Scanning the holds

Before I start, I just want to say that you guys did a good job on the Johari window / Feedback Friday exercise last week.

When I wrote the email and then set the exercise, I did wonder if lots of you would just think, “Huh? What?” and ignore the challenge. But you didn’t. If you haven’t already looked at the discussion, then do. (If you’re not a member of Townhouse, that link won’t work, but you can sign up for free here. You now don’t even need to set a password: you can just use your Google account to wave the magic wand.)

Anyway. Hold-scanning: the topic of the email.

I used to climb pretty regularly at a climbing wall centre in Oxford. I’m not an especially good climber, but there were plenty of really strong people climbing there.

Indoor climbing (especially bouldering, which is what I mainly did) tends to be short and intense. You attempt a hard route, and either get to the top (yay!) or drop off at some point along the way. Either way, your muscles should be burning a bit, so that even if you want to re-attempt the route, you need to rest a couple of minutes before you’re in a state to go again.

So: you have two minutes when you’re resting and not climbing. Or, in fact, you have quite a lot of those two-minute windows. What do you do with them?

One option is just to lie on your back and pant and look at the super-climbers who seem to bounce up routes that you can’t even contemplate.

But there’s an alternate strategy, and a better one.

You still lie on your back. And pant. And look at the super-climbers.

But this time, you really look at them. When they move so effortlessly onto that bulgy yellow hold you can barely reach, do you notice that they rock their weight away from it, before moving back towards it? Maybe that pendulum motion is part of what gives them that mysterious ability to grab it.

Or as they swarm up that overhanging wall, do you notice that they’re not readjusting their hands on the hold each time?  Maybe the seconds they shave from not readjusting their grip means they’re less likely to run out of puff near the top?

The climber who uses his or her lying-down-and-panting time to study other climbers is much more likely to progress than the rest.

The same is true, my darling sparrow, my blue-footed booby, of you.

Obviously, when you write, you work hard at putting down the best prose you can to tell the strongest story possible. Jolly good. Here’s a fresh worm for you by way of reward.

But what about when you’re doing the writer-equivalent of lying down and panting? What do you do then?

Specifically, when you read published work by others, how do you read it?

I know when I was engaged in writing my first novel, I became obsessed with trying to understand how other writers were achieving the effects they were achieving. If they did something great – how did they do it? If they did something disappointing – what lay behind that failure?

The act of reading changed completely for me. I’m now a bit less obsessive than I was, but not all that much. My editor-brain is now so automatic, I can’t switch it off.

It should be the same for you.

When you’re reading, not writing – use that time to learn. Every novel (and plenty of non-fiction) has things to teach you, but you’ll only hear those teachings if you’re alert to the messages.

If you read a book by John Smith – are his sentences better than yours? Are his descriptions more evocative? If they are: why? Does he use more complex words? (Probably not.) Does he pick out better details? If so, what makes those details better than yours? Are you not writing your description as well, or are you not seeing the scene in the first place with as much clarity?

If you read a book by Jane Brown – is her plotting better? More exciting? How does she generate the excitement? Is it greater speed (more car chases)? Or is it greater depth (greater emotional jeopardy during the chase)?

You have to track these things down. It’ll change the way you read, but so much the better. It should do.

FEEDBACK FRIDAY / That bulgy yellow hold

Bit of an experiment this week, but let’s give it a go.

Take a 250-word chunk of text from your work in progress. Pop it up on Townhouse with title, genre, and any context we need.

Please title your post in this format: Genre / title / [anything else if you want]. That helps others navigate a big old forum with speed. When you’re ready, you can post it here.

Then – ignore your work. Go and jump around on other people’s posts. In each case, read the work and give a comment on it. Aim to do that with 5-10 posts in total.

And I don’t just want a comment – I want a useful comment.

A comment that’s good is, “The second sentence is given particular menace by noting the knife’s blade as well as the vase of daffodils. This is a domestic scene, yes, but we already feel the edge of danger.” That’s specific and reproducible. OK, you may not want to write a knife-blade and daffodil sentence of your own, but you can use the insight you just had when writing your own material.

A lousy comment is, “I really liked this. It felt atmospheric.” That’s not specific at all. (What did you like? How did the author create the atmosphere?) And because it’s not specific, it’s not reproducible. It gives you no insight into how you can achieve (or avoid) the same effects.

I don’t actually mind if you pop work of published authors up on Townhouse instead of your own. But the heart of this exercise is in the comments you make. Flap to it, my crested grebe. Jump to it, you wagtails and oystercatchers. I’m going to be very interested to see how we do.

Til soon.

Harry