The Case of the Thin-Skinned Writer

A friend in the know—a book critic herself—once told me that Philip Roth, author of GOODBYE, COLUMBUS and PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT, to name two, never read reviews of any his books.  This was early on in my career and in a time when I devoured anything that was written about me or my debut mystery, MURDER 101.  The early reviews were good.  And then, something changed.  A negative one cropped up and then another, mostly on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  (And by negative, I mean less than 5 stars. I was very naïve.)  The good outweighed the bad, but some people clearly didn’t find me or my book as enchanting as I found myself.

That hurt.

It wasn’t like I went into the book-writing business with blinders on.  I knew that there would be some people out there who didn’t like my plot, my characters, my setting…or a combination of the three…but still, it didn’t prepare me for what it felt like when I read those reviews and noted, with disappointment, the sometimes personal tone that the reviewer might take when penning their opinion.  Things like “she thinks she’s funny…but she’s not” or the person who called me anti-something regarding something that I am definitely not against.  One person told me I hate nuns.  (I don’t.  I think nuns are the backbone of Catholic education and a host of other Catholic social justice projects. Nuns kick ass, in my opinion.)  There have been other pointed comments that have made my heart hurt.  So, I stopped reading reviews unless they were sent to me by my publisher and vetted by the publicity department. I found that reading anything that took issue in a personal way or accused me of something that I didn’t believe to be true was just not good for me.

I don’t expect everyone to universally like—or god forbid, loathe—a work of fiction, even mine.  Heck, I have seen a movie recently that everyone loved—it was nominated for Best Picture this year—and I hated.  People can’t understand how I couldn’t love this movie; I can’t understand why anyone would like this movie.  And that’s as far as it goes; I won’t go on any site and detail my disgust but when it comes up in conversation, as it often does, I do give my opinion to the wide-eyed disbelief of whomever I am speaking.  However, if this particular director brings out another film that looks interesting, I may just go see it.  For the time being, however, I will only think about this movie if someone brings it up.  But other than, I watched it, hated it, and that’s the end of that. I won’t pontificate online about why I didn’t like it, or furthermore, why you shouldn’t like it either. 

I have a new book coming out in December, much different from any book I’ve ever written, so the anxiety is starting to ratchet up a bit.  I’m starting to wonder if people will like the book and what the reviews might be like.  As a result, I decided, as I often do, to ask my fellow blogstresses—the gang here at Stiletto—to see how they handle reviews, the bad ones mostly.  With one overwhelmingly consistent theme—we need wine to read or discuss reviews—there were some great insights.  I’ll share what I learned from everyone else below.

Marilyn wisely says that the good reviews outweigh the bad ones for her.  (I hope to get to that point some day in the near future and be able to compartmentalize the comments.)

Laura Spinella is just like me when it comes to reviews—and wine.  She doesn’t like to read the negative ones and enjoys wine.  (I’m thrilled to learn that.  Misery loves company.)

Joelle is happy—as is Maria—to get feedback and even a 1-star review floats her boat because at least that way she knows she’s struck a nerve with a reader.  To quote her directly, “the meh reviews really bug me.” Maria says a 1-star review  means that “I’ve gotten under someone’s skin.”  (Braver than I am that red-haired goddess [Joelle] and recent RITA nominee [Maria].)

Linda decides who’s reviewing and then makes a decision as to how seriously she’s going to take specific reviews.  She takes the comments seriously of professional reviewers and strives to make her writing better.  (Good advice.)

The Northern half of Evelyn David wisely points out that writing mysteries like we do is very personal and therefore, it’s hard not to take criticism personally. She also notes that “that we're all still learning, still struggling to find the right word, the perfect red herring, the clever ending -- and of course, characters that linger in memory long after the book is closed.”  (Perfect way to put it.)

Bethany plans on not reading reviews, but does anyway.  She considers the “headspace” of negative reviewers, which again, makes sense.  Maybe I wasn’t in the proper headspace to watch the universally loved movie that I didn’t like; anything’s possible.  But knowing that someone couldn’t suspend disbelief for whatever reason, or put him or herself in a character’s shoes due to a past experience, really makes a lot of sense. (Thanks, Bethany.)

