime-scene counter) and, since I had given up, there it sat. Till the next day.10 Imagine my surprise when I discovered the macaroni had, in that short time, started to ferment!
Noodle wine anyone?11
*************************************
1. I'd provide a link to YouTube, but every few months our YouTube shuts down all the other open programs and freezes the computer. We forget it’s happening for about a week and have to keep rebooting, then we remember and complain bitterly for a week about it because—hey, who wants to live without YouTube, am I right? Then we accidentally fix it but can never remember how. Then a few months later, every time we click on YouTube we end up having to reboot, lather, scream, repeat...
2. Other classic lines that only fellow Canadians who watch waaaaay too much TV would appreciate:
“Patience, Jenny. Patience!” (Make sure you spit a little and rip off someone’s fig leaf.)
“Burnt...Toast... Dr. Penfield! I Smell...Burnt...Toast...!”
“The train!”
“Persons, under the law.”
“ka-NAAAAH-da,” point, point.
And, of course, “No one’s going to read a story about a man in tights, Joey! It'll never fly!” As we, once again, in typically Canadian fashion, grasp desperately to be linked with something that’s famous in America.3
3. Please note, this list was created without the assistance of YouTube OR Google. Permanently. Etched. I’m pretty sure if Dr. Penfield poked the brains of Canadians-of-a-certain-age, we wouldn’t be going on about pouring cold water on our hands but would instead start spouting these vignettes by heart.
4. Or Mrs. MacPhail. Or whichever important change-making Canadian woman was featured in this one.
5. Malicious?
6. You know—the three-pronged twirly one. Maximum lawn-soaking coverage. Perfect.
7. In a related story, Snowdrop has been a little stumbly-Jack lately. Hope she doesn’t get the DTs when she finishes this wine-soaked batch of kibble.
8. Anyone have Dr. Penfield’s number?
9. When hubby and daughter returned from their several-hour-sojourn-out-to-give-mommy-a-chance-to-clean adventure, they’re like, “WTF? Why is it still a mess here? What have you been doing?!?” Sniff, sniff. “Oh nevermind. Obviously you needed to get hammered instead. Lush.”
10. I know, you’re shocked.
11. Note to self—no cleaning!
So... I decided to have a glass of wine while cleaning the kitchen yesterday.
It did not go well for Mrs. Reid.
It started out innocently enough. I waded through the stacks of dirty dishes, got the first load in the dishwasher, hosed down one busy counter and started rearranging things in the fridge. I decided to organize and replenish the juice boxes, so I grabbed the cello-wrapped pack of Five Alive from that one clean counter, jabbed a hole in the packaging, then struggled mightily to get the stupid thing open. And, when it opened, oh boy, did it open—busting apart sending juice boxes flying in every possible direction. One ambitious5 box kamikazied for the aforementioned wine, sending the glass spinning and tumbling in spectacular lawn-sprinkler-like6 fashion.
To which I responded, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS is EXACTLY why I don’t clean!”
The area where the wine—spilled just doesn’t do it justice, so let’s go with—EXPLODED is the stupidest corner in our very small house of unusual spaces. It’s a catchall counter that faces the side of the fridge, which is less than a foot away. The lower cupboard’s doors had to be jerry-rigged with hinges in the middle because the space is too small to open them straight out. It’s a perfect place to put the cat’s food and water.7 However, because I can only wedge myself in there sideways, it is an absolute horror to clean. I can’t tell you how much time I spent wiping up the GD mess, because I think the part of my brain in charge of telling time was the precise part I kept poking with the idiot fudgestick.8
At any rate, it took a very long time to clean.9 So long, in fact, that I decided that I had had quite enough for one day and I gave up. That’s fair, right?
So here’s an interesting side lesson: you know how some things turn green and mouldy when they go bad? Remember how I was organizing the fridge? Well, I had taken a huge bowl of leftover macaroni out and placed it on the counter (thankfully not the crime-scene counter) and, since I had given up, there it sat. Till the next day.10 Imagine my surprise when I discovered the macaroni had, in that short time, started to ferment!
Noodle wine anyone?11
*************************************
1. I'd provide a link to YouTube, but every few months our YouTube shuts down all the other open programs and freezes the computer. We forget it’s happening for about a week and have to keep rebooting, then we remember and complain bitterly for a week about it because—hey, who wants to live without YouTube, am I right? Then we accidentally fix it but can never remember how. Then a few months later, every time we click on YouTube we end up having to reboot, lather, scream, repeat...
2. Other classic lines that only fellow Canadians who watch waaaaay too much TV would appreciate:
“Patience, Jenny. Patience!” (Make sure you spit a little and rip off someone’s fig leaf.)
“Burnt...Toast... Dr. Penfield! I Smell...Burnt...Toast...!”
“The train!”
“Persons, under the law.”
“ka-NAAAAH-da,” point, point.
And, of course, “No one’s going to read a story about a man in tights, Joey! It'll never fly!” As we, once again, in typically Canadian fashion, grasp desperately to be linked with something that’s famous in America.3
3. Please note, this list was created without the assistance of YouTube OR Google. Permanently. Etched. I’m pretty sure if Dr. Penfield poked the brains of Canadians-of-a-certain-age, we wouldn’t be going on about pouring cold water on our hands but would instead start spouting these vignettes by heart.
