Annie Neugebauer

The Forest for the Trees

January 4, 2019 By Annie Neugebauer 18 Comments

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn—and am still constantly learning—as a writer has been patience. Not just moment-to-moment, don’t-re-check-your-inbox patience, but long term, forest-for-the-trees patience. I have had to learn my craft, learn the industry, and then learn to readjust my expectations accordingly. I have had to learn as much as I can about all the things I can (_o/) so I have the confidence to admit that the rest is out of my hands. I have had to learn to show myself grace, to release the fatalism that comes with failure, and to know when to step back and take the broad view.

I’d like to say I learned all that smoothly and quickly, but it’s been a struggle every step of the way.

One of the beautiful things that comes with having over a decade in the thick of it behind you is that you begin to see the broader picture more easily. I remember when I first started out how I felt drafting my first novel. I was certain that I had to do it as quickly as possible. I’m not sure why. Generalized impatience, I guess. I’d decided what I wanted to do and so I wanted to get it done. I wanted to write it fast, edit it fast, sell it fast. I wanted to be twenty years in during year one. Obviously, that’s not how it works. Perhaps luckily, I didn’t realize that at the time, and so I started at the beginning, which is the only way to do it.

With almost every project I’ve ever worked on, I feel a sense of urgency. Some of that is creative drive, which is a glorious, magical thing that I cherish and don’t mess with. But some of it is impatience. I want the next thing. I wanted something published. I wanted an agent. I wanted a book deal. I want, I want, I want, and wanting makes us (or at least me) hurry.

Hurrying isn’t the same thing as working hard. That’s another lesson I’ve learned the hard way. You can do both sometimes, but usually you have to choose working hard as your priority or hurrying takes over. Getting it finished becomes more important than getting it right. When we think about it that way, it becomes obvious that we need to take our time and do the work. But in the thick of things, it can feel almost impossible to slow down and resist the temptation to cross things off our list by taking shortcuts.

How do we step back far enough to see the forest for the trees when we’re already deep inside the forest? [Read more…]

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How to Process and Filter Feedback

September 19, 2018 By Annie Neugebauer 16 Comments

In my last post I talked about “which types of readers to use for feedback,” covering the pros and cons of a weekly critique group, beta readers, specialty readers, and agents and editors. Knowing where to get feedback on our work is great, but what the heck do you do with it once you have it? It might sound like a straightforward question, but any writer gathering significant feedback knows how daunting it can be to face sorting through and implementing that critique.

The good news is that there is no one correct way to go through this process. The bad news is that there is no one correct way to go through this process. Every writer, every book, and every feedback resource will require different specifics. That freedom is liberating and, sometimes, a little overwhelming. In hopes of establishing a starting place, today I’m going to share my general outline of the steps I take to process and filter reader feedback. As with all writing advice, take what works for you and leave the rest.

1. Read Feedback

Step one is fairly easy straightforward: consume the feedback. If you’re reading notes, I highly recommend finding a private, quiet place so you can go at your own pace and so you don’t have to school your reactions. If you’re listening, and if your reader doesn’t have notes to hand you after they’re done talking, go ahead and take notes as they go (unless you can record or have a killer memory). Try to resist asking too many questions, especially if you’re new. Clarifying what someone means is fine, but you’d be surprised how easily that slips into justifying or defending our intentions instead. You can sort through that part later; for now, just listen and absorb.

2. Let Yourself Feel, Notice Your Gut

You might feel things as you listen. Some of them might even be bad feelings. That’s okay. Emotions are not only important, but biologically required. So don’t beat yourself up if you feel sad, disappointed, angry, scared, overwhelmed, etc. That’s all normal. (It’s also why I generally prefer to read feedback in private.)

Of course, if you’re in person you’ll probably be socially obligated to hide or subdue some of these feelings to seem “sane” and “professional.” (Bah.) Do what you must, but even if you have to bottle it up, I highly recommend letting it out later. Let it aaaaaaall out. Let it have free reign for a while—good and bad. Be excited, be intimidated, be whatever you need to be.

