Corrections Are Good: How to Take Critique Like a Dancer
By Kim Bullock | January 30, 2015 |
Today’s guest is Kim Bullock whose novel-in-progress (working title The Oak Lovers) has already been receiving praise. Historical fiction author Stephanie Cowell says this, “I’ve seldom read a novel with such intense passion. I was unable to put down The Oak Lovers; this is a riveting book.”
The story, based on family member Carl Ahrens (Kim’s great-grandfather) is a compelling tale of art, love, and sacrifice. The artistic gene has been handed down through the generations. Kim’s oldest daughter inherited her grandfather’s artistic skill, and both her daughters are gifted dancers.
[pullquote]My thirteen-year-old daughter is a serious ballet dancer and I find it interesting how ‘corrections’ are interpreted as a positive thing in the dance world. It occurred to me that some of the lessons she has learned could easily be adapted to help writers not feel so overwhelmed when they receive feedback…[/pullquote]
Kim, one of WU’s valued Admin Assistants, has an MA in English from Iowa State University, where she received the Pearl Hogrefe Grants-in-Aid for Creative Writing Award and also taught composition for a couple of years. In addition to contributing articles to historical publications in both the United States and Canada, she takes on freelance assignments for Living Magazine, a regional publication, and has been a finalist in Glimmer Train’s Short Story Contest for New Writers.
Kim’s website for Carl Ahrens, a major character in her current novel, regularly attracts the attention of collectors and art historians, and she has given several keynote speeches on his life and place in art history. She lives in Dallas, Texas, with her husband and two daughters.
Connect with Kim on her blog, on Facebook, and on Twitter.
Corrections Are Good: How to Take Critique Like a Dancer
My daughter, who had not known a plié from a tendu until age nine, was understandably terrified when she entered her first class at one of Dallas’ most prestigious classical ballet schools.
She had been the prima dancer during her one year at a beginner studio, performing front and center in the recital. “Work hard and you can go anywhere you want in the dance world,” her teacher had told her privately after ballet lesson number three. I was in the room at the time, and I watched that spark of a dream ignite in her eyes.
I feared her passion for dance might be snuffed out by trying to compete in a room full of girls who had been on tiptoe since toddlerhood, but my sensitive perfectionist emerged from class dry-eyed and grinning. She did chinés turns all the way back to the car, narrowly avoiding trash cans and hedges.
As she twirled, she rattled off an extensive list of things she had done wrong in class that day: everything from her hyper-extended elbows to her weak turnout and lazy fifth position. Her old teacher had apparently failed to correct her bad habits, so she would need to relearn everything
Though she did not seem upset in the least, I had to ask. “Did you receive any roses with all those thorns?”
“She didn’t name my butt. If it sticks out when you plié, she’ll give it an old man name,” my daughter explained. “The girl next to me was told to ‘put Fred away’ three times.”
Her beaming expression warned me that laughter would in some way lessen her tremendous accomplishment. I refrained, but the effort it took ranked somewhere between writing my Master’s thesis and childbirth.
If I were a ‘dance mom’ I’d have understood the reason for her joy that day, but my ballet experience had been limited to one year of reluctantly flitting around a studio pretending to be a butterfly. I knew even at six that elephants possessed more grace.
Corrections are a good thing, just one small rung under a compliment on the desirability ladder.
Photo by Deborah Downes at Take to Heart Images
Watch any ballet class and it’s easy to pick out the teacher’s pets. At lower levels favorites will be told “good job” a time or two, but the instructor will often adjust an arm or raise a leg higher in arabesque. The corrections will be nit-picky tweaks she does not offer to the other students. As a dancer progresses up the ranks, particularly in studios with a dance company attached, the manhandling intensifies. Feet will be forcibly pointed, knees turned out, backs bent, legs raised, rears pushed in. Dancers having an off day can expect to be yelled at like a new recruit at boot camp.
That’s terrible! Do it again! You dance like a drunk zombie! Your arms look like dead chickens!
Have too many off days and something much worse happens. The yelling stops. The teacher will pass by with barely a glance. The student becomes invisible.
Teachers don’t waste time giving corrections to dancers in whom they see no potential.
Read that last sentence again, only substitute the word “teachers” with “editors” and “dancers” with “writers.”
Hits home, doesn’t it? This perception is why it hurts so much when we receive a form rejection or, worse, no response after sending off a manuscript.
