Write Things: On Why Sharing Your Writing Is Not Enough

One of the things I encourage writers to do, perhaps more than anything else, is share their writing with others. After all, if we hope to create stories that other people will experience, we need to give them the opportunity to do just that.

But there's something important I want to clarify about this advice.

Sharing your writing isn't enough.

I've worked with writers who've spent years sharing their work with friends, family members, writing groups, and even professional editors, only to find themselves struggling with the same questions and uncertainties. Some have received wonderful encouragement. Others have received criticism that left them questioning their abilities. And plenty have received feedback that amounted to little more than "I liked it!" or "It was good!"

Now, there's certainly nothing wrong with someone enjoying your writing. In fact, I hope they do! But if we're hoping to grow as writers, to better understand how our words are being experienced, or to discover whether our writing is accomplishing what we hoped it would, we need to do more than simply hand someone a piece of writing and wait for their response.

We need to ask questions.

And I think the question most of us are tempted to ask is also one of the least useful.

Is my writing any good?

It's an understandable question. We've spent hours, days, months, or even years creating something that matters to us. We've poured our imaginations, perspectives, experiences, thoughts, and feelings into it, and naturally, we want to know whether we've created something worthwhile.

But if we're hoping to learn something useful about our writing, asking whether it's good doesn't give our readers much direction. Good in what way? What are we hoping they'll notice? What are we trying to accomplish?

I'd like to explore that question a little more next week. For now, I want to focus on what we can ask instead.

Because here's something worth remembering: your reader doesn't know the story you're trying to tell.

They don't know what you were imagining when you wrote a scene, what you were hoping they would feel, or which moments matter most to you. They don't know whether you intended a character to be likeable, whether a scene was supposed to be unsettling, or whether a particular description was meant to slow them down and invite them to linger.

Only you know those things. Or perhaps, if you've allowed your story to guide you as you've written it, you're still discovering them yourself.

Either way, you're the creator. You get to decide what matters about your writing, what you want to express, and what kind of experience you're hoping to create.

And this is where I think we need to get a little uncomfortable.

Rather than asking someone whether our writing is good, we need to start asking whether our writing is doing what we hoped it would.

Think about something you've written recently. What's the part you're most excited about? Perhaps there's a moment between two characters that you absolutely love, a description that captures something you've struggled to put into words, or an ending that left you feeling particularly proud.

What were you hoping your reader would experience?

Now imagine sharing that piece with someone and asking them about it.

You might say, "There's a moment in this scene where I really wanted the reader to begin feeling sympathy for this character. I'm curious how you experienced that part."

Or perhaps, "I was hoping the ending would leave readers with a few questions. What were you thinking about when you finished?"

You could even begin more openly, without revealing what you hoped would happen. Ask what stood out to them, what they were imagining, or how they felt as they read. Then, once they've shared their experience, you can ask more specifically about the things you were hoping to accomplish.

But there's another kind of question we need to be willing to ask, and I suspect it might be even more difficult.

We need to ask about the things we're afraid aren't working.

Perhaps there's a scene you're worried goes on too long. Maybe you're concerned that a character's motivations aren't clear, that you've repeated yourself, or that the emotional moment you were hoping to create hasn't quite come through.

Instead of keeping those concerns to yourself, ask.

"Was there anywhere you found your attention wandering?"

"Did you ever find yourself wondering why this character was making a particular choice?"

"Were there any moments when you felt confused about what was happening?"

And then, perhaps most importantly, listen.

Resist the temptation to explain what you meant, defend your choices, or tell your reader what they should have experienced. Remember, they aren't telling you what your writing is. They're telling you what happened when they read it.

And don't be afraid to ask follow-up questions! If someone tells you they loved a scene, ask what they loved about it. If they found something confusing, ask what they were wondering. If they lost interest, ask where that happened and what was going through their mind at the time.

You can invite your readers to dig a little deeper into their experiences and articulate them back to you.

Of course, not everyone will be interested in having these conversations, and not everyone will be particularly good at them. Someone can love you dearly and still have very little interest in discussing the experience of reading your manuscript. That's one of the reasons I encourage writers to seek out other writers and people who genuinely love to read. Both can offer wonderful insights, particularly when they're curious and willing to reflect on their experiences.

But even when you receive thoughtful, detailed feedback, there's one more important step.

You get to decide what to do with it.

Just because someone didn't like a character doesn't mean you need to make that character more likeable. Just because someone found a scene uncomfortable doesn't mean you need to soften it. And just because an editor suggests removing a passage doesn't mean that passage doesn't belong.

Consider what they've told you. Think about the experience you were hoping to create and whether their feedback suggests that something might be getting in the way. If you see merit in what they've shared, you can choose to revise. If you don't, you can choose to leave your writing exactly as it is.

And sometimes, of course, you might want to hear from a few more readers before making that decision.

Because ultimately, I think our goal as writers is something quite extraordinary.

We're trying to transfer the stories that exist inside of us into the minds and imaginations of other people, using nothing more than letters, punctuation, and paragraphs.

Think about that for a moment.

We have entire worlds inside our heads. Characters we can see, hear, and sometimes almost feel standing beside us. Memories and experiences that have shaped who we are. Thoughts, emotions, ideas, and perspectives that we hope someone else might come to understand.

And somehow, we're trying to recreate those experiences for someone who has never stepped inside our imagination.

Of course, our readers will bring their own imaginations and experiences to the page. They'll never experience our stories in exactly the same way we do. But through our words, we can invite them into something that began entirely within us.

I think that's remarkable.

And I also think it's why feedback can be so valuable. Not because someone else gets to decide whether our writing is good, but because they can help us discover what happened when our words reached them.

So the next time you share something you've written, don't stop at asking whether someone liked it.

Think about what you were hoping to create. Consider what you're excited about, and what you're worried might not be working. Then have the courage to ask about those things.

Listen to what your reader experienced. Ask questions. Consider what you've learned. And then decide what, if anything, you'd like to change.

After all, it's your story.

And you're the one who gets to decide how you want to tell it.

Wishing you and your stories all the best,

Trevor Martens
Founder, I Help You Write Things

P.S. Want to experience the fun of sharing your writing, discovering how others experience your stories, and exploring theirs? That's exactly what we'll be doing at November Writers Camp! I'd love to have you join us!

Learn more and register for November Writers Camp here!