And more importantly, pay attention to what you need to be. To take every drop of romance out of it: emotional reactions are data. How we feel right away upon each particular piece of feedback is invaluable information for later, so stop trying to stymie it. Instead, let it happen and take a mental note. Pay extra attention to the things that make you the most defensive.

3. Organize

[Read more…]

Which Types of Readers to Use for Feedback

May 16, 2018 By Annie Neugebauer 12 Comments

Every writer needs feedback before publication—every writer and every book. It’s a critical part of the process. In fact, it’s several critical parts of the process, because a savvy writer will come to learn that it’s usually most effective to get different types of feedback at different stages. The types of problems a weekly critique group will catch are not the same types of issues a trusted beta reader will point out.

Finding these different types of readers to give you feedback can be a difficult process in itself. It’s taken me years to find the people whose styles I click with and build a circle of solid working relationships I can count on. There’s a little bit of luck involved, and a whole lot of persistence. If you’re still searching for your people, don’t give up. Keep reaching out, whether in person or online, until you find them. They’re well worth your effort.

Today I’m going to share some of the ‘types’ of readers I use, what their different values are, and when I utilize which read-throughs. Not every writer will need every one of these, mind you, but it should give a good frame of reference for filling out your own (probably ever-changing) circle.

A Weekly Critique Group

This is where I started. I still go to my in-person critique group almost every week. I could do an entire post just about critique groups, but I’ll cut to the chase. A weekly critique group alone is not enough. There are things that no critique group, no matter how good, will ever be able to offer you. But there are other things that only they offer—almost exclusively.

Reading a longer work like a novel split into week-by-weekly digestible chunks does interesting things to perspective. A crit group won’t reliably offer you macro critique, but they will almost always zoom in and offer much more detailed micro critique. Does this scene work within the larger scope of the book? They might not have a sense for that. But does the scene work on its own? They can tell you much more honestly than a beta reader, who’s naturally tempted to view scenes within the larger context. Reading only one scene or chapter at a time and being forced to stop and discuss it before moving on is not the natural pace of reading; it forces more attention to detail and encourages more frequent reflection.

Another good thing about receiving feedback one week at a time is spotting patterns. Most critique groups have a varying membership, often even week to week, so you get a broader range of readers. Though this is occasionally frustrating (when someone doesn’t understand something they missed from a previous week), it can also be enlightening. What feedback do you tend to hear most often? Do different groups tell you the same things about different sections? If so, you can start to home in on your general weaknesses in craft. That’s invaluable data.

Even a trusted critique partner you send material to week by week can’t show you larger trends the way a critique group can. If you have access to an in-person crit group, I highly recommend giving it a fair chance. If you don’t, I’ve found it useful enough that I’d seriously consider starting one. If that’s out of the question, there are many groups run online.

When I use this type: all the time, at every stage of the process. It takes a long time to bring a whole novel in section by section, so I start as early in the project as I can and don’t stop until it’s out on submission.

Beta Readers

[Read more…]

Summit Fever and Knowing When to Say Whoa

January 17, 2018 By Annie Neugebauer

My husband who climbs mountains (I know) once told me about a phenomenon one of his peers had experienced, known in the field as “summit fever.” Poet me perked immediately, drawn to the ping of that phrase. Then he told me what it means, and writer me just about had to scoop my jaw off the table.

When a climber or group of climbers plans an ascent, they also have to plan the descent, which includes a timeline for everything. They look at weather and conditions that might make the climb slower than expected or otherwise hinder their plan, and, importantly, they decide up front on a turn-back time. Climbing is dangerous, especially at night or under adverse conditions, and there’s only so much water and food you can take with you; you’ll need half left for climbing back down.

For example, let’s say it’s a one-day climb; they need to be back to base camp before dark. If they start at dawn, they’ll need to be heading back six hours in at the very latest. That’s the agreed upon turn-back time, even if for some reason they haven’t reached the summit yet.

