It’s a funny thing to write a book and guard it intensely from curious eyes, given that you probably wrote it at least in part because you want to publish it for many people to read. And yet this is exactly the mentality I had for a while after finishing the first draft of Fatherboy. Actually, I still feel guarded about it. It’s not “done” because it’s not published, and I guess in my eyes it never will be done until I’m forced to admit I can’t tinker with it anymore. At the same time, it’s only improved draft after draft because I asked people to read it and then tell me honestly what they thought. Peer feedback has been super helpful—I’ve added and removed and smoothed out plenty of things that never would have occurred to me purely inside my own head. Has it felt like a bit of a leap every time I’ve sent the manuscript (or portions of it) off to someone new? Yes. Not even a leap, but more like the verge of throwing up. Vulnerability!
I will say that the way I’ve shared it has changed over time. I’m on what you might call a bit of a long haul with this book. I started writing it in December 2016, finished the first draft in August 2019, and as of this writing am on my ninth draft after multiple cycles of share-edit-sit-despair-share. I am not doing this because it yields instant gratification. And as it relates to the whole spirit of love-the-process, I’m not sure I “like” doing it at all. I just had a story in my head and writing it was the only way to get it out. I needed to write it. And now that I have, I need it to be good. Maybe that sounds dumb, but it’s true. My own mother has said that no one in their right mind would write a book unless they felt like they absolutely had to. As has always been the case in literary and academic (among many other) matters, she’s right.
Speaking of Natalia Markovna, she was the first Fatherboy reader: two chapters at a time, as I wrote them. Lots of writers will tell you no one should read any of the story until you finish a first draft, but I was not aware of this rule at the time. Which is good. She basically served as both a cheerleader and a layer of accountability that, upon reflection, I really needed. I probably wouldn’t have finished without her thoughts and encouragement along the way.
After Mom came Dad, then Sister—which was probably a funny reading experience for all three given that there are characters based on them. Same for the first “peer” reader: a dear, obnoxious friend of mine on whom a dear, obnoxious character is based. All of them of course had different perspectives, a very valuable reality which yielded my first experience of learning truly how to take feedback. It wouldn’t have made sense to adjust every single thing each of them thought could use work, but if the same point was tripping them up, that was a pretty good signal it needed some love.
From there, I figured it would be good to get some takes from people a bit further out from the material, and by nature, me. I recall putting together a ridiculously specific doc of “questions to keep in mind while reading” and “QUESTIONS ONLY TO LOOK AT WHEN FINISHING” before sending V3 off to a few friends and partners of friends with writing experience. This is comical for a number of reasons, but it also sort of crystallized a need to be clear, both for myself and for others, about what I was looking for by sending over a text of 77,000+ words. It’s a lot to ask of anyone to read your in-progress novel. Do them a favor and figure out beforehand whether you want actual feedback or just a vibe check. It would be pretty awkward to get (and give) one when the other is expected. The exception to this binary might be a workshop environment—it’s pretty well understood that the forum is for direct feedback. Even so, I find it’s way more useful when you’re clear about which feedback will be most helpful. An eye on the dialogue in this scene, the way the setting is rendered at the outset of this chapter, whether this character feels fully realized, etc.
I credit a couple of writing workshops I took in 2021 and 2022 with improving not only my ability to share work and take feedback, but also the underrated skill of giving feedback. Obviously everyone who joins a workshop is by far most interested in what people (especially a respected instructor) will say about their writing, but I was surprised to feel like a better writer coming out of sessions mostly due to learning how to critique. From start to finish of multiple 10-week classes, I stumbled out of giving totally empty feedback on others’ work and into increasingly specific thoughts prompted by what a given writer actually asked for. Imagine that!
But yeah, even as much as I absolutely looked forward to the weeks when Fatherboy got critiqued, I also sort of dreaded it. Letting other people read your stuff is hard, even as it gets easier, even as you learn to do the other side of the exchange well. As I said, it’s a vulnerability thing. That’s why you most likely haven’t read my book, and you may not for a while yet. I promise it’s not because I don’t like you. If you want to read it, don’t worry—I actually want you to read it too. And you will. When it’s time.