Lessons from Stormdancer

© St. Martin’s Press

Recently, I had the opportunity to read Jay Kristoff’s Stormdancer. Well, more like I saw the book in the store, thought, “Sweet!” and bought it. I had it read in two days, but alas: my bookstore no longer has the sequel, Kinslayer. I’ll just have to wait patiently, or order it on Amazon. Considering I found it at the local bookstore, though, it feels weird to buy it somewhere else (Hey, bookstore, thanks for the tip! Now I’ll buy this at your competitor!).

Here’s the back cover copy (“copy” is publishing jargon for accompanying promotional material):

The Shima Imperium verges on the brink of environmental collapse; an island nation once rich in tradition and myth, now decimated by clockwork industrialization and the machine-worshippers of the Lotus Guild. When hunters of Shima’s imperial court are charged by their Shōgun to capture a legendary griffin, they fear their lives are over. Any fool knows the beasts have been extinct for more than a century, and the price of failing the Shōgun is death. Accompanying her father on the Shōgun’s hunt, Yukiko finds herself stranded: a young woman alone in Shima’s last wilderness, with only a furious, crippled griffin for company. Even though she can hear his thoughts, even though she saved his life, all she knows for certain is he’d rather see her dead than help her. But together, the pair will form an indomitable friendship, and rise to challenge the might of an empire.

Sounds cool, right? I thought so too. As I read it, and then proceeded to read reviews that other people had left on Amazon – I was curious to see what others had thought – I realized that Stormdancer has a couple of valuable lessons for aspiring writers.

Lesson #1: You can’t win ‘em all

I really enjoyed this book.  By no means was it perfect, and it certainly wasn’t mind-blowing in the way that earns a book a spot on my super-special bookshelf (yes, I have a super-special bookshelf). Nevertheless, I liked it, and I’d probably read it again.

However, a few people left scathing – and I mean scathing – reviews on Amazon. They called it crap, and junk, and a hack job, and said that the protagonist was a Mary Sue – one of the worst insults in the industry, for some reason – and said that Kristoff screwed up all things Japanese culture due to poor research. (I’ll touch on the Mary Sue conundrum in a later post.)

This book had hundreds of glowing five-star reviews, slightly fewer fair, balanced four-star reviews, a good share of three star-reviews, very few two-star reviews, and a nice big handful of one-star reviews.

Do you think Jay Kristoff is worried about those negative reviews? He might take some of the criticisms and apply them to become a better writer in the future, but is he worried? Do you think he beats himself up about it, because not everybody liked his book?

I highly, highly doubt it.  The book is raking in money for the publisher, which means it’s raking in money for him, and I imagine he’s quite content with the state of things.

As an aspiring author, take this lesson to heart.  Haters gonna hate. Are you going to listen to them, or to the people who support you? Choose wisely.

Lesson #2: Nobody’s Perfect

I certainly have my criticisms of this book.  A lot of them, actually. None of them so bad as to warrant a one-star review, though. Were I to leave a review on Amazon, it would probably be a three- or four-star review. (Note that despite this, I still want to buy and read the rest of the trilogy.) Stormdancer was not as fresh as say, The Hunger Games. While Collins borrowed some stuff from ancient Rome for her stories, Kristoff practically takes Japanese folklore word-for-word (not quite). He added a little of his own mythology, but it was all heavily, heavily borrowed.

He also committed what is, in my opinion, a most egregious error: referring to the character by multiple names within a short amount of space. One character was called by his name in one paragraph, “the giant” in the next, and “the tall man” in the next. Firstly, to me, ‘giant’ indicates extremely abnormal height, where as this guy was just about a foot taller than most of the people around him. Not my first word choice.  Secondly, it’s a little disorienting to always have to figure out to whom the author is referring; names should be, more or less, transparent.  (I’ll touch on what I call “transparent words” this Friday, so be sure to come back.)

Another thing I didn’t like so much was that he used Japanese phrases and English phrases interchangeably – and he would always, as soon as he used a Japanese phrase, explain it in English.  It sort of bogged down the story.  My preference would have been to either use the Japanese and let context explain it, or simply use English.  The important thing, in either case, would be consistency. His use of Japanese words bordered on what James Blish (a prominent Sci-Fi author) calls “shmeerps.” Basically, a shmeerp is giving something an exotic name just for the sake of making it sound exotic. It’s a little silly, but hey. It wasn’t enough to keep me from finishing the book.

