Going Out Stinky

You probably like to shower before going out into the world each day. I generally do, too, especially since nappy really doesn’t work for my hair.

Lately, as I’ve talked about the first draft being more or less done, more and more friends have been asking to read it. I’ve been tempted a couple of times, especially on days when I like what I’ve done.

So what’s the big deal? says the shoulder devil. Let them read it. Thrill and delight them. Bask in the glow of admiration and get some early feedback.

Don’t do it, says the angel on the other one. It’s a bad idea, for every reason in the book.

I’ll list those reasons in a minute, but first, a little history. I used to write articles for computer magazines. Exactly ninety of them, as it happens, plus chunks of two computer books. One thing I learned from this, about my writing, is that what I write doesn’t need editing. It’s perfect as it comes out. Perfect!

How I learned this is, one time many years ago, I suspected editors weren’t doing much editing on my articles. They would change the titles sometimes, but I could never find anything that had been changed. Like every hungry freelancer, I followed length guidelines closely, so that was never an issue. And I honestly do have good spelling skills, except for a couple of rules I can never quite learn dealing with “-ence” vs. “-ance” and that sort of thing. And spell-checkers have existed since before I was in puberty. Just barely, but still.

So I tested the theory. I dug out the magazine with my latest article in it and compared it to the original manuscript word for word. What I learned was interesting: not one word had been changed. I even found a typo, and when I looked for it in the original, there it was.

So, what did this mean? I assumed it either meant that editor was lazy or that my writing was perfect as it was. I’m sure there was some truth to both. A valuable lesson.

Only…

A martial arts instructor told me once—many times, actually—that some lessons are really bad to learn. He would get students in with nonprofessional training, or who’d tried to learn some things on their own, or who were naturally graceful and adept at certain movements. These people tended to be the hardest to train, because they had a lot of unlearning to do first. And just like that, it’s important that I unlearn what that article comparison taught me.

First of all, nonfiction is very different from fiction. While doubtless my articles were, without exception, hilarious and uplifting, they were fundamentally fact-based. As long as there were no factual errors, and the information was delivered concisely around the humor bits, they would serve their purpose.

There are a lot of of other factors to good fiction, though, especially novel-length fiction. Constant conflict in action and dialog. Escalating tension at scene, arc, part and total book levels. A purpose to every descriptive passage (foreshadowing, establishing terrain for a fight, etc.) In fact, nothing in the book at all that doesn’t serve a purpose. Not to mention plot and subplots, appropriate PoV voicing through syntax and vocabulary, character differentiation, and, wherever possible, a musical flow to the grouping and order of words.  And of course, most importantly, conveying emotional experiences of interest to the reader, from sympathetic misery to plain old fun. Still want to write fiction?

Anyway, no matter how “perfect” it may seem in terms of spelling and grammar and punctuation and generally hanging together, no first draft ever has all of those things. Probably not even most of them. Plenty of final drafts don’t either, not to mention published novels, but at least by then the writer’s given it hris all. (Hris=his or her, and yes, I made that up.)

So, showing someone your first draft is like going out stinky. On a date. A first date. Sure, you can do it, and you might even not be instantly loathed. But your first shot is important and as a new novelist the odds are massively stacked against you anyway. Only one chance to make a first impression, and the opinion of every early reader is a key voice contributing to the ultimate success, or failure, of the book. I’ve seen the same phenomenon in releasing software before it’s completely finished. Users don’t see bugs the same way developers do.

The moral of the story, obviously, is that it’s probably wiser to put in the effort and not present until it’s ready, or at least as ready as I can get it. So, if I’ve got any wisdom in me, which is questionable, I’ll keep it close until the next full pass at least. And that will take more time.