What about the opposite extreme, though? How can a writer not become overwhelmed and discouraged if a critique partner or editor sends back what appears to be a dissertation on a manuscript’s faults?
[pullquote] The next time you receive pages of editorial notes, don’t reach for the tissues or a stiff drink. Don’t renew your insurance license. Instead take a deep breath and repeat the words my ballerina once said to me: “This person must really love the book if they spent so much time with it.”[/pullquote]
This is the perfect time to consider feedback with the mindset of a dancer. The next time you receive pages of editorial notes, don’t reach for the tissues or a stiff drink. Don’t renew your insurance license. Instead take a deep breath and repeat the words my ballerina once said to me: “This person must really love the book if they spent so much time with it.”
More Ways to Think Like a Dancer
- Take “class” from several teachers. They will all focus on different things and give you a well-rounded grasp of technique.
- Resist any temptation to tell off the teacher. The suggestions that made you the angriest are probably the ones you most need to hear.
- A teacher who believes in your potential will challenge you to exceed it. If you do, they may push you even more. This is a compliment.
- Generic praise is rarely helpful.
- Blunt criticism hurts. Instead of letting it discourage you, use it to feed your determination.
How do you deal with critique, especially if it is extensive? If you danced (or still do), would you add something to this list? Have you ever adapted lessons learned from another form of art to enhance your writing?
Kim (she/her) has an M.A. in English from Iowa State University. She writes mainly historical fiction, though has also contributed non-fiction articles to historical and Arts and Crafts publications in both the United States and Canada. She has just finished The Oak Lovers, a novel based on the rather colorful life of her great-grandfather, landscape painter Carl Ahrens.
Kim, this is all such good advice — and such a kind and positive way of looking at what can be a soul-destroying experience. Thank you!
Thank you, Liz!
I wish I always had the fortitude to take my own advice. Thankfully, I do live with a constant reminder of the lesson. Two, actually, since both dance. They are both thrilled on big correction days. If a compliment is thrown in there, even if it is just “better,” they are over the moon.
Kim–
Your post today is a fine example of how story can serve to clarify ideas. I’ve never met her and never will, but you’ve got me rooting for your daughter! It certainly seems as though she already has something crucial for any artist: the ability to receive criticism and use it to her advantage.
Just as she must depend on the critical eye of the dance master, the writer who wants to become a better writer must be able to “take instruction.” And it can be very tough, especially when your baby, your budding ballerina of a novel is slowly, painfully disassembled by a dance master agent, editor or writers’ group.
But that’s one of the tests that serve to reveal whether you’re a writer: can you take a punch and learn from it, or does it just hurt? If you can’t stand having your butt shoved in and given an old man’s name, maybe you need to ask the ultimate question: have I mistaken a true passion for dance/writing fiction for the IDEA of myself as a ballerina/novelist?
But something small in your story needs to be seen as not small at all: your dance mom’s tact in the parking lot as you suppressed a smile, knowing it would lessen your daughter’s sense of accomplishment. The equivalent for the writer are those in the writer’s corner (sorry for this Norman Mailer fight metaphor). I’m talking about the spouse, friend, partner who offers encouragement, the writer’s “cut man” applying styptic to a gash, a pat on the back, a “you can do it!” after a tough round of ego-bruising criticism. Lucky is the talented child with supportive parents, and lucky is the writer with friends as well as task masters.
Barry,
Thank you for your kind words about how I handled things that day. My daughter read this post this morning and she actually remembers that I didn’t laugh. She agreed that it would have bothered her if I had.
Ballet has been a godsend for her. She was a shy and painfully sensitive little one. As a toddler she always walked on her toes, but because I never danced I never even thought about that as any sort of sign. Her little sister actually took class first, and one day she decided she wanted to try it, too. Not ballet, but contemporary. The contemporary class did not have enough children and so she was invited to join the ballet class. She didn’t want to. Said she didn’t want to flit across the stage in a pink tutu. I actually took her kicking and screaming to the first lesson. “Just try it,” I said. “If you don’t like it, fine. But try it.”
She came out after the first class and said she loved ballet. There’s been no going back. She is now a confident and poised thirteen year old. She knows who she is, which is rare for that age. She has taken the lessons she has learned in ballet class and applied them to her art and her school work as well.
She is as much my role model as I am hers. How many parents are that lucky?