Other people, more learned in the ways of Nihongo than I, pointed out that Kristoff’s use of Japanese words were clumsy at best – apparently he misused the suffix ‘-sama’ to disastrous effect. And he also referred to ‘chi,’ which is a Chinese, not Japanese, concept.

There was even a typo where Yukiko’s name was spelled ‘Ywukiko,’ but let’s face it – that is the fault of the editors, not Kristoff. (It’s kind of their job to catch that stuff.)

Oh, well.

The book is far from perfect. Of course, perfect is a word like ‘normal’ – nobody is really sure what it means. At any rate, the book’s ‘flaws’ are not a deal-breaker.  Remember the question, “Is it more important to be a good writer, or a good storyteller?” Kristoff is a good storyteller, which, if you’re in the business of telling stories, is most important.

As an aspiring author, you can know that your book will be imperfect.  You can also know that, in the long run, it just has to be a good story. (Get somebody to edit it, though, because sloppy grammar and spelling makes it super hard to enjoy that good story. And even if your editors miss a stray ‘w,’ most people will be too caught up in the story to care that much.)

So, there you have it. Two lessons you can take to heart: “You can’t win ‘em all” and “Nobody’s Perfect.” As you go about your writing, for goodness’ sake, just relax. Relax and tell your story.  The more you enjoy it, the more likely it is that other people will too.

Do you put a lot of stock in the fear that you’ll be criticized? What do you think is more important: good writing, or good storytelling? Share your thoughts or any questions in the comments.

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Note to those who are considering reading Stormdancer and are concerned about such things: Stormdancer has one occasion of the “f-bomb” that I remember and contains some innuendo. In addition to that, it is made clear that protagonist has sex, but it is very subtly done and there are no explicit details. I always caution individuals under the age of 18 to check with their parents regarding books not specifically targeted at a YA audience. Yeah, I know, I’m no fun.  

Getting the Most out of Feedback

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If you write, part of you probably wonders whether your work is any good. Unfortunately, the only way to answer that question is to ask somebody else to look at it. That's kind of scary, because then there's the chance that you'll receive some criticism. If the idea of criticism freaks you out, you can think of it as feedback. After all, that's really what it is.

If you want to improve, you need to take the plunge and ask for feedback. However, there are some things you can do before you even share your work with someone that will maximize the usefulness of the feedback you receive. Tell the reviewer what you are looking for specifically. Make a list of things they can help you with, such as grammar, writing style, or just an overall impression. This way, the person offering feedback has somewhere to begin, and you are more likely to receive a critique that will be helpful for you.

Another thing you can do to get a more useful critique is to ask your reviewer to mark up the work you are giving them. Microsoft Word has a really useful feature for tracking changes that you make, as well as a feature for inserting comments in the margins. If you submit your work to anyone for critique and both of you have Word, ask them to use the 'review' features and insert comments exactly where they noticed one of their concerns. If you're using a hard copy (what some writers now refer to as 'dead tree format'), provide a brightly colored pen and some sticky notes for the person who will be reviewing your work.

Once you have the feedback, what do you do with it?

The first thing you want to do is give yourself some space after receiving any kind of criticism. Acting on the criticism while you are still emotionally unbalanced from it is a very bad idea. If somebody said your work was very poor overall, and you were to act on that while riled up, you might do something stupid like delete the entire document in a modern-day version of dramatically throwing a manuscript onto the fire. Or, you might delete a large segment, only to wish the next day that you hadn't. Once you've hit 'save' and exited your word processor, that's that.

So, do yourself a favor and give yourself some time to wind down. Once you've cooled off, print a copy of the critique or marked-up manuscript and re-read the feedback that you were given. Hopefully, you've been able to receive a marked-up manuscript that makes it easy to find specific comments (which, if you followed the tips above, you probably have). If any of the comments are positive in nature, saying something like “I really like this,” take a big highlighter or marker in your favorite color and circle those comments. Celebrate the positive before you tackle the negative, and think of the negative as exciting opportunities to make your work even more awesome than it was before.

