On Twitter today, I wrote, "Feels a bit like a toddler learning how to walk on this thing," referring to me. That got me to thinking: how do toddlers learn how to walk? First, they try to stand. Often, they fall down. Sometimes, after a failed attempt, they'll cry and have to be comforted. But then they try again. They refuse to be defeated. Maybe the next time, they'll take a step before they fall down. And then, two steps. They know they can do it, because they see the adults around them doing it. And yet, how much patience they must have. How many times must they fall down. And then I thought: what if they didn't get up and try to walk again after falling down?
Then they would never learn. They would never walk.
Learning how to walk is a microcosm for the successes and failures that come after. You'll often fail in life. You'll often fall down. But as long as you keep putting one foot in front of the other, as long as someone comforts you as you lie on the floor, slowly, eventually, you will succeed. The only way to fail, is to stop trying.
Showing posts with label Advice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advice. Show all posts
Monday, May 17, 2010
Friday, August 7, 2009
How to Receive (and Give) Criticism
I'm not good at taking criticism, though I'm better at it than I used to be. The strange thing is, recently I've become angrier when someone criticizes something I really love (like a movie) versus something I've written. With something I've written, I usually can tell if there's truth to the criticism or not, but as to my feelings about a movie, or a book I've read, I seem to take much more offense when someone bashes something I love, or loves something I hate. Perhaps I'm more insecure when it comes to my opinions of the works of others than to my own works.
For example, recently I got into an argument (online) with one of my friends over the movie Up. I was shocked that she didn't like it. She said she thought it was too slow. So, thinking maybe her ADD had something to do with her assessment of the movie, I told her that if she wanted to see a really slow movie, she should see The Thin Red Line or something by the late Anthony Minghella. I thought, at the time, that I had "found the explanation" for why she didn't like the movie; instead, I had been insensitive to her opinion, and her diagnosis, as she likes both Terrence Malick (who directed The Thin Red Line) and two of Anthony Minghella's movies (The English Patient and The Talented Mr. Ripley, movies I found to be much slower-moving than Up). Being that there are many classic novels that I don't particularly care for, I should have been okay with her opinion, even if I didn't agree with it, and while I am now fine (if still puzzled) by the fact that she didn't like it, that was not the case when we began our argument.
Are there absolutes in the world of art? I have been wondering about that recently, especially since Roger Ebert has written some blogs within the past month dealing with opinions about how good or bad a movie is (see July 5th's and 10th's entries) . Though liking a movie (or book) and recognizing it as a great movie (or book) are two separate things, can one not like a work of art and still consider it "great?" For art is (or should be) an emotional experience, and yet the only absolutes in art are the unemotional "facts" of its composition. For a movie, they include acting, directing, cinematography, dialogue, and storytelling, among other things. For Up, it would involve animation, as well. And yet you and I could agree on all of these basic factors and still have wildly different opinions of the movie in question, because culture, upbringing, and our unique personalities are what make us respond positively to some movies but not to others, even after we have trained ourselves to recognize great dialogue or great acting in a movie (opinions of which also can differ wildly). After all, if one could guarantee that all critics would say the same things about the same movies, or even like all of the same movies, all but one movie critic would be out of a job.
To test this theory of appreciation versus admiration, let's take a recognizable masterpiece: The Godfather. Suppose I found someone who didn't like The Godfather, and not because it portrays Italian-Americans as gangsters, nor because it's not his or her "type" of movie. Would that person still recognize its greatness? Maybe the way to tell if a work of art is great is whether or not you can successfully argue that it's not great. Mark Twain attempted to do just that (in the realm of literature) when he chastised James Fenimore Cooper's novels as being unrealistic by listing his "literary offenses." And yet, there are other factors within Cooper's Leatherstocking Tales that make them classics, and an important part of American literature.
