Without doubt, performance feedback and creative success go hand in hand. Useful feedback can help you evolve and reach high levels of satisfaction and achievement. But where are you to find the quality of feedback and help you need? Deprived of it, some artists and writers quit before they reach their peak. They bid their beloved craft adieu.
Something, for example, has gone out of publishing. Something is missing. No longer can you find the publisher’s textual editors who once existed who would work tirelessly with you, the author, suffer with you, and use their specialized skills to help you create the best you’re capable of. Creators are rare and exceptional human beings who are able to work alone in seclusion long hours without recognition, without praise, sacrificing, overcoming hardships without flinching, always returning with high energy to the work which they have a talent for. For a writer or artist who by necessity spends so much time alone, the insights of a close collaborator who cares as much about your work as you do can be a godsend.
In a novel I wrote an episode in which a New York publisher’s editor came out here to the Midwest to spend a week in a cabin at a lake working intensely with a promising writer. I wrote this episode knowing very well that an actual editor would say, “Well, such a thing is simply not conceivable.” But I thought how wonderful if it were. I enjoyed writing that episode more than any other.
Maxwell Perkins was the most acclaimed book editor of the twentieth century and thus far in the twenty-first. During the 1920s and 30s his Scribner’s writers included the greatest and most gifted working with one editor in the history of American publishing. They included, in addition to his protégé Thomas Wolfe, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ring Lardner. Wolfe’s association with Perkins is the most celebrated author/editor relationship in American literature.
The day before Christmas, 1929 Wolfe wrote to Perkins: “One year ago I had little hope for my work, and I did not know you…. You are now mixed with my book in such a way that I can never separate the two of you. I can no longer think clearly of the time I wrote it, but rather of the time when you first talked to me about it, and when you worked upon it….You have done what I had ceased to believe that one person could do for another–you have created liberty and hope for me.” Wolfe wrote a note to Perkins: “In all my life, until I met you, I never had a friend.” Wolfe described Perkins as “a man of immense and patient wisdom and gentle but unyielding fortitude.”
Wolfe was immensely talented, but his main problems were his uncontrollable, obsessive verbosity and a chronic inability to cut that resulted in unedited manuscripts of fantastic lengths, three or four times longer than a publishable book could possibly be. Those problems in turn were caused by Wolfe’s difficulty making any kind of independent decisions. He didn’t know where or what to cut. He would stare for hours at the manuscript before eliminating a few sentences when his agreement with Perkins was that he would strike out tens of thousands–a hundred thousand—words. He would start by rereading the manuscript section by section, trying to find things that were unnecessary and could be omitted. But he was totally blind to them. He never in his entire career had a concept of a publishable book.
I am certainly no Thomas Wolfe, but my wife Diana is my Maxwell Perkins. She has been a highly-regarded writing teacher, tutor, and mentor for years, and I doubt her judgment and skill can be surpassed. She edits all my work, and over the years I’ve been prolific—well over a million words–and she’s been busy. I—we—have had published best-selling nonfiction, as well as fiction and poetry, many magazine and newspaper articles, and this blog.
But she is far more than a conventional editor, and in this post I’m holding her up as an ideal, one the likes of which every writer and artist should find, hold onto, and treasure. I heard a psychiatrist say, “Everyone could benefit from a therapist.” And every writer and artist could benefit from knowledgeable, frank criticism—sympathetic criticism of course, not thoughtless and cruel criticism. When tough, street-smart novelist Henry Miller found himself being abused by editor after editor he submitted work to, he snarled, “Who are these shits? Where do they get off saying such things to me?” If you are to survive in the arts, as in life, you must never be intimidated by anyone. I think the greats were all bold, all brave.
Diana and I have developed a harmonious division of labor. I create. She evaluates. I respect her talents and she respects mine. They are different talents, but are aimed at the same object: the quality of the work. I’m aware that she will be my first and most demanding audience. I’m always eager to hear what she has to say because her opinions will help me improve. And isn’t to improve, transforming a gift into an achievement, what every creative person wants most?
The most important criticism a seasoned writer or artist receives is self-criticism. The standards of good writing, painting, or dancing, etc., are now a part of the writer or artist’s makeup. Yet, a creative person of any level of ability should ask, “Am I getting honest feedback regularly also from someone else whose judgment I trust? Have I made arrangements to do that? Am I receptive to constructive criticism? Am I confident enough for it? Can I be dispassionate about it? Can I be non-attached?”
We all wish to be lavished with praise for every work we produce. John Irving said that “Good job” is the only feedback a writer wants. But it’s much more beneficial to have a wife or friend or coach, editor, teacher, writer’s or artist’s group, etc. who’ll point out flaws and shortcomings before the work reaches agents, publishers, newspaper reviewers, and the final judge—the audience.
