Perseverance . . .

Encouraging vibes from the first beta readers of my romantic historical fiction will definitely provide some valuable assistance to my search for authentication.

I think that’s le mot juste, actually, that I’ve been searching for for some time. I want to ‘be published’ because of the imprimatur of authenticity. It’s precisely that lack of validation that bedevils me on the self-publishing front.

I want to listen attentively to professional editorial advice, to modify accordingly, but without prejudicing personal creative expression, of course. I want my work to sing, much as I want fellow writers’ work to offer a convincing melody. To this end, I’ve discovered a remarkable way to learn editing strategies for oneself.

Our writers group, some 25 strong, respond every month to a stimulus. When all emailed submissions have been collated, at the end of the month, we each have a week to develop our critical assessment of each other’s work. I’ve been putting time into looking carefully at the work of others, and seeing some of the writing ‘mistakes’ that should have been obvious to me but that had passed me blithely by. If I write my critique out carefully, thoughtfully, and with kindness, I’m finding that I somehow seem to internalise that sense into my own next writing efforts.

My first receipt of conscientious editing came in August, 2019 at an Arvon Writers Retreat, when two novelists took pains to look carefully at the 1500 words or so of a piece I’d polished for assessment. Over three individual sessions, they picked each paragraph, sentence, phrase, word apart and encouraged me to write better. I’ve often lapsed since, and descended again and again into verbosity and prolix writing that is full of guff. But this exercise of seeing similar challenges arising in other writers’ work has brought my attention full circle back to my own.

The authenticity of ‘being published’ effectively means, I think, that the writer has subjected their work to diligent and careful editing. That someone professional, who frankly wants to make money by ensuring a good read and reception from the host of potential consumers, has set to and tidied the manuscript up.

I could never have the hubris of a James Joyce, for example, insisting that every word I’ve laid down is sacred. No, I’m much more tractable than is probably good for a creative. But to my mind a good editor should ensure that the original creativity shines, is burnished, rather than diminished, by the tidying.

And this too is why the initial responses of one’s valued beta readers, the ones who read the work un-edited by an external assessor, are so valuable. The beta readers offer more of a gut response, an emotional take on the story, while the editor should look at the words with a colder eye.

Taking encouragement with the wiser grain of salt, especially from family readers who want my effort to be good, it’s still true that every comment and soupçon of feedback is valuable as I continue to prepare the manuscript for submission.