To return to my original topic: while I'm not sure how I can become less offended by opinions that strongly clash with my own, especially among people with whom I share so many similar opinions (maybe I just have to accept that two people seeing the same movie see two different movies, and leave it at that), I can tell you why I react better to criticism of my own work. First off, when I open myself to criticism, I either have a strong idea of what I want the work to accomplish, or I have no idea what I want the work to accomplish. The former situation allows me to discard criticism that will not help the piece achieve the goal that I have in mind for it; the other leaves me open to any criticism that would make the work better, or give it clarity. But, if you are going to criticize something that someone else made, wrote, painted, or otherwise created, there are certain rules you should follow. Below are my rules for critiquing. And while my below comments refer to literary criticism (specifically novels), the rules can be applied to criticism in general, and to critical debates:
1.) Don't attack the other person directly.
In other words, don't do what too many "interviewers" do on shows that have a political or personal agenda: attack the other person's credibility. You are not engaging in character suicide; you are trying to help the work be the best it can be. Also, don't try to figure out the author's motives in including a passage (or leaving one out). Your only question should be: how can this be made better?
2.) Be brutal, but fair.
It's best if you don't know the person whose work you are criticizing (a friend of a friend, for example). The reason for this is because friends will often let their feelings get in the way of being brutally honest, which is why one should only be open to criticism when one has done all he or she can on the work in question. Otherwise, one is already on rocky ground, and any criticism might crumble what structure was in the novel to begin with. By being brutal, but fair, the author is given an overabundance of good criticism. The author then can decide how brutal he or she wants to be in correcting his or her work. On the flip side, if one is tepid in his or her criticism, or is unfair, then he or she doesn't give the author much to work with, either because he or she isn't giving enough criticism, or is giving criticism of an inferior quality.
3.) Don't lose the forest through the trees.
In books, pacing is critical. If you tell an author to slash an entire episode out of a novel, notice how doing so effects the flow of the story. Maybe nothing is needed to fill in the vacuum. Maybe something is. Also, don't be so concerned about grammatical and spelling errors that you ignore the arc of the story or the development of the characters. You should make a note of such errors, but chances are that the author will pick up most of those errors himself or herself through the many rewrites that follow your critique. On the other hand, always correct passages that are murky in meaning, or that could be taken to mean something intentionally hilarious.
4.) Read through the work more than once.
Ideally, you should read through once without stopping, then write down anything you noticed that was wrong on a sheet of paper. The second time, do a close reading, stopping to write down further criticisms. Finally, read through it a third time to see if there is anything that you missed. You shouldn't read through the manuscript less than three times, but feel free to read through it more than three times. The more times you're willing to read through the piece, the more helpful your criticism will be. And, like a novel, it pays to step away from the manuscript for a while, then come back to it and see if any of your criticisms have changed.
5.) Make sure to point out the good stuff, too.
No one likes hearing all bad news, so make sure that you mention what works as well as what doesn't work. After all, the author needs to know what he or she is good at, as well as what he or she is not good at. And be specific. Don't just say that everything you didn't criticize was good. Mention which parts were effective, and why, which leads me to my last rule...
6.) Be thorough, but concise.
Explain what works and why, what doesn't work and why, and suggestions on how to make the bad parts better. Include as much criticism as you can in as few words as possible, using proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Unless you're writing an article for a magazine or newspaper, your purpose is not to show off your brilliant writing skills. The only skills the author needs from you are your analytical skills.
This last rule applies equally well to writing fiction, or any other genre, for that matter. Don't be a showoff when writing. Writing should serve the work it's in, rather than the other way around.
For example, recently I got into an argument (online) with one of my friends over the movie Up. I was shocked that she didn't like it. She said she thought it was too slow. So, thinking maybe her ADD had something to do with her assessment of the movie, I told her that if she wanted to see a really slow movie, she should see The Thin Red Line or something by the late Anthony Minghella. I thought, at the time, that I had "found the explanation" for why she didn't like the movie; instead, I had been insensitive to her opinion, and her diagnosis, as she likes both Terrence Malick (who directed The Thin Red Line) and two of Anthony Minghella's movies (The English Patient and The Talented Mr. Ripley, movies I found to be much slower-moving than Up). Being that there are many classic novels that I don't particularly care for, I should have been okay with her opinion, even if I didn't agree with it, and while I am now fine (if still puzzled) by the fact that she didn't like it, that was not the case when we began our argument.