As I always say, “It is what it is.”  But that doesn’t mean I will start reading reviews again.  I’ve discovered that for doing what I do, I’m far too thin-skinned and much too sensitive to see critiques that don’t offer a constructive way for me to make my next book better.  I’m even skeptical about the positive ones.  So, for now, I write this from my safest position—head in the sand—and hope that someone, somewhere laughs out loud, or cries a few tears, or even holds their breath as they read something I’ve written.

Maggie Barbieri

Dealing with Conflict

I came to the “Girls” party late; I only downloaded Season 1 from iTunes long after the show aired on HBO.  But I was driven to find out what all the fuss was about and to see if the show was as good/bad, controversial/provocative, well-written/poorly-written as opposing viewpoints and reviews seemed to say.  There was a lot on the Internet about the show and its writer and creator, Lena Dunham, and what the show possibly said about what it is like to be a twenty-something young woman living in a very intense city.  (I think that’s one thing we can all agree on:  living in New York at any age is a challenge.  The city is the best in the world, in my opinion, but is loud, expensive, and sometimes difficult to navigate, both literally and figuratively.)

I watched the first season from start to finish in one dreary afternoon.  As a television show with interesting characters and story arc, I found it enjoyable.  As a mother with a young adult daughter, though, I came away thinking:  I really hope her twenties aren’t quite this difficult.  I hope she doesn’t have about eighty percent of these experiences. I hope she travels a less-conflict-ridden road.  The show makes me uncomfortable and after sorting through my feelings about various characters and plot devices, I have come to the conclusion that that’s not a bad thing.  In fact, it’s good.

Again, my opinion only, but to me, “Girls” is good television, despite being difficult to watch, despite the situations that the main characters often find themselves in, despite making me so uncomfortable that I often have to pause to think about things I have just watched.  The conflicts are disturbing and sustained, not resolving themselves in one half-hour episode. But watching the episodes as one long story rather than separate episodes, I got to thinking:  does the show need the extended, brutal conflicts in order to be entertaining?

And the answer, I decided, was yes.

Conflict is the salt /pepper in the plot recipe. A dash here, a dash there and you have a compelling story that speaks to readers in a way that a conflict-less story would not.  Do I want to cringe while watching a show about young women trying to figure out how to journey through a decade of life in an exciting city?  I guess I do.  Even my favorite show of all time—“The Brady Bunch”—created a half-hour episode about a happy, blended family on what would be considered cringe-worthy topics of the early ‘70’s:  not making the cheerleading squad, having a fake boyfriend, having one’s nose broken before the big show, bombing an audition. Happiness, if we believe our favorite shows and books, begets boredom while conflict brings the intrigue, the desire to watch/read more.

I’m in the midst of writing a new book and contrary to what might seem like common sense, am watching and reading as much as I can.  (I’m on a “Veronica Mars” kick right now and even contributed to the Kickstarter campaign to make it possible for the movie to be produced.)  I don’t “lose my voice,” as some writers claim they do by reading more while writing.  Rather, reading different kinds of books and watching television shows help me hone the conflict that must exist, temper the drama that I want to bring to my story. Good writing is good writing, whether it be on the page or on the screen and always helps me get to where I want my story—my writing—to be.

I’ve read various stories and reviews of this season of “Girls” and it sounds like the situations are more disturbing and emotional than they were in season one.  There’s OCD and disturbing sexual situations and even a mishap with a Q-Tip.  The writers seemed to have upped the ante, creating more drama where a lot already existed.  Will I have to suspend disbelief when I watch this new season?  Most likely. But will I watch?  Definitely.  And most importantly, will I be uncomfortable?

That goes without saying.

I know the Northern half of Evelyn David has an opinion about “Girls”—we’ve talked about it and agree on the depiction of the more salacious aspects of the show—but anyone else?  And do you like shows or books that make you uncomfortable, that contain so much drama that it practically hurts, or would you prefer less conflict, more harmony?