Terrific post, Kim! I loved the analogy you’ve drawn between the world of dance and the world of writing, and am chuckling to myself about the notion of telling my editing clients to “put Fred away.” ;-) (Props to you for black belt-level Mom Skills for not bursting out laughing when your daughter told you that story.) I know the absolute importance of being able to “hear” and learn from a critique if the writing’s going to improve, and yet there’s still a part of me that struggles a bit with critiques of my own work. I do welcome the inevitable feelings of “ouch,” because those spot-on critiques are so necessary to making the work better, and so much more helpful than a generic “I liked that!” or “Good job!”
And yes, we learn the most from the teachers who challenge us and push the hardest because they see in us the capacity to do and be so much more. I always count myself lucky when those people show up in my life. (And as Barry points out, it’s important to have some supporters who can make encouraging noises at us while we struggle with those teachers.) Write on, dance on!
Kate,
To me the only thing worse than simply hearing “I liked it” is “it was nice.” These comments, well meaning as they are, tell me that the person giving the critique either did not read it, or that something was very off to them, yet they don’t want to hurt my feelings.
To any of you out there who may someday read anything of mine: Go ahead and give it to me straight. Sure, I love being given “roses” but I also want to know if there’s a thorn concealed in there before I latch on! No piece of writing (or work of art, or dance routine) is ever perfect.
“Put Fred away” has become a bit of a running joke in our family since my father’s name happens to be Fred! (Sorry, Dad!)
Black-belt-level Mom skills. Hmmm, I’ll have to remember that on my days where I break my hand (lose my cool) trying to snap a single board.
Kim-
I like that: not critique but corrections.
It’s like I and many others say about rejections: They’re not telling you you’re wrong, just that you’re not there *yet*.
Your daughter’s spirit is inspiring. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her chinés turns across the parking lot.
I have a niece who sang in the crib when she was supposed to nap. (She was caught on the baby monitor.) Today she is seventeen, writes songs, has a record out, gets airplay, performs constantly and is heading to music school.
We cheer on our kids and encourage them to learn yet we don’t cheer ourselves as hard or embrace critique as a gift. How backwards!
Thank you for that, Don. Given your special relationship with your son, I thought you might relate to the idea of a parent being inspired by their kid. She is one of the best inspirations I have. There are days I’m not entirely sure which of us is the bigger role model for the other.
I’ll never forget those particular chines turns, though I’ve seen them repeated hundreds of times over the past four years.
She has completely changed the way I look at critique.
This is just marvelous, Kim. As I said on the WU group page, although you’re more like a sister, I’m as proud as a papa (giving me a glimpse of how Mama T must so often feel). Your warmth and humor, your precision and incisiveness, your thoughtfulness and your optimism – they all shine through in this essay.
There have been times when I’ve felt a bit of overwhelm in sorting through past correction. I’ve been painfully aware of my big ole’ Fred hanging out there in my typical flabby prose. There have been moments of fear, not so much of critique, but of my own reactive nature in receiving it. Fear of diminishing joy in my chosen endeavor, fear that I’ve stilted whatever freshness I’d once brought to the page. But I’ve recently started to realize something else every dancer knows: that practice forms muscle-memory. Some things stick, and begin to come naturally to us. Only in doing certain things by rote can we dance well, and with the joy and freshness that brought us to begin, and pushed us wildly along the path of aspiration.
Thank you for reminding of my good fortune and earnest gratitude. Here’s to my mentors, to those who’ve cared enough to read and correct me, and to those who believe in me. And here’s to your very bright future, Kim! Thanks for all you do!
>…that practice forms muscle-memory. Some things stick, and begin to come naturally to us.
Yes!
Vaughn, your response makes my heart smile.
You know how much I consider you and the rest of the Mod Squad family. Thanks for letting me still stick around in that group even though I’m now an Admin on the blog. I’d miss you all too much to leave!
Ah, muscle memory. That’s a big part of ballet – the main reason for all the repetitive barre exercises that I once found so tedious. My younger one sometimes agrees with my assessment of barre time, though I believe she may be falling a bit in love with it, too. One of her friends is coming over tomorrow specifically so she can get a ballet lesson from her! She also is getting pickier about the quality of her bun and has started showing me things she’s learned.
