…about “The Gaze”
A few weeks ago, I fell into a writing slump. It was an editing hangover. I had done “a very big thing” to my manuscript and my cup runneth empty. So I reached for a surefire dopamine hit: romance. (Books!) I started reading half a dozen novels, some old favorites, some new discoveries. And I didn’t finish a single one. The dopamine wasn’t dopamining. So I started binge-watching romcoms and dramas on 2x speed, increasingly despondent at the lack of happy juice in my brain.
And then, I started a Thai BL series called Top Form. And OMG did the neurons in my parched brain light up like Christmas.
The premise of the story is that gorgeous “veteran” actor Akin is paired up with handsome newcomer Jin and they find love against the backdrop of a predatory film industry. The actors were magnificent. The plot, touching. The director deserves a medal for how this series was shot. I’m obsessed.
But this one scene in particular had me by the throat.
For those who don’t want to watch two beautiful men have a beautiful moment, here’s the gist. Akin pulls Jin aside when Jin can’t tap into his emotions to cry on command and by gazing into each others’ eyes, they both tap into their emotional core and cry.
People, when I tell you that I was verklempt… and I wasn’t the only one!
The actors got emotional rewatching the scene IRL…
…and every time they recreate it.
Why did this hit so hard?
The actors said it best: “This is the beginning of both of them. This scene has a lot of stillness inside. It’s the first time that Akin and Jin have synchronization.” The action–a poke–is so minimal, but the scene is so charged that the action becomes difficult. They do so much while doing very little at all. And that sent my brain into hyperdrive.
“The Gaze” is “A Thing.”
Officially, in media, there is a trope called the “Held Gaze.” According to the TV tropes wiki, “they will find themselves gazing deeply into each other's eyes, one indication of their [unresolved sexual tension]. This can often precede an Almost Kiss, as this is usually what is happening before that. If this is an extremely intense gaze into the other's eyes, this might be an indication that a Big Damn Kiss is on the horizon. It can also be a platonic look between two friends.” It comes in four flavors:
Romantic: This will appear at least once, accompanied by some passion on one (or both) of the partners in the gaze, hence it fits into the passionate look variant of the trope.
Platonic: Two friends will hold each other's gaze meaningfully to either encourage the other or to just let them know that they are there for them.
Antagonistic: If the two of them are rivals or enemies, however, this becomes a classic staredown, with both characters trying their level best to out-intimidate the other.
Supernatural: A shared gaze where souls gaze into the other person's soul, all at once having a deeper experience than the other two versions mentioned above can have.
The flavor depends on the story or the point in the story where the specific held gaze occurs. But in “action” it’s just two people holding each other’s gazes. The meaning ascribed changes depending on… what exactly? And, what exactly tells the observer of the gaze what the vibe is?
In visual media, you usually get a lot of cues. Music. Lighting. The way it’s framed by the director. The timing of the gaze in the narrative story. But usually, it’s the actors’ faces doing all the work. Showing us what is happening internally during the charged moment and the evolution of the experience as they react to the other person’s experience. And it happens in (relative) silence.
Cool–but what about in writing? I mean, the held gaze is a “big moment” in most books, too.
I pulled out the books I’d rifled through on my most recent dopamine-chase. Then I pulled some other genres–horror in particular. Then I grabbed a couple of police procedurals I had stashed in my bookcase. I searched for “held gazes” at various points in the story. And I was floored.
As writers, we’re short-changing “the gaze.”
We give it one or two lines. The context clues usually involve describing the intention of the character initiating the gaze. For example, we’re told/shown that one character is in distress. The other might “search her face” or “catch her gaze” in order to ascertain whether she’s ok. Then we might get a line or two describing the way the gaze evolves. If you’ve ever watched tiktok videos on “overused expressions in books,” you’re probably familiar with this perennial favorite: “his eyes darkened.” Maybe we get a “her lip curled” or “their eyebrows narrowed” or something else happening on the face, but we don’t get a whole lot. Depending on the genre, we will get some words about the emotional impact the gaze is having on the POV character. In cases of an antagonistic or assessing held gaze, we get more, because there is an inherent “sizing up” of the opposition, a comparison between the POV character and the “other-ness” of their opponent. But we are sorely lacking in elaborating on the moment of connection–the soul-to-soul recognition of “sameness.”