Next, re-read the work, keeping the feedback in mind. Do you agree with any of the criticism? Chances are that you will agree with some of it. Circle that criticism in a different color of marker—a color you like, so that you can see it as something positive. If you disagree with some of the criticism, circle that in a neutral color, like brown or gray. Think about it a little while longer before you disregard it.

And speaking of that...

Yes. You, as the writer, have to power and the right to disregard criticism. You don't have to agree with or do whatever the reviewer suggests. In the end, it's your call. Let that empower you as you sift through the feedback. You don't have to agree with it. You don't have to do everything, or even anything, that somebody else suggests.

That being said, it's still wise and in your writing's best interest to think really hard about somebody's feedback before you decide to disregard it. If you don't agree with it, ask yourself why. If, after thinking for a while, you have a solid reason for disagreeing, then you can probably safely disregard it. But if you can't come up with a reason at all, and you just don't like the feedback for whatever reason, that's a major warning sign that the criticism might actually be accurate.

There's a saying among writers: “Kill your darlings.” What this means is that if you are particularly in love with something you've written, but lots of reviewers say that you need to cut it, you are probably better off cutting it. If you don't have a really solid, compelling reason for keeping it, and you just like it because it's your “darling,” then “kill” it.

Thanks to modern technology, it's easy to save the portion you've cut or save the unchanged version, just in case you want to come back to it and reconsider it someday. I routinely make backups of my stories, labeling and dating them carefully. It's so easy and cheap to get a flash drive with lots of storage, so I don't worry about running out of space. This way, if I ever change my mind about a darling I've killed, I can go bring it back to life.

So, if you disagree with the criticism for a powerful reason, then disregard it. Circle those comments in black. If you disagree with it just because, you might want to think twice before ignoring it. If you can't decide, put it aside for now and come back to it later.

You don't have to figure out exactly what to do right away. It's okay to put somebody's criticism on the back burner and let it simmer for a while.

When you are ready to start applying changes, keep your printed, re-marked-up marked-up manuscript with you while you are making changes to the electronic document. Use it as your reference and guide. When you see your favorite color, smile and congratulate yourself. When you see the other color that you like, concentrate on what you can do to address the concern, thus making your story even better than ever. When you see black, skip it. When you see brown or gray that you're not ready to act on, remind yourself to come back to it later.

This, of course, is just one way of dealing with the feedback you've been given. I usually do this mentally because I am so used to receiving and dealing with feedback. But if you're going on your first feedback adventure, this can make the experience less scary and more positive.

As you learn to think of criticism (feedback) as something positive, you become a better writer.

What could be more positive than that?

Share any thoughts or questions in the comments.

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Accepting Criticism

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There is something that I regret to this day, and it has to do with criticism.

I’ve written about our good pal criticism before. I said that it was important—crucial, even—and the only way to improve oneself as a writer.  I also mentioned that it can hurt sometimes. Today, I’m going to talk about how to accept criticism—by telling you how I didn’t.

Once upon a time, I was sixteen.  I had been laboring with some enthusiasm on a fantasy novel.  Since my dad loves fantasy, I asked him to read it and tell me what he thought.

What I wanted: For him to look at me, eyes glowing with pride, as he lovingly declared, “That’s awesome, honey!”

What I got: A document, marked up with red text.  My dad was asking all these questions about why the characters were acting certain ways, and pointing out a lot of things that didn’t make sense to him.

What I did: Screamed at him. I don’t know all that I said to him, but there was a lot of anger inside of me.  I cried, yelled, and just generally pitched a fit.

The thing is, my dad’s critique wasn’t even that harsh. In fact, if he gave me that kind of criticism today, I’d give him a huge hug.  They were really important, really useful things.  What I did to my dad that day was the equivalent of screaming at him for giving me diamonds when I wanted cubic zirconium.

I wanted something cheap and fake.  He gave me something expensive and valuable.

And I threw it in his face.

It’s something I’ll never forget.  While my dad still offers his assistance to me today, I always wonder—does that experience cause him to hold back the most important, crucial advice he could be giving me now? In a way, I tainted the critiquing relationship.  Because he’s my dad, we were able to rebuild it (at least as far as I know).  But you might not be so lucky with other people.

