Recently I asked a very close friend his opinion of me – as a writer. He hesitated for a moment, and then said: “You’re a good writer.”
He doesn’t believe himself to be a judge of my skills, and nor is he a consumer of the sort of thing I typically write.
And there’s no doubt in my mind that I caught him off-guard with my question.
While I found his response to be acceptable (and honest), it nagged at me that I couldn’t elicit more specifics, even as I realized that by asking, I was fishing, though I’m not sure for what.
But must we place friends and family in the awkward position of judging when they prefer not to? What if their expertise or interests lie in areas other than our own?
Was I seeking approval? Was I seeking input? Was I feeling guilty for all the time I spend writing – with, theoretically, little to show for it as a result in any traditional, measurable sense? The friend I asked is important to me. I admire him, his knowledge, his skills. Isn’t it only natural that I would want him to admire me in a similar way? That I would value his opinion and seek it for anything I am involved in?
Should I reconsider that position?
Seeking Advice, Taking Advice
Do you take advice from those closest to you, or do you steer clear depending on the situation? What about soliciting opinions on your actions, your behaviors, or pertaining to your professional or creative output?
Can you recognize when someone who loves you is “being nice” – and so you pleasantly accept the equally non-committal or agreeable feedback?
Let me offer more explicit examples:
- If you’re a musician, do you ask your friend (who is not) what she thinks of your latest composition?
- If you’re a painter, do you ask your color-blind husband what he thinks of your most recent canvas?
When advice or commentary is offered, and it’s critical (or simply unenthusiastic), do you take it in stride or find yourself annoyed?
Opinions That Matter
I admit that I’ve been known to give advice, though I may couch it in qualifiers and reiterate that it is “my experience.” Thus, it’s a take-it-or-leave-it proposition which some might say is “you get what you pay for.”
You can find it useful; you may consider it junk.
Personally, I tend to listen to those with real world experience. For example, I’m likely to be more resistant to parenting advice from non-parents, though I recognize there may be perspectives I will miss, should I not listen at all.
I do consider whether or not a person may have an agenda. A paid adviser may still have products (and additional services) to peddle; the physician may be backed by pharmaceutical “incentives;” the friend who loves us doesn’t wish to damage the relationship.
Perhaps this is all the more reason to have a few people in our lives who can tell us the truth, but do so with consideration.
And all the more reason not to feel foolish about trusting our own gut.
Who Do You Trust?
When I was much younger, I mistrusted my mother’s opinion of me (in general), of the men I might date (every time), yet I put enormous store in her input concerning the importance of an education.
When I was in my twenties and thirties, I put too much store in the opinions of men, not to mention media representations of beauty. Certainly a common enough mistake – for lack of a better term.
In my forties and even now, I put a tremendous amount of faith in the opinions of my children. My sons are fair, honest, creative, and critical without being unkind – and when I ask for their input (and I do), generally, I listen.
When it comes to sharing confidences or offering opinion without (too much of) an agenda, whose opinions do you trust?
- Do you pay particular attention to the opinions of your social circle?
- What about other parents or colleagues?
- Do you steer clear on certain topics?
- Is seeking and taking advice always an issue of subject matter expertise?
- Do you adhere to the adage that you get what you pay for – especially when it comes to advice?
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Both my husband and I are writers, but the type of writing we do is pretty different. We do seek out each other’s opinion – and often – but we’ve learned the areas in which we should absolutely listen to the other and those in which we should probably trust our own guts.
I will say, though, that eliciting each other’s professional opinions has added a fun new dimension to our relationship. We’re not co-workers, per se, but we now share enough professional overlap that we have a whole new category of topics to chat about.
I discount any praise by my spouse, family, and most friends–they are just too kind. When I get that rare praise for my music (I’m on the bari sax here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=javj_7t4hHk) it thrills me to know end. You live for those moments. For me they come very rarely, but in this video (last Sunday’s performance) I got two unsolicited kudos from people I don’t know. Oh yeah baby! :O)
@Kristen – How nice that you can share the love of writing – and each others’ opinions!
@Gandalfe – yes to rare praise, when the one who provides it is someone whose opinion you truly cherish. (I’m about to peek at your youtube video – woo hoo! Love the sax!)
I think it is important to think about what we are looking for when we do this sort of fishing. Is it an honest assessment such that we can refine our craft, or are we merely seeking validation? It is easy to fall into looking to others to prop up our sense of self-worth. It is also dangerous!
P.S. I think your writing is terrific and I am a consumer.
Annie, Thank you. (And lovely of you to stop by!)
When it comes to writing, I think of William Goldman who suggested that the very first thing one must know about writing (at least in Hollywood) is that no one knows anything. In other words, no one can really guess what will “succeed,” or fail to connect with people. One of the most, at least financially, successful writers I know is remarkably open to feedback and criticism, tirelessly changing scripts to please those with checkbooks. This is different from more “artistic” works the may have to dare to go unappreciated. Perhaps a good way to elicit feedback on writing is not so much to ask if it is “good,” but to ask the reader to consider what you, as writer, were going for and then work together so that feedback might help you move closer to your aim (i.e. to move, to provoke, to engage the reader, etc.). Still, as for what happens from there—no one knows anything. Perhaps this is why a community of like-minded, like-hearted beings can both facilitate creativity and bolster courage in the face of indifference.
