In Which We Regret Saying Yes, As Always

It just needs a little editing...

Today's Writerly Advice: When a friend asks you to read his manuscript for "honest feedback," do yourself a favor and run the other way. 

This is especially true if they're actually *good* writers. The crappy writers? They're easy, they take your feedback and are like, "Thanks, that makes sense." Good writers? They wanna argue about it. 

Good writers are used to hearing that they're good writers. When you delicately point out that maybe they could rearrange this passage so it flows better, or gently ask about the narrative tone in this or that sequence, they're affronted. 

"But it ties in with the dream sequence in chapter two," they'll respond. "Any idiot can see that." 

And so it goes. 

I feel fortunate as a writer, in that I had all pride of authorship beaten out of me at an early age. When I first started covering labor issues and began writing articles for a union pub (4-color glossy mag with a national distro) my editor was brutal. During my first week on the job I penned a lofty analysis of the dynamics of a local strike that was unfolding in Ohio. I couldn't wait to send it to my editor, certain that he would be wowed with my genius-level writing. When his response came back, I was crushed: 

"We're a union about to go out on strike," he said, "not the fucking Ladies Home Journal. Go back and write it that way." 

Well okee-dokee then. Boss. But in the two years I worked with him, I came to trust his editorial instincts completely. One night things had gone late, the whole team ended up staying after work to put the next issue of the magazine to bed. When it was done, he sat back and waxed philosophical. 

"Anyone can string words together and make them sound cogent," he said. "It doesn't mean you've actually said anything. To make an impact, you gotta write from the balls."

I'm not sure how the women in the room felt about this comment, but it somehow made perfect sense to me.