The thing is, if you want a pat on the back without any criticism at all, don’t show your story to anyone.  Not even your best friend.  Because if you’re not ready to hear it, and your friend says it, you could have serious problems.  I’m not telling you not to show your work to your friends.  I’m saying that if you do, there is the chance that they might offer feedback which you don’t like.  If you’re not ready for that, keep your work to yourself. 

However, if you submit your work to anyone for any kind of evaluation, there are two words you should keep in mind.  They are the most important words you should remember in this situation:

Thank you.

Say it, and mean it.  No matter what they’ve said to you—good, bad, or indifferent. Thank them. They gave some of their valuable time to you, for the sole purpose of helping you.  They deserve to be thanked. If your feelings are hurt, don’t lash out at the person who critiqued you.  If you feel like you need to cry or rant, or whatever, hold it in for now.  For now, say, “Thank you.”

Thank you.

Then, remove yourself from the situation.  When you are alone or with someone you can trust, cry it out, vent, rant—do whatever you need to do.  Deal with your hurt that way. Do not post it on Twitter, Facebook, or your blog.  Deal with your hurt in private, then give it a couple days.  After a while, look back at the critique with fresh eyes.  You’ll probably find that there is at least something you can take away from the criticism. 

I’ll give you a more recent example.  Earlier this year, I asked a very opinionated individual to evaluate the first chapter of my novel, which had been rejected by a publisher.  He tore it to pieces, saying things like how halfway through reading it, he wished he hadn’t agreed to read the whole thing. He pointed out that he didn’t care about the characters because he didn’t know who to root for, etc.

Immediately, I sent him an email politely and sincerely thanking him for his time and critique.

I was furious.  Oh, I was fuming.  Livid.  Seething.  I couldn’t see past the bit about wishing he didn’t have to finish it.  It was a seriously unfair comment and very impolite.  So, I went to my husband and vented to him.  I called my friend and vented to her. I cried into my pillow.  But I did not yell at him, retaliate against his harsh words with harsh words of my own.  I didn’t blog or tweet or post on Facebook.  (This is actually the first mention I have made of it in a public forum, months after the fact.)

A couple of days later I looked at the criticism again.

Beneath all of his snarky language was some of the most pure, glittering gold I have ever seen.  He was right.  He was right, darn it.  I don’t think he was right about everything, but with certain very important things, he hit the nail on the head.  Because of what he told me, I have a better chance of hooking the attention of publishers and winning the hearts of readers.

It would have been better if he’d been a little nicer about it, but I do not regret asking for his opinion, no matter how mad I was at the time.  Because I was polite to him, chances are he will be willing to help me in the future, should I desire to ask him again.  Harsh and honest is his style—sort of a writer’s version of Gordon Ramsay.  My preferred style, both in giving and receiving criticism, is nice and honest.  But I cannot, and never will, deny that his critique was a wonderful gift—even if it was a little hard to swallow.

You know what?  Even if that guy was truly mean and spiteful, I still would have thanked him.  If anyone is mean to you for any reason, just look them in the eye and say, “Thank you.”  They won’t know what hit them.  (This is a useful life skill I learned after working around 9 years in customer service.)  The best way to repay meanness is with kindness and courtesy. Trust me on this—bullies will be absolutely flummoxed by it.

When you get a critique, you don’t have to accept every part of it.  For example, someone might tell you never to use contractions.  This is a good rule in academic writing, but it isn’t always the case in informal writing and prose. You can choose to disregard that criticism.  However, if somebody tells you that your characters are unrealistic, you would do well to pay attention to that and try to understand why he or she thinks that.  It could really improve your story. 

As a writer, real, honest criticism is the most valuable gift you can be given.  Don’t make the same mistake I did when I was 16—you don’t want to live with that regret on your shoulders.  If you already have, then find that person and apologize to them. 

It’s never too late to say, "Thank you." 

Thanks, Dad. 

What makes accepting criticism the most difficult for you?  Have you ever gotten mad at someone who offered you a writing critique?  What sorts of things do you do to deal with any frustration you may have over being criticized? Share your thoughts or personal story in the comments. 
 

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Criticism

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If there was one word that filled me with terror when I was younger, it was ‘criticism.’  What could be worse than having people point out your flaws? And there were a lot of people who did criticize me.  Criticism felt like being made fun of, except that it was generally true—which made it hurt even more.  If you’re anything like me, you’ll understand that shudder you get when you hear someone ask, “May I offer you some criticism?”

