What if I'm a Sanjaya and I just don't know it?

Forgive the pop culture reference. I've been thinking about the need for critiques, outside eyes and even writing classes (something I've often been ambivalent about). Writers, indeed, any artist, must be able to gauge if their work is quality work, but we often don't feel able to trust ourselves or those close to us. We ask ourselves, "What if I'm producing garbage and I'm just unable to recognize it?" On the other hand, we have to develop a certain amount of steely confidence in order to survive the inevitable rejections and dismissals that come with seeking an audience for our work.

In the process of developing a tough skin, do we run the risk of building a wall so strong that valid criticism cannot enter?

Watermelon and Seed

I must credit Lucy Culkins with the title of this entry. Her books on teaching writing to children delve beautifully into the writing process. I have learned much to apply to my own process by the explicit modeling and examination of writing in which I engage with my students, thanks in part to Ms. Culkins' work (THE ART OF TEACHING WRITING is one I recommend - I think that's the title). "Watermelon and Seed" refers to the notion of choosing small ideas to focus in on, rather than trying to eat the whole watermelon. Of course, the metaphor breaks down a bit, since I don't want to eat the seeds, but you get the idea. A variation on this comes in the form of word limits. I recently submitted a short children's mystery to a contest. The word limit was 800 words. I found it a real challenge to maintain a sense of the mystery genre within such a short space, but it forced me to zoom in on the seed instead of the watermelon and give my story a lot more focus. Ultimately, not only did it improve the story, but I now find I have other "seed" ideas with the same character.

What are some seeds or watermelons you've encountered? Wrestling any watermelons you need help whittling to a more manageable size?

Attend the Mutant Frogs

I was talking with a playwright friend the other day about a review he had received. He made the point that at times, while a specific criticism may not itself be valid, it may be a symptom of a problem area, a sign that something needs fixing, even if its not the something the critic thinks. These kinds of criticisms are the mutant frogs, those signals that all is not right in the waters or ecosystem of your written work. I had a similar experience in getting critiques of my novel and the mutant frog comments helped me identify the areas of the book that had not kept pace with the continuing evolution of the characters, often sections that were holdovers from an early draft and no longer fit the direction of the story.

I like this notion of mutant frogs as a way of hearing criticism. Look past the surface of the critique. Does it point you toward an area of toxic waste in your work?

What signs serve as your mutant frogs, clues that something is amiss in your work? What about canaries in the coal mine (not to batter my metaphors too badly)? What signals tell you when to cut your losses on a piece as being too toxic to support life?

Dueling Viewpoints

So, I've started reading THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG by Andre Dubus. What strikes me thus far is what a good example it is of an effective use of multiple viewpoints. He basically sets it up that you find yourself sympathizing with 2 characters on opposing sides of an experience. They can't both get what they want, by by alternating between their viewpoints and making both sympathetic, he makes you hope they both get what they want. In so doing, he illuminates a particular concept - that to achieve the American Dream, it may often be at the expense of someone else's dream. Anyway, that's my impressions thus far.

Dueling viewpoints, anyone? Have you ever explored this in a piece? If so, what was your goal? Did you succeed? Why or why not?