And here’s what kills me: I’m not entirely sure how to do it better. One of the critiques we throw around as writers is about “head hopping” or guessing/knowing what the other character is thinking. This is especially problematic when we’re limited by 1st person POV or close 3rd, and we are required to live within the confines of our POV character’s knowledge. But inherent in the gaze is a strange, almost metaphysical exchange of information that transcends spoken word. It has its own energy, its own stimuli, its own purpose. And because we don’t talk about it often enough, efforts to describe it feel…weak? Trite? Too woo-woo and too head-hoppy all at once.
What is happening during the gaze?
A complex and information-heavy “language of the eyes”
“Eye gaze is a surprisingly rich source of information about one’s interest, intentions, and goals. For instance, prior research indicates that specific goals and intentions influences a person’s gaze direction and allocation of social attention (Argyle & Cook, 1976; Baron-Cohen, 1995; Emery, 2000; Rupp & Wallen, 2007), and a growing number of studies support a functional coupling of goal-directed actions/intentions and selective visual processing before action (e.g., Land, & Lee, 1994; Land, Mennie, & Rusted, 1999). Moreover, decoding and understanding the language of the eyes is a skill that plays a major role in social cognition and interpersonal interaction (Baron-Cohen, 1995; Emery, 2000).”
The mere fact someone meets our gaze changes our perception of them.
“We make assumptions about people’s personalities based on how much they meet our eyes or look away when we are talking to them. And when we pass strangers in the street or some other public place, we can be left feeling rejected if they don’t make eye contact.”
Gazing eyes fixate our attention and imagination to the exclusion of our surroundings and to the detriment of our ability to perceive and remember anything else.
“A recurring finding is that gazing eyes grab and hold our attention, making us less aware of what else is going on around us (that ‘fading to grey’ that I mentioned earlier). Also, meeting someone’s gaze almost immediately engages a raft of brain processes, as we make sense of the fact that we are dealing with the mind of another person who is currently looking at us. In consequence, we become more conscious of that other person’s agency, that they have a mind and perspective of their own – and, in turn, this makes us more self-conscious.”
“Similar research has found that meeting the direct gaze of another also interferes with our working memory (our ability to hold and use information in mind over short periods of time), our imagination, and our mental control, in the sense of our ability to suppress irrelevant information.”
We interpret and ascribe meaning to the gaze and the person behind it.
“As well as sending our brains into social overdrive, research also shows that eye contact shapes our perception of the other person who meets our gaze. For instance, we generally perceive people who make more eye contact to be more intelligent, more conscientious and sincere (in Western cultures, at least), and we become more inclined to believe what they say.”
Gaze has intense implications for both love and lust and can increase both.
“[N]eural dissociations between love and lust suggest that these two phenomena may, in turn, sustain separable behaviors and automatic attention processes, with the visual features of a person’s body especially relevant for sexual desire and the visual clues regarding a person’s mental state (i.e., eyes and face) especially relevant for love.”
“In two studies, subjects induced to exchange mutual unbroken gaze for 2 min with a stranger of the opposite sex reported increased feelings of passionate love for each other.”
Oh and that overused phrase? “His eyes darkened.” Check this out:
“Should you choose to move closer, you and your gaze partner will find that eye contact also joins you to each other in another way, in a process known as “pupil mimicry” or “pupil contagion” – this describes how your pupils and the other person’s dilate and constrict in synchrony.”
Maybe it’s some kind of unconscious connection or simply a reaction to someone’s pupils dilating and literally darkening, but we are physiologically cued to see and respond to it.
Diving slightly deeper into the connection between people engaged in a gaze, we get into that woo-woo vibe. First is the question of recognition. “[E]ye gaze signals whether or not to impute minds into others.” Once there is an acknowledgement of mind, the gaze serves to assess “sameness” or “otherness” and even further, “mutual gaze leads to a kind of partial melding of the self and other: we rate strangers with whom we’ve made eye contact as more similar to us, in terms of their personality and appearance.” And for some, all these effects are too much–too intense, too overwhelming, too many ephemeral and confusing stimuli.
So what does that feeling “look” like on page?
Gooooood question. After all, the experience of perceiving and being perceived is fundamentally a mental-magic-energy-exchange high that kind of defies traditional “show don’t tell” symptom cataloging. See, e.g. The Tenth Insight: Holding the Vision, wherein James Redfield equates the act of paying attention to someone/listening, is the act of feeding energy to the “speaker”.