Now, you’ve probably heard of something called “constructive criticism.” As far as I was concerned, this was just as bad, because even though the goal of it is to help you improve, you’re still basically being told that you suck. Today, I’m here to share with you what took me years and years to learn:  criticism is good. 

I know, I know.  How can it be good to have people point out your flaws? 

First, let’s revisit the idea of constructive criticism.  Here is the definition of ‘criticism,’ courtesy of Dictionary.com: 

(1.) the act of passing judgment as to the merits of anything.

(2.) the act of passing severe judgment; censure; faultfinding.

(3.) the act or art of analyzing and evaluating or judging the quality of a literary or artistic work, musical performance, art exhibit, dramatic production, etc.

(4.) a critical comment, article, or essay; critique.

(5.) any of various methods of studying texts or documents for the purpose of dating or reconstructing them, evaluating their authenticity, analyzing their content or style, etc.: historical criticism; literary criticism.

(6.) investigation of the text, origin, etc., of literary documents, especially Biblical ones: textual criticism.

You are, as many people are, probably most aware of the first two definitions of ‘criticism.’  They certainly are cringe-worthy definitions, too. Passing judgment? Severe judgment? Faultfinding? All of this sounds absolutely terrible! Where does the constructive part come in? 

Constructive criticism is most closely tied to definition (3.): “the act or art of analyzing and evaluating or judging the quality of a literary or artistic work, musical performance, art exhibit, dramatic production, etc.”  Note how this uses the far gentler words ‘analyzing’ and ‘evaluating.’  Yes, it still includes ‘judging,’ but you see that it is more about looking for quality than anything else.  The goal of constructive criticism is to point out ways to improve the quality of the work.  To do this, you have to look for the bad in order to remove it and make the work better. So yes, there is still faultfinding involved. The point of it, however, is to build the quality up—hence ‘constructive’—rather than to tear you down.

Are you like I used to be, and still think constructive criticism is just thinly veiled cruelty? Consider this scenario. 

You are baking a cake.  When you take it out of the oven, it’s a nasty, dry, coarse mess. “That’s strange,” you think, looking over the cookbook. “I’ve followed all the directions.”  So you try again, being doubly sure to follow the directions.  Unfortunately, it happens again.  You know the cake isn’t right, but you don’t want anyone else to tell you why, because then you’ll feel like a failure.  Besides, you want to figure it out on your own. 

However, while you attempt another cake, an experienced baker watches you.  Then, while you’re working, the baker says, “You’re using the wrong kind of flour for this cake.  Also, you aren’t using the proper technique for measuring flour.  Let me show you what to do.” 

The baker has just criticized you.  Was it because he wanted to be mean?  Did he want to take your mistakes and shove them in your face? 

No.  The baker can see that you’re struggling.  He can see how badly you want to make the best cake ever, and so he shows you what you’re doing wrong.  Then, he shows you how to do it the right way. That’s constructive criticism at its finest.  Afterwards, your cake is amazing.  Thanks to the baker’s criticism, you now know how to make an awesome cake. 

Now, my mom can tell you a lot of anecdotes about my epic freak-outs in the kitchen whenever she tried to help me bake.  I would get so frustrated—why the heck couldn’t she let me figure it out on my own? Granted, when my baking attempts flopped, I was even more furious. 

I was not good not at accepting criticism,  much in the same way rocks are not good at levitating. But once I started listening to the criticism—even when it made me mad—I ended up improving.

Somewhere along the way, it clicked that criticism is not bad.  It’s a wonderful gift.  Can it hurt sometimes? Yeah. Heck yeah.  So does working out, but the more you work out, the less pain you feel and the stronger you get.  

So, don’t sweat it if someone offers you criticism.  They aren’t doing it to be mean.  They want to help you improve, to reach your full potential. 

With writing, criticism is the only way you’ll improve.  Not all critics agree, so you’ll have to choose which ones to listen to.  You can receive criticism from actual people, and you can read books that give you advice (generalized criticism).

Either way, you’ll need to embrace constructive criticism.  It might not be easy at first, but the benefits far outweigh the draw-backs.  Take it from me.

Do you struggle with accepting criticism?  Do you have any questions about what makes criticism constructive as opposed to destructive? Share your thoughts in the comments. 

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