Betastic

It’s that time in my book’s life cycle where I have to send it out into the cold, cruel world (you’ll see what I mean in Saturday’s post) to be brutally slaughtered. I mean critiqued. Isn’t it weird how slaughter is laughter with an s at the beginning?

Anyway, I already have one really good beta reader (did you know I forget words all the time? Because I didn’t), and I’m not worried about losing her. I beta read for her and when she published, she sent me a copy of the book. I think that’s like getting married for beta readers. She was the first person who read COLLAPSE besides me and her notes gave me plenty of ideas to make things, in a word, better.

How I would love to believe that this one critique is all it needs to be mind-bendingly awesome. But it might be prudent to find other people willing to read it. I just hope I have the same luck as I did when Julie first asked me to beta read for her and promised to return the favor. My other interactions with betas has been…unfortunate. To sum up, one fell ill, one disappeared from the internet, and the third just hated my MC.

So. That’s where I am right now. If anyone is interested in beta reading/critiquing, let me know. So there are no surprises, it’s a YA dystopian and written in first person present tense. I know, how trendy. But it’s how I like to write. I’m always happy to return the favor, as long as you don’t disappear on me. Then I might have to hunt you down.

Drafted

Just something funny I whipped up because I have no other ideas.

Draft 1: First draft, roughest of the rough. No one’s seeing this puppy except a spouse and maybe your mother. Upon reading it, you will discover you have a strange affinity for certain words (just and that are the worst offenders, but you’ll probably have a few that are uniquely you) as well as several plot holes big enough to drive a truck through. Pretty impressive considering the size of paper is only 8-by-11 inches.

Draft 2: Second draft, the one you will tell people is your first draft because the actual first one will never see the light of day again. You might ship this out to a few kind-hearted betas, but there’s still a lot of work to be done. Chapters that go nowhere will be cut. Characters that don’t add anything are carefully excised. You also start caring about continuity and researching all the scientific/medical/technical aspects you’ve thrown in there.

Draft 3: Third draft, and probably the first one you will consider “done” even though it probably isn’t. You’ll round up some beta readers and critique partners who you assume will be in awe of your talent, only to be devastated when they point out more plot holes, weak characters and unbelievable dialogue. After you stop sobbing and threatening to kill them, you’ll realize they’re right.

Draft 4-?: Continuing approaches to the fabled “Final Draft”. Each incarnation is better than the last, although now you’re in danger of over-editing and procrastinating rather than sending it out to agents/editors/publishers. Once you realize you’re only changing minor word usage, your betas are all giving you the thumbs up, and your spouse is telling you to just ship it out or I swear to God, you’re sleeping on the couch, you decide for good or ill, the next draft will be the last.

“Final” Draft: The draft you deem ready to be seen by others. How adorable that you think it’s the actual final draft. Those quotes are there for a reason. No matter who you send it to, there will be more rewrites in your future. Each time you’ll think it will be the last, and each time those quotes just stay up there.

Final Draft: Mythical condition that might not actually exist, much like unicorns, jackalopes, and a version of Windows that works above or near your expectations. This version of the book will be seen by hundreds, thousands, or (if it’s good enough) millions of people. No pressure.

Tips for Being a Good Critique Recipient

Of course there’s another side to it. If you want people to help you, there are rules you need to follow, too.

1. Be polite.

            This is part of the golden rule of be kind to others and treat them as you would like yourself to be treated. You want readers to be attentive to your work and responsive, right? Well, it’s a lot harder to ignore a polite inquiry than it is a note attacking them for not getting your characters.

2. Don’t overload.

            They’re busy with their own lives just like you’re busy with yours. You don’t want to send them your whole book and wonder why they haven’t responded. Pick a schedule that they can keep up with and you can work with. This might be something like thirty pages per day or a hundred a week or even just thirty a week. Their own work has to come first, and I’ve heard some people have these “children” they have to take care of.

3. Be patient.

            Again, they’re busy. It’s not just readers who should stick to schedules. You might be anxious to hear what they thought of your chapters, but don’t give them a nudge unless the deadline has passed.

4. Reciprocate.

            If your beta readers ever ask for your help, the considerate thing to do is to give it. They took the time to read your work and you should carve out time in your schedule to do the same. Critiquing is a two way street.

5. And follow the same guidelines when you do.

            It’s no good to agree to beta read and then ask for three times as much time or to refuse to give the detailed responses you asked for. Basically, when it’s your turn to beta read, you follow the guidelines I gave last week, too.

And those are my tips for being a good critiquee. Anything to add?

Tips for Helpful Beta Reading

I have to say, I really enjoy beta reading. It’s like being allowed to read books for free. But if you want to help someone’s book along its path to publication, there are a few tips you can follow.

1. Make notes.

            Making notes as you read along is great because the writer can see just where you got hung up. The note function in Word is really helpful for this, or if you have a paper copy you can just put it in the column. As a kind of bonus tip, be sure to note grammatical errors and not just correct them. The writer probably won’t be copy-and-pasting it in, so they’ll need to know to fix them in the main document.