Of course, my older one finds barre exercises relaxing. Her muscles know what to do automatically. I hope with further practice, I will feel the same way about the composition process. I adore revision. The initial draft, not so much!
Kim, as one who hands out a lot of “corrections,” as you well know, this is a great reminder that what we all do for each other, as writers and readers, is indeed valid and useful. It’s tough to hear that your darlings aren’t as darling as you think, and it’s also good to be reminded that tough critique is indeed the compliment it’s intended to be. I know I have benefitted from some comments that were difficult to hear, but I strive to accept the advice (I asked for!) with grace and consideration. And it’s true: sometimes what is most upsetting to hear is what really needs to be heard.
Elizabeth,
Thank you for stopping by! For those of you who don’t know who she is, E is one of the contributors I blog with over at What Women Write. She is also not kidding when she says she gives out a LOT of corrections. When my daughter said “This person must really love the book if they spent so much time with it” she was referring to the feedback Elizabeth had sent me on an earlier version of my manuscript.
Turns out my daughter was right. Sure, some of that virtual red ink was pointing out typos and mentioning things, sometimes big things, I might want to reconsider. A lot of it, though, was more like a dialogue with my text. Something along the lines of, “Oh no, she did NOT just say that.” It would have taken a great deal of time and energy to do all that through 400 pages of text.
Elizabeth, you were the critical reader I asked you to be, but you were also an engaged reader. No one can ask for more than that. Thank you for both that and your comment here.
Wonderful post! Dancers are some of the toughest people I know. They are always striving for perfection and willing to accept the criticism to get there. Great analogy.
You have to develop a thick skin to be a writer. I used to be afraid for anyone to see anything I had written. Now that I’ve been in a critique group for a year, I can take criticism and roll with it. I don’t look at it as a personal attack. We are teaching each other to be better.
I look forward to more of your posts. :)
I agree completely on the thick skin bit, Valerie. I think that’s part of being an artist of any kind (writer/painter/dancer/musician).
You have to learn to take correction and rejection. You have to learn to take that disappointment and channel it into determination to be better, try harder, next time. This takes courage. And perhaps a touch of insanity. :-)
And yes, dancers are TOUGH. Don’t let that tiny looking build you see in the photo fool you. I’m sure a lot of people on here know very well who the girl in it is, and let me tell you, she could totally kick my butt.
Sometimes I receive comments by editors when they reject a short story or one of my poems. It would be all too easy, in the desire to get published, to change my work according to an editor’s suggestion. The suggestions need to be weighed and tested, but not blindly carried out. Sometimes the suggestions improve the work; sometimes they change it so that it is not what I intended. The trick is to figure out what would improve the story or poem from what is the editor’s own personal likes and dislikes.
I have on occasion defended my choice, explaining why the suggested change is not an improvement and have been successful in convincing the editor. I am always grateful when an editor takes the time to make suggestions, even if I don’t agree 100 percent. It means that the editor is interested and believes that the work is publishable.
Adelaide
Adelaide–
I agree completely with what you say here. I am currently working with two very good editors, and it’s as important for me to be able to see where they miss the mark as it is to know when they’re right.
You bring up a very good point here, Adelaide, and it is one way that dance critique is different from writing critique.
In dance class, you are expected to take corrections. If you don’t, you probably won’t keep getting them, and you WANT to get them.
Different teachers may not always agree on what is correct, though. One teacher might, for example, love a little flourish with the hands as you lower your arm, and another could despise it. It is up to the dancer to remember which teacher likes which things and try to adjust what they are doing for class.
However, when it comes to performance time, the dancer always has a choice. If the flourish feels forced, they might elect not to do it.
With writers the choice is always ours, and we do need to remain true to our vision. There is always a danger of resorting to speaking with the voice (or voices) of others to the detriment of our own.
Thanks for being with us today, Kim!
I had an interesting conversation just the other day with a writer who admitted she couldn’t share her work with others for fear of criticism. I told her almost all criticism can be used as a tool to improve her craft. She’d never thought of it like that before!
Great post.
Thank YOU for having me here, T. This has been fun!
I remember well those days when I was afraid to hand over my work. Hell, I’m still afraid, but I take a deep breath and hit ‘send’ anyway. Kind of like I did when I sent you this post.
It’s a fleeting feeling, but I don’t think it ever goes away.
At least I’ve moved past that phase of feeling like every criticism of my work was a personal attack. I wouldn’t have survived grad school otherwise!
