It’s never easy to ask for feedback.
Subjecting work to the opinions of outsiders is a vulnerable act, requiring a steely self-possession as they poke and prod and contort it.
Bridgett Wonder took the plunge down the rabbit hole last Monday night, her voice leaping with gusto as she read her manuscript aloud, six women jotting notes, their faces pensive. With two pages, double-sided, set in “School Print” font, “A School for Hope” entered a collaborative space, ready to be confirmed and improved and tested.
Hope is Wonder’s main character and the subject of the evening’s session, with posed query, “Does she evoke empathy?”
For an hour and a half, the First Responders chime in with resounding yeses. They love this loud, colorful, creative protagonist and they want to help her shine, as evidenced by their string of swirling questions:
Should Hope solve her own problem? Should Mrs. Ratburne be made more villainous? Is it realistic for her to throw away Hope’s artwork? What about the other students; should they be left in this terrible school? Does the story meet Bridgett’s avowed objective — that parents are their children’s best advocates?
“It’s amazing how complex this is,” the group’s coordinator, BARN Writers’ Studio Head Nancy Pearson, says of the creative process.
Six hours later, Wonder is curled up in bed, trying to read a novel, but her head is still buzzing from the meeting. She has a lot of material to process, and she can’t stop thinking about everyone’s suggestions.
“I was up until 3 writing a sequel,” she confessed the next day.
But in spite of a sleepless night, Wonder is grateful for the input. She’s not an established picture book author; she’s a former teacher and parent educator who wrote a story she couldn’t shake. She needs this kind of support.
“As I look back at it, having a group of people sit around and talk about my Hope as if she were a living, breathing person was phenomenal. It brings tears to my eyes. Before it was ‘I want to believe in this, but can I really do this? Are other people going to believe Hope? Is it going to be real?’”
Other First Responder participants echoed Wonder’s sentiments, whether they’re published writers, just setting out, or simply writing for fun.
Laura Roesener, who shared last time, said she comes to the group for accountability, to be reminded she has something to work on. Teri Smith comes to figure out if she’s communicating the message she wants to in her paranormal romance novels. She said presenting a project is better than sitting at home, staring at her computer and wondering if a particular plot device is working. And Caryl Grosch, who is interested in children’s books, likes the “impetus with a deadline” of BARN writing groups. She has yet to present her own work at First Responders, but she’s an active member of Alpha, a Monday assembly of BARN writers.
Ultimately, the success of the discussions and the ability for writers to open up depends on a mutual sense of trust, Wonder said. Participants have to know that they are sharing their segments in safety, that feedback will be constructive and that blossoming ideas will not leave the room. That’s why Wonder attended two First Responders meetings before she felt ready to reveal her story. She waited to see how others would treat Roesener’s Justin and Smith’s Cole — and her fears were relieved.
“I saw that you were trustworthy… and that Hope would be in safe hands,” Wonder admitted to the group.
BARN’s First Responders was developed to give writers access to other writers and to get feedback on drafts.
“The idea is that before you do 50 revisions of something… you just get an opinion,” Pearson said.
The group meets intermittently; BARN members volunteer to share a three-page excerpt of their work and determine what type of feedback they want to solicit — on characterization, dialogue, organization, or plot — as well as when the group will convene. Anyone is able to participate; BARN collects a $10 usage fee from non-members.
For more information, email Nancy Pearson at njjpearson@gmail.com.