I want to preface this by saying I have not conducted an academically rigorous search for answers here. The excerpts I’m citing below are largely MMC/FMC romantic (or will become romantic) gazes written by women. And the observations I’m making are rough sketches of the gaze framework as it appears in published books. I am CERTAIN that I’m missing nuance in my analysis. Period. Full stop. And I’m equally certain that I’m not representing a wide enough or diverse enough sample size to draw definitive conclusions. All I can say is that I enjoyed each of these books, and because I liked the books and the authors, I was curious about what these successful authors did to convey the gaze. And I’m not over the moon about these gaze moments. If you have a favorite gaze moment from any book of any flavor, please please leave them in the comments.
Observation 1: In books where magic is involved (or there’s some kind of magical connection), the writer may convey the woowoo as almost a by-product of that magic or, conversely, the magical connection is an allegory or stand-in for the emotional impact of the gaze itself.
For example, in The Awakening of Ren Crown by Anne Zoelle, the MMC saves the FMC in the first chapter. Their meeting includes this:
“Heat centered in the hand pressing against my chest, and something electric and white hot shot through me.
The electricity connected and something in me—that part that felt neutralized, like a sleeping dragon—pulled greedily, demanding treasure and gold, knitting it together and throwing swashes of energy through my limbs like paint splattering a canvas. And all of a sudden, all I could see was blue. Two circles of ultramarine, the color straight from the deepest shade of The Last Judgment. Staring into those eyes, a winged henna design sketched itself slowly in my mind.”
In this case, the MMC heals her with magic and forges the connection between them, one that is capped off with the ultramarine eyes. Here, the magic slides in as a logical framework for the hallmarks of gaze. Conversely, in Ali Hazelwood’s The Bride, the gaze triggers a magical connection in the werewolf alpha MMC.
“I let my eyes pin his as I close it, which is how I see it all happen in real time.
Pupils, widening.
Brow, furrowing.
Nostrils, flaring.
He watches me like I’m something made of maggots and takes one deep breath, slow. Then another, sharp, the moment I’m delivered to the altar. His expression widens into something that looks, for an instant, indecipherably shaken, and I knew it, I knew that Weres didn’t like Vampyres, but this feels beyond that. It feels like pure, hard, personal contempt.”
Interestingly, the FMC doesn’t have that same magic mate-click. Her experience of the gaze occurs a bit sooner and is expressed as follows:
“Because my future husband hears it, and finally turns to me.
My stomach drops.
My step falters.
The murmurs quiet.
In the photo I was shown, the groom’s eyes looked an ordinary, unsurprising blue. But as they meet mine, I realize two things. The first is that I was wrong, and his gaze is actually an odd pale green that borders on white. The second is that Father was right: this man is very, very dangerous.”
In Storm Front, (and throughout the rest of the Dresden Files books) Jim Butcher presents the supernatural gaze and the antagonist gaze in “the soulgaze”–an invasive and painful seeing/understanding of another’s soul that a wizard has upon meeting the eyes of anyone else. The experience is not one of connection, but rather a forcible measuring of another that scars the wizard and lingers in their psyche.
“For the first time she forgot to keep her eyes averted from mine, and in that second, I saw inside of her.
Things seemed to slow down for a moment. I had time to see the color of her eyes, the structure of her face. To recognize where I had seen them before, why she had looked familiar to me. I had time to see, behind her eyes, the fear and the love that motivated every move she made, every step she took. I saw what had moved her to come to me, why she was afraid. I saw her grief, and I saw her pain.”
And where it is an antagonist:
“The first thing I felt was anger, anger at being manipulated, anger that he should presume to soulgaze upon me.
Just a second later, I felt scared to death of this man. I had looked on his soul and it had been as solid and barren as a stainless-steel refrigerator. It was more than unsettling. He was strong, inside, savage and merciless without being cruel. He had a tiger’s soul.”
Finally, where no magic is actively in play, but there is the potential for it, you usually get some allusion to the “power” behind the gaze. A good example is Ilona Andrews’ Silver Shark.
“His dark green eyes focused on her, reflecting a sharp, perceptive intellect. The eyes of a man who could be either very generous or completely ruthless. The man smiled, at once charming and reassuring, and she felt the power of his mind. It was like a typhoon held back, enclosed in a self-imposed cage.