I think the openness to feedback that you mention, Bruce – positive and negative – is essential. Not only in creative pursuits, but everything. The difference with the more creative activities is how close they are to our most vulnerable core. And the community of like-minded people, with a diversity of opinions all the same, is certainly a supportive and enriching way in which to create.
The time I most often face this dilemma is when I’m asked to give advice. In that instance, I’m usually torn, because I don’t know what to assume for the context. In a sense, the easiest response would be to say “I would do X”, but for them to understand why they would have to understand my own context – who I am, why I would do it, what my standards and reasons were, etc. Meanwhile, the fact is that they are not me, their objectives and style are not mine. Them trying to act as me would be far less natural and effective than them acting in their own fashion.
Not to mention that there is no reason to believe that my approach is any better. There is seldom an objective standard. (In line with the above comment that “no one knows anything”. How many publishers rejected the Harry Potter concept?).
So I usually punt by affirming the parts that I really believe should be affirmed, and making very mild, and qualified, suggestions on the rest, thus leaving them considerable latitude to incorporate or ignore my suggestions.
As far as soliciting opinions myself, I would only do so from those who I look up to. For instance I wouldn’t ask the general public or my family to comment on my musical abilities, but I might well ask someone I considered more professional. I might ask someone how my persona comes across to the public, but only if I considered them to be very perceptive, and I know what place they are coming from.
Wise words, Robert.
In my family we have what’s called “honest feedback.” if you ask for it you get it so you expect it to be, well honest. However, the giver of honest feedback always finds something positive as well. All parties know it comes from a loving position as well…but it is very honest and provides introspection.
That introspection can be so helpful, Jenn. Sounds like a good idea, especially when the delivery is positive and constructive. (Glad you stopped by to comment!)
I look at solicitations for feedback — those I make and those I respond to — fairly carefully as this is what the workshop model runs on in writing programs. (That model is flawed, but it’s what’s in use, so it’s what I have to inform how I go about handling feedback.) There’s the unspoken (or in some cases explicit) contract among members that feedback is provided because each person giving a critique feels it is important for the writer to hear it in order to improve, and the writer provides his/her work for assessment because he/she wishes to improve. Of course, those don’t have to be the reasons for giving/receiving feedback — I think what’s essential is putting out criteria for the purpose of the exchange when asking for and receiving feedback. It makes the exchange more useful, even if in the end, no feedback is given. The conversation about what purpose the feedback serves can be, in itself, informative. And if there is feedback on clear terms, all the better.
All good points, CT. For writers, I do find the workshop critiques, generally, helpful. (Unfortunately, I haven’t had that pleasure in many, many years – and more’s the pity.) As I’ve thought about my request in the opening example, I suspect it was more about the relationship and other feelings than the writing per se. But I’m still chewing on why I asked… (Do you ever ask your husband what he thinks about your writing?)
I’m smiling at your question — I do ask my husband occasionally. But I’ve learned that he is not as specific in his feedback as I will ever want him to be unless I ask him very, very specific questions: point-by-point concerns about mechanics, turns of phrase, structure, progression of ideas, a sense of direction/argument — the technical. His readings are good litmus tests of clarity in my work. Is something confusing? Illogical? Not specific enough? But when it comes to the less “concrete” aspects of my work — whether the particular subject is compelling, whether the emotional shadings I want the words to carry are actually present — I have difficulty asking because he is fundamentally less “reactive” to my subject matter and affected on a different emotional level. He’s not my best emotional reader for my writing (for reading how I’m feeling, that’s another story). My asking those questions would only be a way of seeking validation that he “gets” me in an arena where he is at a disadvantage (close reading, analyzing words as art more than science), and I think that gives weight to those questions that isn’t helpful in the end. It’s a test that is more likely to validate in my eyes a weakness of his, and there’s no benefit to me in proving that to myself repeatedly.
At one point, I attended a workshop taught by the author Jo Ann Beard, whose partner is also a writer, and I think I remember that she said their house rule is that they do not read each other’s work in progress because the transaction risks becoming volatile. Too much vulnerability.
Much to muse over, CT. Thank you for responding.
As a general thing, no good can come of asking anyone if you’re a good writer. Or a good anything. This is to be avoided.
I think the point of feedback is to be subjective. When I’m asked for feedback on a piece of writing, I always start by finding the moments where the piece grabbed me, made me respond, made me excited, curious, etc. Where I entered it. It’s good to riff a long time on that. Not to be nice, not to begin with compliments, but because most people don’t know what they’re doing well. What we do well is often second nature to us, and we tend to discount it, if we’re aware of it at all. But it’s critical, because that’s what you build on.