The most inspiring feedback I’ve ever received

As soon as you show your writing to someone else, you’re going to get feedback. Readers, critique partners, agents, editors, contest judges, hell, even your mom–all will have something to say about your creative darling (let’s hope at least your mom is kind). Some of that feedback will be encouraging, some will be daunting but constructive, and some will break your fragile little writer’s heart. Then there’s the special kind of feedback querying authors are all too familiar with: silence. As someone wiser than I once said, No answer is an answer–and it’s rarely the answer you want. But I’m not going to talk about the heartbreaking feedback or the non-answer answers today. Instead I’m going to talk about the best kind of feedback. I’m going to talk about–and share–the most inspiring feedback I’ve ever received.

But first: This post is part of the Insecure Writers Support Group (IWSG) blog hop. On the first Wednesday of every month, we IWSG-ers share our doubts, fears, struggles, and triumphs. Our awesome co-hosts this month are Jenni Enzor, Jemima Pett, Jamie of Uniquely Maladjusted but Fun, and Kim Lajevardi. Please stop by and leave them some comment love. Each month our fearless leader (Ninja Captain Alex J. Cavanaugh) gives us an optional question to answer. This month’s question is, What was the most inspiring feedback you received from readers, including agents, editors, and beta readers?

The most inspiring feedback I’ve ever received

The single most inspiring bit of feedback I ever received came from the very first piece I shared with my very first critique group. The story was a ~1000 word short story called “Proof Text,” and I was practically shaking when I handed it over to the group. It was the first work of fiction I’d finished since high school, and I had zero confidence in my writing ability. I braced myself to have my literary dreams destroyed. Then something unexpected happened:

They liked it.

They really liked it.

And the group leader, a writing instructor I was currently taking a class from (my first writing class since college) said, “You should enter this in a contest.”

Whaaaaaa?????

Well, dear readers, I did. I entered that story in the Arizona Authors Association annual literary contest and figured nothing would come of it. Then, about a month before the awards banquet, I got an email: my story was a finalist.

I ran through the house and shouted incoherently at Long-Suffering Husband, who finally calmed me down enough to understand what I was telling him. He was not surprised.

I love that man.

I bought tickets for the banquet, drove 2 1/2 hours to Phoenix to attend, and was so nervous I could barely eat the catered dinner. The program started, and the butterflies in my stomach merged together, and Mothra rose fully formed from my bowels and attempted to force itself up my throat. I waited as the MC went through the categories until she reached short stories. They announced each story, starting with Honorable Mention and working their way toward the winner.

They kept calling other names. Honorable Mention. Third Place. Second Place.

I froze, and Mothra almost flew out of my mouth and onto my shoes.

First Place. “Proof Text.” Me.

Folks, that night changed me. Once the disbelief wore off (and no, that isn’t false modesty. I was genuinely shocked.), I started to truly believe I could write fiction. That night, I became an author.

All because someone gave me positive feedback and suggested I enter my story in a contest.

Words matter. Words are powerful. As writers, we know this intuitively or else we wouldn’t write, but I don’t think we always know how much our more casual words matter. One stray comment can have a huge influence on someone’s success–or failure–as a writer.

Oh, and if you’d like to read “Proof Text,” it’s been reprinted in Kings River Life, so you can read it for free.

Update from the Query Trenches

They say you can’t stay on the mountaintop forever, so I’m going to climb down from the high of my first writing success and share some… well, I won’t exactly call it failure, but it’s definitely less fun than the night I just recounted.

My querying journey for Vanishing, Inc. is coming to an end, and I don’t have an agent. I’m disappointed but not surprised. It’s tough out there.

Here are my stats as of this morning:

I have heard back on all my partial and full requests. Of the 5, I received 3 rejections and 2 revise and resubmits. All in all, not terrible for a first novel, and the feedback I received on the revise and resubmits was helpful and encouraging. Unfortunately, there was very little overlap in the feedback between the 2 agents. I’m still thinking about whether to revise or try small presses or self-publishing, and if I revise, I’m not sure what direction I want to go in. If I do revise, I need to consider the feedback from both agents carefully and figure out which direction I want to go, or whether there are pieces of both I can incorporate without losing the vision for my story. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.

If you’re reading this and have done a revise and resubmit, I’d love to hear how it went for you.

Other writing news

Last month I did something I haven’t done in a long time–I wrote something new! My local writing group, Central Valley Fiction Writers, hosted a flash fiction contest. I wrote a 750-word flash piece called “Anonymous Master.” Not sure when the winners will be announced, but I’ll share the results when I get ’em.

The memery

Entirely too accurate. I’m currently listening to a book about poisonings to relax. Anything to avoid doomscrolling.

I don’t know about unread emails, but I just searched the bowels of my old Yahoo Mail account to discover that the oldest email I have saved is from August 1999. It’s called Excerpts from a Cat’s Diary and was forwarded to me by a high school friend. An excerpt:

DAY 659: My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. they dine lavishly on fresh meat while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is  the hope of escape and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.

On that ridiculous note–I’m outta here. May your words lift people up, and may your cats not eat your houseplants.