This is a wonderful way of looking at it, Kim! A few years ago, my daughter, also a dancer, went to a summer dance intensive at a different studio than her own. She did not receive a single correction during the entire two-week program. She was furious and declared that it was a waste of her time. (They only corrected the girls from their own studio and the outsiders were clearly there to help pay the rent).
Never again. She is also happy to be corrected because in her words “How else am I going to get better?” And when the teacher does say “Good job,” it MEANS something.
Happy writing and thanks for this insightful post.
Oh, yikes, Kate, that would sting. Switching studios can be awful! My kiddo had an advantage because her teacher at the old studio happened to be the daughter of the teacher at the new studio. The new teacher had been hearing about my kid for the better part of a year before she had her in class.
There are some kids who come to our studio from away during the summers, thanks to a couple of very well known teachers. I’m sure the students who go there all the time probably are favored.
Kudos to your daughter for taking a chance and going, though. Sounds like our kids would get along well. They certainly have a similar attitude.
One of my daughter’s favorite things to say is that “there is always room for improvement.”
That’s become my motto, too.
This came at exactly the right time. Just working through a multi-page revision letter. Does more pages equate to more potential???
The editor took the time to be very detailed. Possibly specific as well. That sounds like valuable feedback to me! Even better is that the choice of what to use and what to toss is entirely yours to make.
Nice analogy, Kim, and a great reminder that those we entrust with our words not only offer correction as a means to help us, but the correction of a trusted cohort might be difficult to dispense as well. Maybe that’s not true in the dance world, but I know as a writer who reads widely and critiques with my heart as well as my mind, no suggestion or praise is given without forethought.
Thank you for stopping by today, Pamela! I very much appreciate all the “corrections” you’ve offered me over the years and the help getting freelance work. Getting a paycheck for writing from time to time is so gratifying.
I’ve come a long way since a young assistant editor said to me, “I have no idea what your story is about.” Recently I sent my first YA manuscript to a mult-published YA author for feedback. Three pages of recommendations later, I felt the familiar just-give-it-up twinge in my gut. But her last comment was, “I really did like the story.” And, like you said, she finished it. I know that’s hard to do if a story isn’t working. When someone takes the time to critique with that much detail, they must see potential. Otherwise, why bother?
That being said, I’ve recently signed up with a critique group that is made up of mostly brand new writers. It’s important that we pay it forward and offer that loving correction to the new kids on the block.
I suspect that twinge-in-the-gut feeling never goes away, Ron. At least it never has for me!
It can be tough with newbie writers who have not yet developed a thick skin. There’s a fine line between being helpful and shattering a delicate ego. I’ve always found a sandwich approach works well. Say something positive, then a gentle and specific suggestion, and then another positive.
Like you, I’m a huge believer in paying it forward. I’ve been helped by so many writers, especially ones here at WU, and that inspires me to do the same for others.
Kim, your piece is right on “pointe” :).
I have daughter too whose “sport” gave her the life skills needed to make her who she is today – a successful Auditor in a Public Health Administration career working her way towards her MPA who still takes time out to teach little ones gymnastics at the YMCA; all at the age 26.
Like your Daughter, starting at a young age she rose through the gym ranks to finally make it as a NCAA college gymnast after years and years of doing something over and over in front of a coach, then being judged weekly at competitions in front of her peers for months on end. Shes persistent, determined, and most of all forgiving – she will tell you herself this comes from being critiqued properly on daily basis in that sport she loves, so she could succeed in doing it well.
Your connection of the two – proper critiquing and determination to do a job well done – is so important when finding a mentor/teacher who understands the process of writing. In turn, this will make a person more receptive to critiquing by the publishing world. This is such wise advice – thank you Kim for your well executed writing :)!
Janice,
Ballet has made all the difference in the world for my daughter. She was a very quiet little girl, empathetic to the point where she literally felt the pain of others, and very much lived in her own little shell.
Now she is a poised young woman who carries herself with tremendous confidence even if she’s shaking inside. She has learned to take criticism. She has learned to get back up after failing at something, which I believe is a dying trait in this everyone-gets-a-trophy society. She allows herself maybe an hour of wallowing after a disappointment before saying she’ll just have to try harder next time.
That’s a maturity I certainly didn’t possess at thirteen. I’m not sure I possess it at forty-one.
