Maybe I’m the only one intimidated by the hierarchy in publishing, but I don’t think so. I think many writers feel placed at the bottom of the ladder. We look up to the gatekeepers: agents, editors, publishers (reviewers, too). We assume they know their business, what’s in, what’s out, what’s up, what’s down. So we ‘re intimidated by what they proclaim over our work. (Okay, I’m a firstborn, so I want to please. Maybe just firstborns are intimidated.)
Since I can’t speak for all writers, I’ll just speak for myself. I was close to being done with revisions and line edits, having been told my last submission might be my last pass before sending the manuscript on to production. But one more editor needed to weigh in on it. I got that letter at the end of last week. It started with “you’ve-done-a-lot-of-good-work” and ended with “you’ve-done-an-excellent-job.” You recognize this, I’m sure. The sandwich approach. In between the home-baked bread is the stuff that’s hard to digest. In this case, a major question about the main character’s motivation.
Back to the intimidation factor. I read the new comments under the assumption that the new editor was right and I was wrong. I came out feeling stupid. How had I written an entire novel, gotten it agented and accepted for publication, revised and re-edited, and missed this motivation issue? I went into a tailspin, trying to find the right lever to pull to save the manuscript from crashing. What to do? I slept on it. (Always a good idea.) By the time I woke up, my muse had stopped throwing a fit and had quieted enough for my mind to tap me with a gentle reminder that I had dealt with motivation. I had skulled it over and written it into almost every scene.
I wrote back to the editor and stood up for the way I had originally written (and rewritten) the novel, going into detail about motivation. In the editor’s response, I discovered that this editor had read the novel in pieces over several weeks while working on other projects. I was told to ignore the comments, I was on the right track, and I should go with my gut on this last pass.
The frightening thing was that I almost tore the novel apart and revised it again – in a wrong direction – simply because I assumed that if a gatekeeper had a criticism, it was I who was wrong. “I’m wrong” was my default position. (Oh ye of little guts.)
I was reminded of a fortune cookie proverb that I keep on my refrigerator: “It is easier to be critical than to be correct.” My take-home (or take-out as the case may be): Listen to criticism, but don’t assume it’s correct.
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