Are there absolutes in the world of art? I have been wondering about that recently, especially since Roger Ebert has written some blogs within the past month dealing with opinions about how good or bad a movie is (see July 5th's and 10th's entries) . Though liking a movie (or book) and recognizing it as a great movie (or book) are two separate things, can one not like a work of art and still consider it "great?" For art is (or should be) an emotional experience, and yet the only absolutes in art are the unemotional "facts" of its composition. For a movie, they include acting, directing, cinematography, dialogue, and storytelling, among other things. For Up, it would involve animation, as well. And yet you and I could agree on all of these basic factors and still have wildly different opinions of the movie in question, because culture, upbringing, and our unique personalities are what make us respond positively to some movies but not to others, even after we have trained ourselves to recognize great dialogue or great acting in a movie (opinions of which also can differ wildly). After all, if one could guarantee that all critics would say the same things about the same movies, or even like all of the same movies, all but one movie critic would be out of a job.
To test this theory of appreciation versus admiration, let's take a recognizable masterpiece: The Godfather. Suppose I found someone who didn't like The Godfather, and not because it portrays Italian-Americans as gangsters, nor because it's not his or her "type" of movie. Would that person still recognize its greatness? Maybe the way to tell if a work of art is great is whether or not you can successfully argue that it's not great. Mark Twain attempted to do just that (in the realm of literature) when he chastised James Fenimore Cooper's novels as being unrealistic by listing his "literary offenses." And yet, there are other factors within Cooper's Leatherstocking Tales that make them classics, and an important part of American literature.
To return to my original topic: while I'm not sure how I can become less offended by opinions that strongly clash with my own, especially among people with whom I share so many similar opinions (maybe I just have to accept that two people seeing the same movie see two different movies, and leave it at that), I can tell you why I react better to criticism of my own work. First off, when I open myself to criticism, I either have a strong idea of what I want the work to accomplish, or I have no idea what I want the work to accomplish. The former situation allows me to discard criticism that will not help the piece achieve the goal that I have in mind for it; the other leaves me open to any criticism that would make the work better, or give it clarity. But, if you are going to criticize something that someone else made, wrote, painted, or otherwise created, there are certain rules you should follow. Below are my rules for critiquing. And while my below comments refer to literary criticism (specifically novels), the rules can be applied to criticism in general, and to critical debates:
1.) Don't attack the other person directly.
In other words, don't do what too many "interviewers" do on shows that have a political or personal agenda: attack the other person's credibility. You are not engaging in character suicide; you are trying to help the work be the best it can be. Also, don't try to figure out the author's motives in including a passage (or leaving one out). Your only question should be: how can this be made better?
2.) Be brutal, but fair.
It's best if you don't know the person whose work you are criticizing (a friend of a friend, for example). The reason for this is because friends will often let their feelings get in the way of being brutally honest, which is why one should only be open to criticism when one has done all he or she can on the work in question. Otherwise, one is already on rocky ground, and any criticism might crumble what structure was in the novel to begin with. By being brutal, but fair, the author is given an overabundance of good criticism. The author then can decide how brutal he or she wants to be in correcting his or her work. On the flip side, if one is tepid in his or her criticism, or is unfair, then he or she doesn't give the author much to work with, either because he or she isn't giving enough criticism, or is giving criticism of an inferior quality.
3.) Don't lose the forest through the trees.