Thanks for taking the time to comment. Your daughter sounds like an amazing role model for the little ones she teaches!
Kim, thanks for this piece. I entered the dance world late, as an adult, when I started studying kathak, a classical Indian dance form. As it’s a storytelling art, the parallels between the study of dance and writing abound. I don’t like to bring up my own work in a comment on someone else’s, but in this case I do think it’s relevant: you might very much enjoy Faint Promise of Rain, set in the world of 16th century temple dancers in India. My study of dance informed both the story itself and the writing of it.
Best of luck with your WIP, and I look forward to seeing it in print.
Anjali,
Thank you for telling me about Faint Promise of Rain. I like historical fiction, and I enjoy stories involving dance, even though I was never a dancer myself. I’ll be sure to check it out.
Have you seen the movie Whiplash, Kim? There’s a scene in which the JK Simmons character sneakily grills his new student. Among the questions he asks: Are there any other musicians in your family?
A few scenes later we get to learn why that’s a valid question, because the drummer’s father, though loving and supportive, simply can’t relate to what will be required of his son if he is to aim for excellence. And so the protagonist-drummer is set up for an intense mano a mano duel with his antagonist-teacher.
On your Facebook posts and here again, it struck me how valuable you will be to your daughter (and she to you) as you face your individual artistic challenges. No wonder artists thrive in communes. If you’re drinking from the same water, where critique is information rather than a threat, what an advantage that would be.
Also, great to see you here. :)
Jan,
It’s great to be here! Today has been quite a rush!
I have not seen Whiplash, though it sounds like something I should watch. I can’t imagine how different my life might have been had I not grown up with a writer!
I’m not a typical dance mom. I can stand back and encourage my daughter as she makes an artistic journey that is entirely her own. I have always appreciated dance, but had no talent or ambitions in that direction. It will be no blow to my ego if she never gets into the School of American Ballet. If she decides at some point she doesn’t want to continue, that will be her choice.
I can’t imagine forcing my child to go in a more “practical” direction simply because she is smart enough to do whatever she puts her mind to. I would never want my ambitions for her to turn into her regrets. It’s her life. Her decision to make.
I am also amazingly blessed to have a daughter who astounds me with her insight and maturity. She’s wiser and has more of a sense of who she is at thirteen than I did at thirty. She’s more disciplined at thirteen than I am at forty-one. She does not hesitate to tell me that folding laundry can wait, but my manuscript can not. Since she goes to a virtual school, she’s home, and she’ll often make lunch for both of us so I have no excuse to get up!
We are lucky to have each other.
Wow, nice post.
“Teachers don’t waste time giving corrections to dancers in whom they see no potential” is something that really needs to sink in.
I often find myself reacting negatively to criticism and always need to remember that the whole point of corrections aren’t to put a person down, but to bring a person up.
Exactly, Jason, though it can sure be hard to remember that when we are told something that stings.
I think the editor’s approach has a lot to do with how I react. I can take pages of red ink and barely flinch if the dissertation of my manuscript’s faults begins with something positive.
Exactly, Kim. At my ezine I make sure to begin every personal rejection note with what I liked about the story before going into why I am passing on it.
Thanks, Kim, for such a helpful way of looking at criticism. And thanks, too, Jan for “If you’re drinking from the same water, where critique is information rather than a threat….” It helped me understand why I always welcome the critiques from my writers’ group, whether I agree with them or not. In fact, when it comes to critiques (information) from them, the more the better. It’s because, as you put it, we’re drinking from the same water. Like the ballet teacher, if they didn’t care about me and my writing, they wouldn’t bother. Yes!
We are definitely drinking from the same water, Carole. I don’t always take the advice given to me by critique partners – not by any stretch – but often comments lead me to think about a certain aspect of my story differently. This sometimes leads to revisions I’m especially proud of.
I know that when I give critiques, my comments will be very sparse if the story doesn’t resonate with me. If I love the story I will not only make corrections and suggestions, but comment if I loved a line or related to something or got angry at a character.
I LOVE critiques — sorry, corrections — on my work. There have been times when I’ve had to take a step back and take a deep breath before I can implement the changes I know I need to make based on notes, but I am always grateful for them.
If no one ever tells you where you can improve, how will you ever know how to improve?
Great post, Kim. Thanks so much!