It was too much. Every coping mechanism that had let her make it this far collapsed. She stared with no idea how to respond.
He was larger than life.
Lienne cleared her throat.
The sound shattered her trance. Claire closed her mouth.”
Here, both MCs have mental magic, and their minds “touch” during the gaze. The harnessed power the FMC describes behind the eyes and intellect is literally magic, but it’s not a magical connection. The mental magic simply explains how the FMC can see so much about the MMC without it becoming head-hoppy.
Ok, but what if there isn’t magic?
Observation 2: In books with no magic, the only consistency is to express it in a manner consistent with the voice of the character within the genre expectation.
In some cases, the gaze is diluted over the course of an entire meet-cute. There is no pregnant pause, no hiatus in action that marks the significance of the exchange. Rather, we get a whole cascade of (usually) awkward dialogue, movement, body language that signals its significance, and then some form of summary of its impact–either in the moment or in other chapters. For example, The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy by Megan Bannen, the original meet cute between the antagonists-to-lovers takes up a chapter mid-book in flashback. During the entirety of the scene the MMC is flustered and there is no one single “gaze” but if I had to pull a quote that comes close, it’s this:
“Her smile broadened, dimpling her cheeks, and those dimples in combination with the fact that she may or may not have caught him bawling all over her dog robbed him of speech. With each passing second that he stood there gawking at this ridiculously lovely woman in the lobby, his embarrassment, and the irritation that went with it, deepened.”
The MMC would summarize this experience in a different section as follows and has another gaze (one that doesn’t do the woowoo of a “gaze”).
“And it was exactly as it had been the day they met, with Mercy like sunshine personified in her yellow dress, and every thought Hart had ever had in the course of his life emptying out of his brain and vanishing into thin air.
His feet kept moving, and each step that brought him closer to Mercy made her big brown beautiful eyes go wider and wider behind her glasses, and then he was standing over her, and one thought finally took shape in his brain: I think I want this to be real.”
Another example of this dilution over the course of a meet-cute is in Talia Hibbert’s The Roommate Risk. Here, the MMC is admiring the FMC in a library. He is flustered throughout the observation, but the moment their eyes meet, this is the description:
“Jasmine Allen looked away from the window. She looked right at him. She smirked.
Rahul felt his cheeks heat. He raised a hand self-consciously to his hair, stopped himself, and pulled off his glasses instead. Now she was just a blur, and he couldn’t see the sharp amusement in those dark, dancing eyes. But he could still feel her gaze. Fuck.”
In both examples, the author zooms into the MMC’s voice/thoughts at the end to effectively emphasize the emotional drumbeat of the gaze. In multi-pov or not an in-close third, you might get something more like these sections from J. D. Robb’s Naked In Death:
“He looked straight ahead as the dirge swelled, then without warning, he turned his head, looked five pews back across the aisle and directly into Eve’s eyes.
It was surprise that had her fighting not to jolt at that sudden and unexpected punch of power. It was will that kept her from blinking or shifting her gaze. For one humming minute they stared at each other. Then there was movement, and mourners came between them as they left the church.
When Eve stepped into the aisle to search him out again, he was gone.”
And his reflection on the gaze a few pages later:
“Then he’d sensed something, something that had coiled his muscles, tightened his gut. He’d felt her gaze, as physical as a blow. When he’d turned, when he’d seen her, another blow. A slow motion one-two punch he hadn’t been able to evade.
It was fascinating.”
In these last four excerpts, there is very little in the way of physical movement. There is very little description of the person’s face or facial movements. It’s mostly telling as far as the emotional impact and usually that impact generates the movement (lack of blinking, stomach clenching, fidgeting, etc.) The characters in these samples experience “the moment” but don’t ascribe larger meaning to it or at least not yet. They just know there was woo-woo happening. And it happens SUPER FAST on page. A couple sentences. That’s it.
Observation 3: POV matters. That superfast “click” can become more pronounced if you have first person or close third.
Here’s a very voicey example of that comes from Ali Hazelwood’s Deep End.
“Also, why is he staring at me? Why am I staring back?
I can’t tear my gaze away, and I think it’s because of his eyes. They’re studious. Focused. Dialed in. Preternaturally blue. Somewhere in the Baltic Sea, a cod splashes through a patch of water that precise color, and—
Did Pen tell him about me? Did Pen tell him that she told me about him? Is that why Lukas looks so…I don’t know. Curious? Absorbed? Something.”
