Duds, Cheerleaders, Comrades

creative partnerships

A very good friend of mine is working on a big writing project. She’s a most dear human to me. We’ve collaborated in the past and we have a very complimentary creative relationship. Our styles certainly aren’t identical but we’ve developed something of a shorthand between us. Even though this project of hers is in it’s early days, she’s bringing me along for the ride. I couldn’t be more excited to sit shotgun and watch. The creative process, even when it’s not my own, is one of my most favorite things.

Right now she’s deep in the outlining phase. It goes like this: she drafts an outline. (Note that this isn’t a single page with bullet points. It’s a very detailed document that is about 10 pages long.) She sends it to me. I read it. I offer notes. She writes another draft. And the cycle continues. My notes are in the form of voice memos that are typically 20-30 minutes long. For anyone reading this who exchanges vm’s with me can attest to, that length is not especially uncommon. After all, it’s called Pat Does Words. My “words” are sometimes in the form of egregiously long voice messages.

Witnessing this process and being given space at the table is such an enriching experience and an honor. As we’ve gone along I’ve had to refine and investigate just how I offer feedback. It’s sometimes difficult to decipher whether a note is coming from editor Pat or writer Pat. Which is a critical distinction. Editor notes are far more useful than writer notes but it’s hard sometimes, as a writer, to not get excited and offer what-if-you-do-this-instead. To me, offering what-if-you-do-this-instead shows how excited I am. How invested I am. I’m enjoying the work so much that it’s impossible to not think of myself in the driver’s seat.

At one point during one of my stupid-long voice memos, I offered a writer note but kept talking. As I talked I eventually came to “the note behind the note” as my friend put it. In essence, I said here’s what’s happening and here’s how I would fix it. The first part is actually what’s important when giving feedback. This is what’s happening in your work and how I’m reading it. Here are some questions around that. The second part, here’s how I would fix it, is not helpful. It certainly isn’t helpful for a seasoned writer who knows what they’re doing. In fact I think it might be insulting to get that kind of note. I know it is for me. Not to mention the fact that finding one’s way to a solution is an inextricable part of the process.

Parsing out whether something is a writer note or an editor note has become critical for this process. Also the ‘note behind the note’ has become a mantra of sorts. Because at the end of the day I want to offer what is most useful for my friend and what’s most useful for the work itself. And selfishly, I know being a good reader will make me a better writer. It’s a win-win.

This type of analysis of my own feedback process makes me think about the different types of readers. In my own writing journey, I’ve discovered that there are 3 types of people you can give your writing to for feedback. Duds, cheerleaders, and comrades. And while this pertains to writers, I believe it is true for any type of creative field with any type of medium.

First: the dud. This is the person who accepts your manuscript/draft/outline/script, usually at their own request, and never reads it. You’ll off-handedly mention what you’re working on and they will beg for you to send it to them. Or perhaps you’re so excited about the thing you’re working on that you force it on to others for them to read. In either case, the dud never gets around to it. They might come up with flimsy excuses and make promises. But more than likely they will just never mention it again. That draft is either sitting in their inbox or went into the trash. Lost into the ether of neverland.

While the dud is, yes, a dud, I wouldn’t totally dismiss them. Sure it’s a bummer they didn’t “get to it” but I believe there is power in offering up your creative work. Always. Even if the dud doesn’t read it/watch it/consume it, the act of handing over your creative labor has some internal magic to it. Perhaps sharing with the dud will give you the confidence to keep handing your work out to others. It’s a practice and it’s a numbers game. The dud is a part of that equation for better or worse.

Then there’s the cheerleader. The cheerleader is a great and wonderful piece to the feedback ecosystem. They eagerly read your work and tell you that they love it. They’re excitable and happy to be included. They mention how talented you are and shower you with praise. They might mention a few things that they liked but otherwise the “feedback” is pretty general and lacking in depth.

This is not a criticism of the cheerleader. The cheerleader is important. I love the cheerleader. They are possibly not the most sophisticated or educated reader. And that’s okay. Their job isn’t to make you a better writer by stress-testing your ideas and execution. Their job is to keep you motivated during a process which can feel very isolating and lonely. In the early stages of a work, they can offer the encouragement to keep going. They can validate you as an artist and make you feel seen and less like a crazy person scribbling in the corner with a crayon. I find them to be the most helpful early in the process and later when the work is done and ready to enter the world. They’re not especially useful in the messy middle. But they do fortify the artist’s spirit. Do not discount the cheerleader.

Then you have the comrade. The comrade is a different breed all together. When you hand over a manuscript, they grab their red pens and head into the trenches with you. They will ask hard questions and call you out on your bullshit. If they get to know you and your work well enough, they will point out your lazy habits and when you phone it in. They will stress test the shit out of your ideas. They offer substance. No fluff. The comrade means business so I would use them in the messy middle. Bring a comrade on too early and they may end up beating up on ideas that don’t have any legs yet. Bring them on too late and they may sow seeds of doubt in a project that you deem to be finished. The comrade may or may not be a writer themself but they certainly are well-read. I think a writer’s group has the potential to offer comrades. An artist is lucky if they have a handful of solid comrades in their lifetime.

Knowing who falls into which category and when to hand them your work is a critical part of the creative process, at least for me. I’ve encountered all three many times over. The dud is the most common, followed by the cheerleader, with the comrade being quite rare. They all play their part. If I were giving advice to my younger self (not that I would listen), I would say part of the job is to look for these people. Seek them out. Forge those relationships. And, in turn, be one of these people for others. If nothing else, it makes life just a little more fun. And you may find yourself experiencing the thrill of riding shotgun on someone else’s journey.