Maggie Barbieri

What do I do now???

I wish I were the kind of writer who approached a new book methodically with notes, a plot outline, and a list of characters and all of their quirky traits noted for consistency.

I wish I were the kind of writer who kept copious notes—a la Sue Grafton who I heard say that she has countless notebooks dedicated to one Kinsey Milhone mystery alone!—to refer back to during and after a book’s completion. (This would be a good way to avoid the dreaded “did I already kill that character” after a book has gone to the printer.)

Sadly, I’m not. 

I’m the kind of writer who hears a snippet of dialogue and who closes her eyes, going into a trance, hoping she can remember it. 

I’m the kind of writer who writes brilliantly, in her head, at three in the morning and promises herself that she’ll remember everything she wrote and put it to paper the next morning.  (Usually, what I end up with is a question mark at the beginning of the page and a random word like “orange”…something that is supposed to jog my faulty memory.  It never does.)

I’m the kind of writer who when she does have a story in her head, sits down to write it only to find out her characters have a completely different idea of what’s going to happen and when.

I’m the kind of writer, who, when asked what her profession is says “freelance college textbook editor” because I forget that when I’m not editing college textbooks, I’m creating stories.  Lots of stories.  Some that will never see the light of day.

I’m fascinated by what makes writers tick and the processes they employ to get their stories written.  I’m also fascinated by people who can accomplish a lot in short periods of time.  So, today, as I embark on a new writing journey—the second in my Maeve Conlon ONCE UPON A LIE series—I ask you, regardless of whether or not you are a writer:  what do you do before starting a new project and how has this tactic proved successful for you?

Maggie Barbieri

What Am I Missing?

You know when you’ve lived somewhere all of your life and realize that you haven’t done most of the things tourists do when they come to your fair city?  Watching the Thanksgiving Day parade, I realized just that.  With the most fabulous city in the world—sorry, San Francisco; pardon, Paris—right in my backyard, I realized with shock that I am a lousy New Yorker.

Or, as many a jaded New Yorker might say, just a normal one.

I had the pleasure of visiting the lovely Laura Bradford last Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and asked her what her holiday plans were. 

“We are going to the parade in the morning,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

See, I’m a native New Yorker.  We hate traffic. We loathe crowds.  We avoid both like the proverbial plague.  We opt, instead, to watch parade organizers blow up the balloons for the parade rather than stand in a crowd watching aforementioned balloons drift by.  We do not go to the parade.  (Or at least this native doesn’t.)  I looked at her as if she had just said, “we’re going to search for the Loch Ness monster and then look at the eclipse without sunglasses.”

Then I realized that going to the parade sounded like a whole heck of a lot of fun, crowds and traffic be damned.  The Bradford clan had the right idea:  do this quintessential New York thing and enjoy yourself while doing it!  Now there was a novel idea, foreign to many New Yorkers.

If it weren’t for my kids’ class trips, I never would have been to Ellis Island and even though my grandparents didn’t come through its hallowed (and kind of scary) halls, it was still fascinating to visit. If it hadn’t been for a friend who worked at Windows of the World, I never would have been inside the North Tower of the Twin Towers (as we New Yorkers always called them back in the day).  A work event brought me to South Street Seaport—in 1989 and never since.  Am I lazy?  Disinterested?  Hard to know.  But I do think I need to see some of our city’s amazing sites and participate in some of its special yearly occurrences.  I am making a resolution in 2013 to do just that.

It got me thinking about the other things that are truly New York and what make our city special.  Here’s a list of things that I haven’t done:

1.     Climbed to the top of the Empire State Building.  Sure, I’ve passed it a hundred times or more while walking to another destination but I’ve never been inside its art deco walls or even climbed to the top. 

2.     Been to Coney Island.  And I’m from Brooklyn originally!  Of course, Coney Island may need a few months to get itself back up and running after Hurricane Sandy but a visit to the Boardwalk and the famed aquarium are definitely in the cards for the new year.

