Writing and Responsibility

_MG_7976

As writers, we know that if we’re to produce anything worth reading, we have to let go of the people-pleasing tendencies that keep us stuck in fear. If we write from the heart, someone will disapprove of us, and they’ll most likely tell us so.

Courage is essential to good art. It’s an issue I struggle with and have written about before. But lately I’ve found myself preoccupied with the other side of the coin: the responsibility of being a writer, or indeed anyone who writes anything that others can read.

We live in an age of clickbait, trolling and fake news. Every day we see children bullied online, self-serving media commentators demonising vulnerable people, or  fame-hungry fiction writers perpetuating damaging stereotypes. Internet attention-seekers toss out their verbal grenades, and upon witnessing the fall-out, they shrug and walk away. “Well, it doesn’t matter so much. They’re only words.”

Let’s be absolutely clear: words matter. Words can be sophisticated tools that heal wounds and promote tolerance, or blunt-edged weapons that maim and destroy. When we choose to write deceitfully or carelessly to serve our own interests, we betray not only those we hurt, but ourselves and the readers who place their trust in us.

This isn’t about censoring our writing to placate the easily offended. Our collective cultural health relies on our artistic freedom to be controversial and challenge the status quo. But in order to be responsible for our art, I believe we need to write with honesty, humility and purpose, and this applies as much to fiction as to any other form.

Writing with honesty is more than just fact-checking or avoiding lies (although they’re good places to start). Achieving authenticity in our writing requires many long hours of observation, self-reflection and practice. It’s discovering who we are and how we perceive others: a process also known as finding our voice.

Writing with humility is accepting we don’t know everything. Despite our gifts of empathy and imagination, we can still fall prey to assumptions and prejudice. When a critic points this out, it’s important that we’re open to learning, even if it hurts our pride.

Writing with purpose (or intent) is being clear about what and why we write, who will love it and who it might shock, and that the value of our story or message is worth the price of a few ruffled feathers. Having a strong sense of purpose can help us to deal with any haters we attract.

In short, being a responsible writer is not about silencing ourselves, but owning the power of our words. It’s knowing when to revise, when to apologise, and when to stand up and defend our beliefs at all costs.

Constructive criticism: where honesty meets kindness

_mg_7100

All writers and artists who share their work will face criticism. It’s not only inevitable, but essential for helping us learn our craft. But there’s a world of difference between constructive criticism that builds on the foundations of the early draft, and destructive criticism that tears the thing apart.

As a published author, you have no control over spiteful or negative reviews (though you can choose not to read them). When you’re a new writer or in the first stages of a new book, you get to decide who sees your draft. So unless you’re exceptionally thick-skinned, the best thing you can do for your writing career is to find someone supportive and truthful to help you, and avoid those who leave you feeling dejected and hopeless.

In my experience, some writing groups have a macho approach to critiquing, and members may pride themselves on their ‘brutal’ honesty. Well, I’ll be honest with them: it doesn’t impress me at all that they’re able to say what they think without regard for people’s feelings. What takes real skill, in my opinion, is to tell a writer their work needs improvement while leaving them feeling supported and hopeful they can make it better.

Kindness and honesty don’t have to be polar opposites. Kindness without honesty is not true kindness to an artist, because it denies them the opportunity for growth.  And while honesty without kindness may contain some useful truths, it can also cost the artist their confidence and motivation to carry on.

It may sound obvious that a critique should include positive comments, but it’s amazing how many people forget this. They assume if an aspect of the writing is already working, it doesn’t need to be pointed out.  But positive feedback isn’t just about ego. It’s extremely useful to know when your words are having their desired impact, and what your overall writing strengths are.

The difference between a constructive and a destructive critique is as much about word choice as content. When I receive a page of criticism, initially I skim through it, and certain words and phrases leap out at me. These are the words that contain a strongly positive or negative emotional charge.

Imagine if a critique of your first ever story contained the following:

Plot clichéd and predictable, pacing slow and boring, couldn’t care less what happens next, characters whiny and unlikeable, descriptions generic, bland and repetitive, spelling and grammar is very poor.

You’d need a hide like a rhinoceros not to feel a bit crushed by that. But what if the critiquer had chosen to turn those phrases into positive suggestions for improvement?

Needs new plot twist or angle, faster pace, more emotional intensity to hook the reader, use more concise and specific description, increase our empathy for the characters, sentences need a thorough edit.

You still might not like it. It probably wasn’t what you were hoping to hear. But there’s a different energy about it. It makes you feel like those changes are possible and within your power to achieve.

As writers, we do have to learn to deal with criticism, but we don’t have to subject ourselves unnecessarily to cruelty or insensitivity that is hurtful and damaging to us and our art. Because ultimately we’re responsible for the influences we allow into our lives.