Any time I have talked about the writing instead of writing it, the thing has died.
Art is fragile.
Especially in the early days of conception.
Writing is like drawing.
When an artist first makes a sketch, she begins with shapes. Ovals, squares, rectangles, triangles. These will all take shape into faces, torsos, limbs, and hands. But they’re just shapes to start.
Then one of them becomes a nose. Somewhere during the process, it actually looks more nose than triangle.
The problem with showing someone this early sketch is it doesn’t look like a nose yet. And when it does look like a nose, it’s just a nose!
There’s still the eyes and mouth and hair and all the rest to come.
And we creatives are sensitive souls.
Practically every time I’ve shown someone the literary equivalent of sketched shapes, their response has always made me abandon the work forever.
I’m terrifically excited about the idea and they immediately introduce the critic.
I don’t think this character should act this way.
It’s not really believable, is it?
Wouldn’t you want to try it a different way?
I’m not sure about the decision you’ve made here.
To make matters worse, this critic will often make a suggestion – a different way to take a scene, a different personality for a character – and were you to politely decline to adopt such a change, they might sink into a sulky temper, guilt you for not making your project their project.
You begin projects with excitement and enthusiasm. Sure, it’s just a sketch at the moment, but if you keep going, it could be great! And then, against your better judgement, you show someone and in that act of premature showing ordain the project’s demise.
Even if one were to express excitement at your idea (best case scenario), you’ve still, in the act of telling, destroyed your idea.
If you keep quiet about your idea, you’ll want to work on it day and night in a frenzied fever of excitement precisely because you want to show people.
Typically writers don’t show their work until it’s been through at least three drafts for this reason.
And here comes a monumental ‘but’…
BUT!!!
Many writers LOVE having a first reader.
First readers see the raw steaming mess of creative process.
They are privy to the act of creation itself.
I think of Harlan Ellison pounding away on his typewriter in bookstore windows.
He’d finish a page, tack it to the window for people to read live, in real time, and continue pounding away.
I think of Tabitha King, who dusted off her husband Stephen’s manuscript of Carrie, saving it from the trashcan.
First readers are incredibly fortunate because they get to see an inspiring idea transformed into art right before their eyes.
It’s a show – a performance in real time.
It’s rare to have a first reader, and it’s rare to be a first reader.
It’s a difficult balancing relationship that needs to be organically perfect.
You can’t really instruct someone on how to be a first reader.
The conditions simply need to be there in the other person and the nature of the relationship.
A good first reader is genuinely encouraging and knows when to be silent and when to stoke.
A good first reader doesn’t introduce the voice of the critic, but works in service to the other’s art.