4. Or Mrs. MacPhail. Or whichever important change-making Canadian woman was featured in this one.
5. Malicious?
6. You know—the three-pronged twirly one. Maximum lawn-soaking coverage. Perfect.
7. In a related story, Snowdrop has been a little stumbly-Jack lately. Hope she doesn’t get the DTs when she finishes this wine-soaked batch of kibble.
8. Anyone have Dr. Penfield’s number?
9. When hubby and daughter returned from their several-hour-sojourn-out-to-give-mommy-a-chance-to-clean adventure, they’re like, “WTF? Why is it still a mess here? What have you been doing?!?” Sniff, sniff. “Oh nevermind. Obviously you needed to get hammered instead. Lush.”
10. I know, you’re shocked.
11. Note to self—no cleaning!
Monday, November 29, 2010
LoMyFuMiMo
After a slow start (I did a bit at the beginning, then nothing for three weeks), my NaNoWriMo is looking a little like LoMyFuMiMo (Losing My Mind Month) at this point. However, progress has been made.
Since I’ve already got one novel drafted and another started, and there was no way in hell I was ever going to write 50,000 new words this month, I committed instead to a serious schedule of revising and writing. So JoReWriMo (Jodi’s Revising and Writing Month) broke down into 5,000 new words and 72,0001 revised words. Or, in other words2, a couple of chapters in the new novel and a few blogs for the new, and a completed second draft of the existing novel for the revision.
To me, NaNoWriMo is all about just doing it. Getting ‘er done. Ass in chair, hands on pen/keyboard. Making some goals and sticking to them. Staying up late and shunning paying work for the dream.
And for the past week especially, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
So why am I boring you with this poopstorm of decidedly unfunny facts and numbers? Because JoReWriMo is precisely why I haven’t been blogging lately. Yes, after only a month into production, I had to take a hiatus from blogging to make a sincere run at draft two. Plus my daughter turned eight and my in-laws visited for two of this fine month’s fours weeks.3 Life gets in the way.
But the cold November rains will soon be gone, I’ve got 2,750 new and 67,000 revised words in the can and I am going for the win.
So stay tuned and wish me luck—we’ll be talking again before you know it...
******************************
1 - Yah – you read that right. 72k. Although it’s turning more into 80k because of the stuff I’ve added in.
2 – Jodi’s are punny.
3 – Yah – you read that right. Please see Now We’re Talking! “Some people (me) never learn...” re: not blogging self out of wills. Also, see this blog. :~)
Friday, November 19, 2010
Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! (1)
So I was going to do a post about rejection (in all its many forms), but I’m feeling pretty damn huggy this week, so I’m going to instead do some Now We’re Talking2 (aka Now We’re Talking With Jodi3) shout outs. Word!
First of all, Now We’re Talking4 shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled.
A Now We’re Talking5 shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too!
Another Now We’re Talking6 shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree7 and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world.
So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!8
That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*
Mwah! Now we’re talking!9
***************************************
1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!
2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.
3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.
4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.
5. OK—last one. I swear.
6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?
7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.
8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!
9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)
First of all, Now We’re Talking4 shout outs to each and every one of you who have stopped by, shared a link, made a comment and showed unfathomable support and love. I am touched and humbled.
A Now We’re Talking5 shout out to the ultra-fabulous Halifax Broad. This super-talented graphic designer by day and blogger by night (or vice versa) talked about (and expanded beautifully upon) the Kegel Pole-ka™ in her amazing blog and I’m sure is responsible for the handful of new followers I have who are not my friends or relatives! Yay! People I don’t know! Now YOU are my friends too!
Another Now We’re Talking6 shout out to the organizers of and participants in the MSVU Celebration of Writing. After all my angst, I ended up having a fantastic time. My panelmates, Jon Tattrie and Jan Morrison, were particularly charming and clever, and I sat front and centre to listen to the lovely and delightful Sheree Fitch's keynote address. (I laughed. I cried. I’m not proud.) During the panel, Sheree7 and a few awesome buddies of mine were kind enough to ask me questions that made me feel like a real writer, rather than the poser I am on most days. Now, someone may burst my delusions of grandeur, but I believe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. And sometimes that’s all you can hope for in this world.
So the next time someone calls and asks you to do something waaaay outside your comfort zone, try saying yes. You might have fun!8
That's quite enough treacly sweetness for today. I promise a funny post when this insanely busy week is over. Plus all this happiness—well, let’s just say I’m funnier when I’m agitated, so I’ll work on that.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated topic (*cough*), did I mention my in-laws are staying with us for two weeks? *whistlesasherassgetskickedoutofStarbucksafterbeingthereforsixhours*
Mwah! Now we’re talking!9
***************************************
1. Those are kisses, in case you didn’t know. Onomatopoeia is not a strong suit for me. Nor are metaphors and symbolism. And here I fancy myself a writer. HA!
2. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 1.
3. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 2.
4. Shameless whoring of self/Now We’re Talking to search engines, part 3.
5. OK—last one. I swear.
6. I lie like a rug. Better for you to find out now, don’tcha think?
7. Who thinks I’m funny, by the way.
8. Hey Susan D. Rushdie, you can come out of hiding again! Mwah! to you too! Thanks!
9. Jodi Reid... carrying a joke too far... (David Spade voice)
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