Some writers and artists and people in every other profession would prefer to not know how well or poorly they’re doing. Others very much want to know if knowledgeable people they trust think they’re doing okay, and possibly more importantly, if they’re doing poorly, and if they are, in what areas they might improve. They welcome feedback and actively seek it, feedback that is (1) timely, (2) specific, (3) well-meaning, and (4) helpful.
Ernest Hemingway, for example, didn’t become the most innovative literary stylist of the last 100 years without incorporating into his work the advice of his newspaper editors, and fellow writers Sherwood Anderson, Ezra Pound, Gertrude Stein, and F. Scott Fitzgerald who were generous enough to share their expertise with him
Diana advises me, consults with me, inspires me, encourages me, and criticizes every facet of my work—objectively I believe, and always fairly. She is not easy on me, but pushes me. Well, not “pushes.” Pushing isn’t in her nature. But from her commitment I feel myself gaining energy. She is to me what a real editor should be, though I know how trying writers can be. (I once called my publisher’s editor and she sounded demoralized. So I said, “What’s wrong, Kathy?” She said, “Oh, I just had an hour-long argument with one of my authors about a comma.”)
Many creative people benefit from close personal support and encouragement from one other person such as a lover, husband or wife, sibling, or close friend: Frederick Chopin/George Sand, Jackson Pollock/Lee Krasner, Jean Paul Sartre/Simone De Beauvoir, Henry Miller/Anais Nin, Vincent van Gogh/Theo van Gogh, Virginia Woolf/Leonard Woolf, Salvador Dali/Gala, and George Gershwin/Ira Gershwin.
It may not be the oddest phenomenon, but it is something of a phenomenon that as soon as a creator is in his judgment finished with a work, he immediately loses interest in it. He wants to go on to something else. A study found that professional writers couldn’t remember what they had just written. But amateurs could remember very clearly exactly what they had written. And writers, like artists, are often working on 3, 5, or 10 projects simultaneously, moving restlessly from one to another as the mood strikes. While at times I’ve forgotten about whole projects I’ve got going, Diana somehow remembers. She will say, “Whatever happened to…?”
I might work on a piece for a long time, turning down invitations to go to movies, visit friends, or take vacations. Poet John Milton said some people—like me–“scorn delights to live laborious lives.” But when I can say, “That’s it,” well, that’s it. It’s all done. Something shuts off. All responsibility for it disappears. My mind elsewhere now, I might say flippantly, “Well you take care of it from here. Just mop it up.” And Diana will say, “Oh, no, you’re the writer, not me. I won’t make a change without your approval. So let’s get going. Why in the fourth sentence do you say…?”
Diana doesn’t usually suggest subjects I should write about. I develop my own ideas. But once she gave me a subject and it will give you an idea of how we work. I’d never really written anything significant about the death of my sister Sharon who was very dear to me. Diana said I should. I wrote what I thought was a good piece and gave it to her. She didn’t like it. I said, “It’s perfectly fine. I’m done with it. I’m not doing anything more.” Her words in reply were “It is not up to your standards.” I liked the implication that I had high standards, and in the back of my mind I knew I wasn’t satisfied with it either. I redid it seven or eight times. It became “Days End.” When it was done, a critic said, “This is not just writing. This is literature.” If it is, it wouldn’t have been without Diana so persuasively prodding me.
I’ve learned more of what they call “classical restraint” from Diana. That that style appeals to her is not coincidental. It suits her. She is dignified and calm—classically restrained. Her favorite word in the English language is equanimity—composure, level-headedness. A writer’s most effective writing mood is important, and every writer has to find his/her own, just as painters and sculptors, etc., must find their most productive working mood.
Diana is able to find in my writing what I may not see. I asked her to go over some fiction of mine. As she read she stopped abruptly and said, “Hmmm, this passage right here is a poem.” She said, “Just read it. These lines here. It’s a really nice poem just as it is.” I put it verbatim in poem form without changing a word and it was published and won a contest. I hadn’t noticed my poem among the prose.
I’m currently writing a book that I believe has something original to say to writers who wish to achieve their writing goals, including becoming a higher quality writer and being successful in other ways too. I don’t let Diana or anyone else read anything I’m working on until in my judgment it’s pretty much done. I never tell anyone exactly what I’m doing. But she knows something about the book and the other day let slip the comment, “You should really make it applicable not just to writers, but to artists and actors, and so on.”
I’ve tried, but for the life of me I cannot get that sentence out of my mind. I wonder, “Should I do what she suggests? It would take more time, more work. It wouldn’t be easy, it would be tough. There are a hundred reason why I shouldn’t do it.”
But damned if I don’t have a hunch that once again she’s right.