2. Be specific.

            I feel this is of the utmost importance. It drives me nuts when I hear “this isn’t working” and there’s no follow up on that. True, it can be difficult to describe some things, but if part of the story doesn’t make sense to you, try explaining what would make sense so the writer has something to springboard off of. I know it would have helped me a lot if, instead of just saying she didn’t like it, a beta reader had told me that it took too long for the relevance of a certain scene to become apparent.

3. Be kind.

            This is the golden rule for all of life, not just beta reading. Obviously you should tell the truth and point out when something doesn’t make sense. It’s what betas and crit partners are for. But it’s a lot easier to take criticism when it’s tempered with encouragement. Be kind. Tell when you love something as well as when you hate it.

4. Be prompt.

            You could also call this “set up a schedule for responses”. Let the writer know when you’ll have the pages read by. If you need more time, ask for it, but don’t disappear without keeping up your end. It’s very frustrating, and it also means the writer won’t be there for you when youneed beta reading.

5. Respond.

            After sending your notes and thoughts, the writer may have some follow up questions and it would be great if you could answer them. For example, after receiving notes which were confused about a particular detail, a writer might want to know if a particular character trait/world-building element/plot point wasn’t clear, and if an explanation would work or if it could wait.

That’s all for now. Anything to add? Do you have any tips for beta reading/critiquing?

Thick Skin

There’s a lot of talk about “growing a thick skin” when you receive critiques. They can be scathing, and you want to be tough enough to weather the burns. But I—gasp—disagree.

I don’t think you have to be tough when you receive a critique. Maybe it’s just because I’m an emotional, over-sensitive person, but it bothers me to be critiqued. When I received a crit recently, it upset me. But I know that didn’t necessarily mean it was wrong. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with it, and I’m grateful my CP was so thorough.

But it still upset me.

There’s nothing wrong with that. I really don’t think people can help how they feel about anything. I’m not saying threaten to gouge out your eyes because someone moved a comma or didn’t like a character. Keep things in perspective and remember, people can still choose how to react. And that’s where the real challenge comes in. Being sad/angry/whatever and still knowing not to start up a Facebook page burning your critiquer.

“Grow a thick skin” isn’t helpful for someone who doesn’t have one and has no concept on how to grow one. Instead, I recommend, “Don’t let your emotions have full control over your actions.” A bit wordy, but valid nonetheless. Feel, but remember there are other sections to your brain with things like logic, reason and thought for the future. Use those.

Control yourself and you don’t need a thick skin.

The Seven Stages of (Critique) Grief

First of all, I’d like to say how wonderful the feedback was from the people who read my books. It’s amazingly helpful. None of this refers to you in any way. Promise!

But what I’ve noticed upon receiving a critique is that one (because I’m not willing to admit that it’s actually me) goes through several stages. Not unlike grieving. So here it is, the seven stages of critique grief:

1. Denial—In this stage, you read the critique and know that obviously, they didn’t get what you were going for. How dare they doubt you going on for three pages about what was going on in this minor character’s life while he waved at the main character’s girlfriend. Plus, your sentences, like, totally make sense. Or whatever. You’re a great writer. They just don’t understand you. Nor do these writers have any idea what real writing is even if they’ve been at this longer than you’ve been alive. Fools!

2. Anger—Your book is great! It’s all great! Your book is a national treasure. Once the offers start pouring in, you’ll wave them in your so-called critique partners’ faces. And anyone who can’t write a perfect novel in the first draft should be launched into the sun. What kind of idiot doesn’t know they were tense jumping or misappropriating words?

3. Fear—Oh no. What if you really didn’t write a good novel? What if you screwed up? What if all those jumps through time don’t make sense? What if you really are POV-hopping? What if all your delightful, quirky characters really don’t add anything? No! It can’t be! The ellipses are beautiful! The repetition is wonderful! Semi-colons! Nooooo!

4. Bargaining—It won’t matter. So what if you have a few mistakes? An agent would understand. If you can just convince one to read the whole story, they’re bound to love the potential. If you can get one to request a partial, he or she will surely love it as much as you do. Please. Even if there are thousands of other stories out there with authors willing to spend months or even years pouring over every single word until it snap, crackle, pops…if you’re just given a chance…

5. Guilt—Well, you’re useless. All those people who spend all that time working on their novels…no wonder you can’t catch any interest. It’s all your fault. You wouldn’t listen when people made suggestions because you thought they just didn’t get it. If only you tried harder to clean up those rambling sentences, those strange words that stomp through your novels, and the tangents that go nowhere, like the flashback to the hero’s birth even though it’s a first person story, even if it adds so much tension. Maybe then it would be readable.

6. Depression—Nothing matters. The book is hopeless. All those ideas, even the good ones, are meaningless because you have no talent. It just isn’t worth the effort to make it readable. Sure, you could fix all those problems the critiques pointed out, but there were so many! And if you made them the first time, what’s to say you won’t just make them again? Are you just supposed to keep working on it and expect it all to be sunshine and roses?

7. Acceptance—Shouldyou keep working on it? You thought it was utter crap, and maybe it is, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be made into notcrap. Yeah, it’s a lot of work. But you already put a lot into it. Don’t you want something to be proud of? And you were smart enough not to send of those letters comparing your critique partners to zombies who only wanted to eat the brains that is your novel, so maybe you could ask them to look through your rewrites and make sure you’re on the right track and not making the same mistake. It almost seems possible.