It happens all the time: plans go awry. The ground is wetter than they thought, making the layer right beneath the surface slick and muddy, prone to slipping once their weight is on it. They’re in good shape, but the air is thinner than they accounted for, leaving them winded too easily and requiring more short breaks to catch their breath. And even though the forecast said clear skies, some nasty-looking clouds have rolled in, casting everything in twilight even though it’s not dusk yet.

Still, they soldier on, pushing through fatigue and slippery terrain, and they make good progress—just not quite good enough. Five and a half hours in, they stop to assess; they’d hoped to be at the summit by now, breaking for pictures and food before coming back down. They’re still climbing. What should they do?

The options are: turn back now because they know they won’t swing it, go on for half an hour more and then turn back, or try to push through and turn back later than planned. Later than planned shouldn’t be an option, so none of them vote for it. They all know they probably can’t make it by their stated cut-off time, but they also can see the peak. They’re so close. And climbing back down always takes less time than climbing up, right? They say they’ll stop in half and hour, but they rally and pick up the pace to see if they can make it in that half hour.

They don’t make it in that half hour, despite valiant efforts. One member of the party has a splitting headache from the altitude, another has a whopper of a blister going, and another has gone into hangry mode despite having snack bars. Half an hour rolls by, unspoken, and they all push harder, furiously pretending not to know the time has passed and they should stop. The peak is right there. Half an hour more, less.

Half an hour past their turn-back time, and they’re still not up, not all the way. But they can’t give up now, can they? Why come all this way and quit? They forge ahead. [Read more…]

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Getting Back to Grateful

November 15, 2017 By Annie Neugebauer

If there’s one universal truth about all types of writing and all types of writers, it’s probably that this is hard. Writing is difficult. If you pursue it with any persistence and passion, you’re certain to come up against obstacle after obstacle, even if they’re of your own making. And if you’re pursuing publication, many (too many) of them aren’t of your own making—and aren’t under your control. I’ll say it again:

This is hard.

It’s also wonderful. If we didn’t think so, we wouldn’t have chosen it, would we? Writing is wonderful. Not always, no. If we want it to be more than a casual hobby, we do indeed have to push through some harder and less-fun stuff. Even fun things have not-fun parts. But from the broad-view, writing is wonderful. It’s fun, it’s enlightening, it’s satisfying and important and good.

So how do we get back to that feeling of wonderful in those times when everything feels like heavy sludge?

The answer is easier than you might think. You don’t have to buy things or fix things or rearrange. You don’t have to take a hiatus. You don’t have to go to switch genres or go back to school. You don’t have to change a single thing you’re doing; you only have to change the way you look at them. How? Gratitude.

Don’t get eye-roll-y on me. Science backs this one 100%. SCIENCE! Taking the time to be grateful for what’s already here changes your mindset, your sense of contentment, your mental and physical health. And perhaps the best part is that it’s really freaking easy. It literally requires nothing but thought. No effort, no striving. Just stop and think about what you do have, what is already good.

Actually practicing is the key here. To most of you, this concept is not news. To many of you, it’s old hat. That doesn’t matter if you’re not actively practicing it in regard to your writing life right now. Knowing about gratitude is not enough. Neither is intellectually being aware of all you have. You have to take the time to actually sit and soak in it with intention and specificity. Not just know it but feel it.

A couple years ago I started a sort of gratitude depository (ah, poetry) where I placed sticky notes highlighting things I’m happy about, grateful for, proud of, etc. I call it my Joy Jar, and I’ve kept one each year since. (You can read about the beginnings of my annual Joy Jar here.) It’s become a tradition for me to go through all of the notes and read them on New Year’s Day, appreciating all the good the past year held before moving into the next. It’s been invaluable, and I highly recommend it to everyone for every facet of your life.

But more pointedly, writers, this is your ticket back to the happy train. This is (probably, maybe) not going to cure your writer’s block or change your editor’s feedback or get your book reviewed. But if practiced regularly and with real effort, it will change how you feel about those things—and how deeply they end up affecting the rest of your writing life (and life-life.) [Read more…]

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