Exactly, Jo! As much as it strokes my ego to hear that someone loved my book, I know that it is not perfect. Perfection may be something to strive for, but it will never be achieved. There is always room for improvement. There is always more to learn.
Hello Kim,
I can’t tell you how many violin, voice, and swim lessons I sat through over the years with our two (very different!) daughters, but I loved them all. As Vaughn commented, practice forms muscle memory, which is especially important when it comes to playing the violin. And a violin needs to be played to sound its best.
I don’t know if that holds true for my keyboard here. Don’t think it has the same life force that a violin seems to possess. But I’m a better typist for all this practice, and I hope a better writer!
Thanks so much for this lovely post:-)
Deb
“I’m a better typist for all this practice, and I hope a better writer!”
Love that, Deb! I think my fingers have been getting rusty with the typing lately. I need to work on that!
What an interesting post, Kim! I love your point about teachers not bothering to correct students in whom they don’t see potential.
Your post makes me realize that my positive attitude toward being critiqued probably came from my experience performing with a folk dance group. I knew I needed to work to learn this new art and would benefit from critiques.
In the early days, we struggled with people who wanted to be part of the group for social reasons rather than to put on a powerful and beautiful performance. Sort of like those people who say they want to be writers but don’t want to actually put pen to paper. Our leader came from a professional classical music background, which of course is similar to ballet in its rigor. Learning how to find a balance between rigor and social interaction has helped me in my writing communities.
Another great benefit of dance for me was experiencing *in my body* when something was right. Learning to trust my gut, so to speak. I retired from performing after 30+ years, but still dance socially, and I treasure those moments in dance and in writing when everything comes together.
That folk dancing group sounds like fun, Barbara!
I developed a thick skin taking creative writing courses in grad school. There are always people in those classes who seem to make a sport out of building themselves up by tearing others down. I can take pretty much anything now unless someone outright says “this sucks.” That would sting.
My critique partners call me the Revision Queen. I don’t always follow their advice, of course, but often their comments lead me to make other changes.
Trusting your gut is so important!
Kim, I loved your article! I always thought it odd until now that I watched dvds of dancers in class and backstage a lot, learning the patience and attention and hard work I needed for writing from them. Each day the greatest dancers join the class with the rest of the company beginning with the same steps and stretching, watching, watching, adjusting the smallest thing…that very humble beginning every day. My favorite dvd is L’Etoile about the Paris Opera Ballet. When they express they daily devotion to dance, I understand mine about writing,
I think as a writer I have teachers now and will have them all my life. I also learn from my colleagues. There’s part of us which thinks that one day it will be easy, then we’ll just coast our way…but that has never happened to me. It’s always a challenge. I have to begin each day with the same humility and respect for what it takes and awe and hope and love!
Great post, Kim! I generally like being critiqued. If the feedback isn’t tough, I can almost always be certain I’m not taking enough chances with my writing. The passages that get the most criticism in the beginning almost always turn out to be the best in the final draft. For me, criticism is most useful in pointing out a problem, not always in solving it.
Hi Bru,
Thanks for your comment!
I enjoy being critiqued, too, provided that it isn’t phrased like a personal attack. That is interesting that the passages you find best in the final draft are the ones most often criticized. Are they ones you changed after critique or ones where you stuck to your guns because those sections caused an emotional reaction from readers? Just curious.
Sometimes figuring out where the problems are is half the battle. It’s a blessing when beta readers are specific about what they felt didn’t work. Those readers are worth their weight in gold.
They’re usually where I’ve tried something new that I think is important to either the story or a particular character. One time it was the presence of a rat hole that hadn’t been there before, that almost tripped the protagonist as she walked past. It was there to symbolize a memory that had begun to come back, and I’d written it as a very esoteric magical realism type image, but none of my readers understood what I was trying to do. It didn’t work until I made it extremely realistic. Now readers point to that moment as significant.
Stephanie, my mentor and friend, I am so happy to see you here!
I love that you continue to have teachers. I think the day we stop trying to learn to improve our craft is probably the day we should stop writing. There is always room to learn and grow.
I’ve been watching a lot of dance videos on You Tube. Hard to avoid with two dancers in the house! I am in awe at the dedication and hard work that goes into dance, the constant striving for a perfection that can never be reached. We can learn so much from that art.
Thank you so much for stopping by and commenting here.
As a former dancer (at a very amateur level) I can appreciate this on both levels, hehe. You’re so right about it all.
