Rick Goldsmith

I couldn’t go anywhere near the book for two months. It was toxic, my mind just heaved at the thought of it. I got giddy. But I had to do something. So after avoiding my ‘Novel’ folder on my computer for weeks I tentatively wrote a 6,000-word outline of what happened to the three main characters before the book began. Once I’d finished that I wondered if it would be the bare bones of a better book than the one I’d written, or if it might work as a prequel (every writer needs some healthy naivety: of course the book would sell and of course they’d be a demand for a prequel). I wrote up some of the re-experienced memories (or PsychPlays) that feature in the book too. The act of writing began to feel good again. The heart and soul and colour seeped back in. It was fun. Unsurprisingly, this writing later made its way into the book in one form or another.

After that I began to see the positives in the feedback: Julia and CD Rose were pleasantly surprised that it was such a ‘page-turner’ and said it had a lot of heart. Julia’s advice was perceptive and needed to be heeded even if it meant a major change. CD Rose’s report presented me with some wise developmental edit suggestions, peppered with numerous tips about improving the novel and my writing. He discussed POV, describing locations, world-building, style, the protagonist’s voice, sentences, over-writing, characterisation, structure and plot, themes and reading suggestions. On reflection, the feedback really wasn’t as horrendous as I’d thought.

I swallowed down the hot ball and set to work. Much later on, once the book had been completed, I understood something very important: you don’t have to take notice of all feedback. People make good or interesting points but they can also give you feedback for a book other than the one you’ve actually written. It might be advice for a book they want to write, or may just descend into pure pendantry. Be judicious.