© 2015 David J. Rogers
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14 responses to “Feedback and Help for Creative Success”
How lovely, Diana must be happy to be mentioned so warmly in this post. I am definitely at a place where I wanted and needed some feedback for my writing, but at the same time I was nervous, because I am thin skinned :). So it’s been an interesting process submitting different types of writing to be assessed academically, and fortunately I haven’t been offended :). Actually, I’ve really appreciated everything that I’ve been told. I couldn’t accept criticism by someone who is close to me, I’m too sensitive! Mind you, I don’t have a Diana either :). One of my writing group colleagues who is also a writing and media lecturer has offered to mentor me in my studies, an offer which I will definitely take on with my major assignments. Interestingly, as I wrote in my blog today, show not tell is the main advice for me. Working on it!
Diana is modest and actually did not like being singled out for attention. She said I was overestimating her role in my writing, but that is not true. A writing group can be a good source of support, and it’s nice that one of those colleagues is willing to give you feedback. But trust yourself, your own judgment too. You are the best critic of your work if you look at it honestly. By the way, “Show; don’t tell can be a good exercise and might be one that many writers can benefit from practicing, but it’s not always the right way. Sometimes it’s better to tell: You can cover more ground; it’s more economical.
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Yes, good point David, and that is why I tend to be a teller rather than a shower. I like to be straight to the point :). I guess it depends what kind of writing you are doing. In non-fiction narrative writing like what I am doing at the moment, I can see how showing helps to build tension and to keep the reader interested in the story. AnywAy, it’s interesting stretching myself in these ways.
You don’t strike me as someone who would give credit where it isn’t due. Diana just has to deal with it 🙂
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A precisous blog post! Thank you David!
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Another fascinating post. Although I am a painter, so many of the elements mentioned here also hold true for visual artists.
I believe that if we can have a close, harmonious relationship with another – someone whose opinion we respect – it has to be the best way of receiving constructive criticism.
I also understand that when I complete a work, it is done….I am ready to move on, and as totally focused as I might have been during the making of that work….I too can enjoy a period of allowing my mental palette to be totally cleansed….However, having said that, I am also aware that each piece of work I do is linked into what came before and what comes afterwards….everything is interconnected.
In terms of self criticism – I have found that the passage of time…between making a painting and re assessing it, helps enormously. I can see the work more clearly….and because of this am able to learn from it.
Thank you so much, and wishing you and yours a wonderful autumn weekend. Janet.
Janet, I’ happy you liked my post about feedback and could apply it to your own work in the ways you describe. Speaking of your work, it is beautiful, and I wonder if color was a great discovery for you as it was for van Gogh. I especially like your idea of continuity of an artist’s or writer’s body of work, and how we learn from each piece. I’m wondering if you have that kind of close harmonious relationship with another person that you talked about and that I have with my wife. Thank you for your autumn wishes. I know you would love it here in the Midwestern United States when in late September and October the trees burst into rich colors.
Born at the end of WW2 in London, it all seemed so grey and dark….but then my Father would take me to the re-opened National Gallery where amazing pavement artists would work in front of the gallery in such colour…I think that was the beginning. I have had one very good marriage, but during the past 28 years have gone it alone…..I have yet to meet that very special companion, like minded person, however am so grateful for all the wonderful friends in my life. Enjoy your day and week ahead…janet.
How wonderful that those early experiences can set us on a track that leads us to our destiny. Of course, having seen so many movies about the English Blitz, I can visualize what your city was like when you were so young. I’m glad I know now how you discovered color. It would make a very good story. Perhaps you’ll write it someday. Friends are so important and can add so much to our lives. Thanks for your good wishes, and I hope all is well with you and your work is going well too.
Thank you, David….I am feeling extremely inspired at this time:)
I enjoyed reading your article. You accurately described an emotionally mature and intellectually honest relationship. Your wife must be a wonderful woman.
My husband is not a professional editor, but I always value his opinion of my writing. He perceives with a deeper heart than I do and knows when my words deviate from my truth.
Thank you for sharing.
Sharon, you say your husband “perceives with a deeper heart” than you and lets you know when your words aren’t truthful. What a lovely way to put that wonderful ability which your husband and my wife both possess. She is a wonderful woman. I trust her judgment implicitly, not just about writing, but about everyday living too. Truth in creative work is important to me, as it is to you, so much so, that I’m thinking of writing a post entitled “Writers Who Can’t Lie.”
I enjoyed reading on your blog your ideas about conflict, many of which I share. Your thoughts are very interesting. You’re a complex thinker.
Best wishes for a happy, healthy, and productive New Year.
Thank you for your kind words. I have a question about comments. If I find something provokes interesting, enlightening, or entertaining thoughts, I usually comment. However, I do not want to make a nuisance of myself. Do you have a preferred limit on comments? If you do, I will respect it. Thank you.
Sharon, feel free to comment as often as you like. I look forward to it.