In books, pacing is critical. If you tell an author to slash an entire episode out of a novel, notice how doing so effects the flow of the story. Maybe nothing is needed to fill in the vacuum. Maybe something is. Also, don't be so concerned about grammatical and spelling errors that you ignore the arc of the story or the development of the characters. You should make a note of such errors, but chances are that the author will pick up most of those errors himself or herself through the many rewrites that follow your critique. On the other hand, always correct passages that are murky in meaning, or that could be taken to mean something intentionally hilarious.
4.) Read through the work more than once.
Ideally, you should read through once without stopping, then write down anything you noticed that was wrong on a sheet of paper. The second time, do a close reading, stopping to write down further criticisms. Finally, read through it a third time to see if there is anything that you missed. You shouldn't read through the manuscript less than three times, but feel free to read through it more than three times. The more times you're willing to read through the piece, the more helpful your criticism will be. And, like a novel, it pays to step away from the manuscript for a while, then come back to it and see if any of your criticisms have changed.
5.) Make sure to point out the good stuff, too.
No one likes hearing all bad news, so make sure that you mention what works as well as what doesn't work. After all, the author needs to know what he or she is good at, as well as what he or she is not good at. And be specific. Don't just say that everything you didn't criticize was good. Mention which parts were effective, and why, which leads me to my last rule...
6.) Be thorough, but concise.
Explain what works and why, what doesn't work and why, and suggestions on how to make the bad parts better. Include as much criticism as you can in as few words as possible, using proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation. Unless you're writing an article for a magazine or newspaper, your purpose is not to show off your brilliant writing skills. The only skills the author needs from you are your analytical skills.
This last rule applies equally well to writing fiction, or any other genre, for that matter. Don't be a showoff when writing. Writing should serve the work it's in, rather than the other way around.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The Craft of Writing
Though I've listed my favorite books in my profile, favorite books are different from important books, particularly when it comes to writing. So, here are some authors and books that should be studied for what they bring to the craft of literature:
J.K. Rowling, the Harry Potter Series
While this series includes many memorable characters and is one of the most fun books (or series of books) to read in modern memory, the one thing that separates this series from other books is its intricate plot. You want a master class on foreshadowing and plotting, so that nothing sounds contrived, but flows naturally from what came before? Read this series, and stand in awe, for Rowling did this not just in one book, which is hard enough, but in seven.
Honore de Balzac, Eugenie Grandet
Eugenie Grandet (with an accent grave on the first "e") is considered one of Balzac's best novels, if not his best. Its main features are its three-dimensional characters and attention to detail. While I have not read any of Balzac's other works, he is well-known for these traits in all of his writings. Charles Dickens also is known for his memorable characters, and indeed, he was influence by this earlier French master.
Natsumi Soseki, Mon
Another character study, this time concerning the two main characters in the novel. The story itself seems to be secondary to these two characters, though there is a plot. The plot, however, springs from the characters, so much so that we feel we are watching real people reacting to the world around them, rather than reading a manufactured story. Oh, and in English, the author is known as Soseki Natsumi.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
Interested in creating a manufactured world in which to place your characters, one with its own history and geneologies? Or looking for how to write a strong narrative? Look no further than this masterful work. This was the first book that I remember reading, not that I don't remember anything I read before it, but the impact of all I read before this work was so much less.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Despite an overabundance of "ly" words, this work is best-studied for the lyrical aspects of its narrative, especially the closing pages of the work. I'd give my right arm (well, maybe not--it's my writing arm, after all) to be able to write something as masterfully as Fitzgerald did in those closing pages.
Frank McCourt, Angela's Ashes
Irish authors tend to have lyricism down to a science. The lyricism in this book is different from the lyricism found in The Great Gatsby, but one in which the words themselves, like in the former selection, make the story a joy to read.
Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
There may be better American writers than Mark Twain, but few match his storytelling abilities. Along with Huck Finn, be sure to read his short stories and the three other books that made his career: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Prince and the Pauper, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. I still have yet to read the last one, but of the other two, Tom Sawyer can be uneven at times, the best parts focusing on the main story of the book, dealing with Injun Joe; while the Prince and the Pauper is one of the best-plotted of Twain's novels.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
The first few paragraphs of Wilde's only novel describe its setting in terms of sights, sounds, and smells so well that he is able to transport the reader there with much fewer lines than Balzac uses to describe the town of Saumur at the beginning Eugenie Grandet, but more effectively. I have only to pick up the book again to smell the flowers in Basil's garden.
William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
Faulkner uses techniques similar to Wilde in bringing his world to life in vivid detail. Instead of smelling flowers, I can still hear wood being sawed whenever I think of that novel. Plus, Faulkner uses multiple voices to tell a story in a way that isn't gimmicky, with each one starting where the other one left off.
I could go on with other examples, but these are the most vivid in my mind. So I'm curious: which books would you put on this list, and why? Or, feel free to comment on books that affected you greatly.
Happy reading!
J.K. Rowling, the Harry Potter Series
While this series includes many memorable characters and is one of the most fun books (or series of books) to read in modern memory, the one thing that separates this series from other books is its intricate plot. You want a master class on foreshadowing and plotting, so that nothing sounds contrived, but flows naturally from what came before? Read this series, and stand in awe, for Rowling did this not just in one book, which is hard enough, but in seven.
Honore de Balzac, Eugenie Grandet
Eugenie Grandet (with an accent grave on the first "e") is considered one of Balzac's best novels, if not his best. Its main features are its three-dimensional characters and attention to detail. While I have not read any of Balzac's other works, he is well-known for these traits in all of his writings. Charles Dickens also is known for his memorable characters, and indeed, he was influence by this earlier French master.
Natsumi Soseki, Mon
Another character study, this time concerning the two main characters in the novel. The story itself seems to be secondary to these two characters, though there is a plot. The plot, however, springs from the characters, so much so that we feel we are watching real people reacting to the world around them, rather than reading a manufactured story. Oh, and in English, the author is known as Soseki Natsumi.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
Interested in creating a manufactured world in which to place your characters, one with its own history and geneologies? Or looking for how to write a strong narrative? Look no further than this masterful work. This was the first book that I remember reading, not that I don't remember anything I read before it, but the impact of all I read before this work was so much less.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Despite an overabundance of "ly" words, this work is best-studied for the lyrical aspects of its narrative, especially the closing pages of the work. I'd give my right arm (well, maybe not--it's my writing arm, after all) to be able to write something as masterfully as Fitzgerald did in those closing pages.
Frank McCourt, Angela's Ashes
Irish authors tend to have lyricism down to a science. The lyricism in this book is different from the lyricism found in The Great Gatsby, but one in which the words themselves, like in the former selection, make the story a joy to read.
Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
There may be better American writers than Mark Twain, but few match his storytelling abilities. Along with Huck Finn, be sure to read his short stories and the three other books that made his career: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Prince and the Pauper, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. I still have yet to read the last one, but of the other two, Tom Sawyer can be uneven at times, the best parts focusing on the main story of the book, dealing with Injun Joe; while the Prince and the Pauper is one of the best-plotted of Twain's novels.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
The first few paragraphs of Wilde's only novel describe its setting in terms of sights, sounds, and smells so well that he is able to transport the reader there with much fewer lines than Balzac uses to describe the town of Saumur at the beginning Eugenie Grandet, but more effectively. I have only to pick up the book again to smell the flowers in Basil's garden.
William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
Faulkner uses techniques similar to Wilde in bringing his world to life in vivid detail. Instead of smelling flowers, I can still hear wood being sawed whenever I think of that novel. Plus, Faulkner uses multiple voices to tell a story in a way that isn't gimmicky, with each one starting where the other one left off.
I could go on with other examples, but these are the most vivid in my mind. So I'm curious: which books would you put on this list, and why? Or, feel free to comment on books that affected you greatly.
Happy reading!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)