The last two bullet points are things my husband has tried to tell me before, things that he’s quite good at himself (to his immensurate gain). I’m working on them, but I do think they’re easier said than done!
Hi Kristan,
I agree those last two bullet points are tough to swallow. I can’t always follow my own advice, though I try!
Thanks for stopping by!
Sorry to be commenting so late Kim as I have great interest in this subject (was down with stomach flu). Because dance class is a group endeavor, and because “corrections” made to one’s own body can’t help but feel personal, one thing dancers do is to take everyone else’s criticisms to heart so they won’t be singled out. This magnifies one’s opportunity to learn. Likewise, when writers give critique on others’ manuscripts, it would do them well to think, “Do I do this too? What can I learn from this?” Thanks for this post, enjoyed it!
Definitely, Kathryn! Whenever my daughter has had to sit class out for injury, she has a notebook in hand and writes down a list of the corrections given to everyone else in the class. “I need to pay attention to all this, too,” she’ll say.
When giving critiques with writing I do find that I tend to zero in on those mistakes I have been corrected on in the past, or issues I know I still struggle with.
Thank you so much for commenting. Hope you are feeling better!
Kim, I am an adult ballet student. I began 10 years ago at age 38 having never danced before in my life. My teachers at the Boston Ballet School are just as rigorous and demanding with us “oldies” as they would be with kids, save a few forgiving, age-appropriate modifications for those of us who need them. I honestly feel like when I began dancing, I began writing.
Every single thing you say here resonates. I even wrote a blog post a few years ago (no longer accessible online) called “Book Ballet” about how the books I love the most remind me of dance on the page.
On the flip side, a few years ago my sister pulled her daughter out of ballet because she feared the critiques and lack of cheerleading-like compliments would destroy her daughter’s morale. (My own most frequent teacher uses a subtle grading system that ranges from, ‘not so bad,’ ‘getting better,’ and ‘better’ on the low end of the spectrum to ‘getting good,’ ‘good,’ ‘nice,’ ‘lovely’ and ‘beautiful’ on the other. In 10 years I’ve gotten 2 ‘beautifuls’ — both fairly recently. I’ve gotten hundreds of ‘not so bads.’)
Yet I have savored every one of my teacher’s comments and critiques — which she does tend to reserve for people who take them to heart and continue improving: the adult-class equivalent of seeing promise. Each comment pushes me to work harder, to be more aware in so many ways. And I can’t help wondering how my niece will ever learn to strive for great accomplishments.
Hi Sharon,
You are braver than I would be! I’m afraid a ballet class would cripple me. The only thing I lack more than grace is flexibility! My girls did not get either from me.
I had worried at first about how my older daughter (the one in the article) would deal with the criticism. She’s actually quite sensitive. It helped that the teachers were kinder with the younger children. Now that she’s a company member, the teachers yell, sometimes even with profanity. Most of the time that isn’t directed at her, but she has learned to hold it together when it is. I think your teacher may use a similar scale as the ones my daughter has. A “beautiful’ is something to strive for because it is never given lightly.
Thank you so much for taking the time to comment! I’m so glad the post resonated with you.
“Blunt criticism hurts. Instead of letting it discourage you, use it to feed your determination.”
I’ve been on the receiving end of blunt criticism and yes, it hurts – yet I’d much rather read “corrections” than see the dreaded empty page or “love this!” (well, no, actually, keep the “love this” coming.) Sometimes my “corrections” of another writer’s work might be blunt (pretty sure you’ve been on the receiving end of that, Kim) but they’re never (I hope) delivered with cruelty, only a true desire to say what’s not working for me. It’s also true that words (or books) that don’t work for me might receive a “love this” from someone else.
These are wise words from your ballerina: “This person must really love the book if they spent so much time with it.”
Thanks for stopping by, Joan!
Yes, I have been on the receiving end of blunt “corrections” from you, but they have certainly never come across as cruel. You are as specific about what doesn’t work for you as possible, and that is such a big help. If I were to compare what you do to what a dance teacher does, it would be the equivalent of pushing a leg up a few more inches while the student is in arabesque.
I agree that those were wise words from my ballerina, particularly since she said them at the ripe old age of eleven!
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”
What a beautiful post. Thank you.
Thank you, Anjali!
Great, so no one is even seeing potential in me.