3.     Taken the Staten Island Ferry.  From what I gather, there is no better view of Manhattan island than from the bow of the Staten Island Ferry.  And it’s cheap!  Like a dollar or some ridiculous sum.  Why haven’t I been on the ferry?  Why haven’t I taken the kids?

4.     Visited the Intrepid.  I’ve driven down the West Side Highway a thousand times and every time, I think, “We should really go to the Intrepid.” But we never have?  Why?  Nobody knows.

5.     Walk along the Highline.  In my defense, this is a fairly new attraction but at least 90% of my friends—and their kids—have been to the Highline.  Not us!  Why?  Again, we are not sure.  Heck, it’s tough to get out of the attic (where I write); it’s even tougher to draft reluctant family members from the couch.  But we will walk the Highline in 2013.  Mark my words.

So, Stiletto friends, what fantastic sites or events in your neck of the woods have you missed?  Why?

(Oh, and by the way, EXTRA CREDIT, the seventh installment in the Alison Bergeron/Murder 101 series, publishes next Tuesday, December 4th.  Something tells me there will be a contest shortly...check back for details!)

Maggie Barbieri

Social Media and the Art of the Reasoned Debate

Is it my imagination or does everyone seem to be at cross purposes these days, lambasting one another for their tightly held ideals, political views, and opinions?  Has social media made it appropriate—if not convenient—to start political debates that go nowhere fast?

Count me out.

Put simply:  I read Facebook for the updates on what everyone had for dinner, cute kitten pictures, funny memes, and George Takei’s thoughts on life.  If you’re going to spew about this candidate or another—or God forbid, any of their spouses—please keep the vitriol to yourself, because I am just not interested.  Consider yourself not “unfriended but “hidden.”

I know for a fact that a few of my fellow Stiletto wearers feel the same way based on what they have posted on their own pages.  And one, in particular, agrees with me on this point:  you’re not going to change anyone’s mind, so just leave it alone.

I read a fascinating interview in O Magazine last night that really drove this point home for me.  Donna Brazile, a woman who has worked on dozens of Democratic political campaigns and who helmed Al Gore’s presidential campaign, and Mary Matalin, spouse of Clinton friend James Carville but a staunch conservative, are best friends.  Crazy, right?  Well, turns out that they do discuss politics and other charged topics but they both know that their hearts are in the right place and that their opinions stem from individual lives lived with sincerity.  They discuss topics but never try to change each other’s minds and if they are to be believed—and I have no reason not to believe them given the frankness of their answers—they do not go for each other’s jugular if they disagree.  They have dinner together, they travel together, they drink together, they even dance together, yet fall on completely opposite sides of every imaginable political issue.

Mature, right?

The one thing that struck me about the interview was that the women still had high standards when it came to good taste and manners.  They felt that discussing politics without bringing respect and politeness to the conversation was the height of rudeness, something their mothers would not condone.  Stirring the pot at a cocktail party, in their opinions (and mine), was just in bad taste.  Finding a proper forum—and having a discussion with the proper decorum—was what made a good debate.  Yelling, talking over someone, or spouting negativity in the name of supporting one’s ideals…not so much.  And this applied equally to face-to-face discussions and those that take place virtually.

I am a fan of social media.  It makes life for someone like me—an extrovert who works alone and at home—more enjoyable.  I love seeing what everyone has to say about what they’ve got going on in their lives.  What I don’t love is talk of politics of any ilk, particularly when it is filled with half-truths, disparaging comments and an assumption that if you’re on the other side of the debate, well, you must be just plain dumb.  (And this applies to both left-leaners and right-leaners.)  We all bring our own life experience to bear on our beliefs and that doesn’t make them right or wrong—just ours.

So, if I haven’t commented on Facebook your definition of socialism or redistribution, or given my opinion on how 5 trillion dollars can be cut from the federal budget, or discussed how I feel about birth control and who should pay for it, it just means that I’m staring at a cute photo of a kitten tucked into the warm cocoon that its mother has made for it.  Or that you’ve been “hidden.” Don't worry:  once the election is over, we'll all be friends again and you can unhide me, too.

Maggie Barbieri