The advantage of something like this is it allows the narrator to misinterpret the gaze or to ascribe meaning to physical cues that guesses at the other party’s intention and may be incorrect (see the maggots example from The Bride.) It also brings you along with the narrator’s racing thoughts (or blank thoughts, depending). And yet, even in the FMC’s head, I’m just not sure I’m as steeped in the feels the same way a gaze in a movie makes it happen.
Observation 4: If your character doesn’t feel the power in a gaze that should be meaningful, share what they do notice and/or what meaning they do ascribe, or show us it’s overwhelming or uncomfortable.
For characters who don’t make eye contact or for whom a prolonged gaze either imparts no visceral emotion or imparts too much (and is therefore to be avoided), an author can nevertheless give us either some intellectualized interiority or an avoidance of gaze as an alternative. In Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater, we get several examples of this.
First, the FMC “sees” rather than “gazes.” In other words, she is caught by the picture in front of her rather than the ephemeral phenomenon of the gaze.
“His eyes were even stranger and more arresting up-close, so that Dora ended up staring up into them, appreciating the way that they danced with some faint inner light.
He blinked very slowly and languidly as she looked up at him.
‘I don’t believe you have,’ he said. If Dora wasn’t mistaken, in fact, he was briefly put-out by the fact that she hadn’t jumped into the air and screamed when he’d sneaked up on her.”
And then, a few pages later,
“Dora glanced up at him. Elias was watching her with an arched eyebrow, which confused her. His tone suggested that he was trying to be friendly, but if she wasn’t mistaken, his expression was one of faint disgust—oh.
I’m acting strangely again, Dora thought. She backed away from him quickly.”
In both these sequences, the FMC “sees” the eyes or the quirked eye brow and tries to interpret the emotion behind it in order to assess her own behavior. This is a feature of this neuro-divergent coded character. She approaches most other characters this way–the difference with the MMC comes out more over time. She expresses more curiosity, spends more time with him, likes his eyes, and, occasionally, struggles with the intensity behind his expression.
“Elias glanced down at her as they began, keeping his expression cool. This close, his golden eyes were even more arresting, and Dora found herself staring.”
“Elias came around the bench to stand in front of her. His golden eyes studied her in a penetrating manner, as though he were examining beneath the surface of her skin. Dora closed her arms over her chest, distantly uncomfortable beneath his gaze in a way that she had not been before, even while dressed in her underthings.”
On at least one occasion, she has to force herself to continue meeting his eyes. She sometimes feels the tugs on her heartstrings when he does something admirable-yet-intense to others. When she can’t interpret his expressions, she expresses her confusion or asks what he’s thinking. In her case, it’s only over time that she has physical/emotional symptoms connected to his gaze.
The bad news
I don’t have a prescription for what I consider to be a successful gaze scene. The examples I’ve given just don’t hit me in the feels as hard as the video. And maybe it’s the nature of the gaze to be only interpretable visually. Maybe this is as good as we get. I mean, type in “how to write an intense eye contact scene” and one of the top results is a reddit post that boils down to “don’t.”
Most of the time, advice references movies which is deeply unhelpful when we’re hamstrung by the need to use words to describe the thing that an actor just… does.
When you just focus on the emotional punch, it can read flowery, literary, overly romanticized. See, for example, The Song of Songs: v 9: “You have ravished my heart with one glance of your eyes.” And in Psalm 139: “The Hebrew word for gaze used in this particular passage is chaqar, meaning to see through into one’s innermost being. When the Psalmist cries, “you probe me and you know me” it is recognition that God looks deeply into his heart and understands all that he is.” “St. John’s Spiritual Canticle, illustrates the recognition of being beloved in verses 22-23: ‘And the look in my eyes pierced you. When you gazed at me in return, your eyes impressed their grace upon me. I felt so desired that my eyes were able to adore all they saw within you.’”
But then, if you focus too much on the mechanics, you lose the magic amidst the squints and frowns.
Overall, the consensus seems to be to pair some kind of eye-related movement or change with an accompanying emotion and hope that the pairing you picked evokes the visceral magic in a way that balances the literal with the woo-woo.
Is this free from criticism? Nope. Often, you get combos like “dark eyes radiating intelligence” or “studied with a predator’s unwavering attention.” And the question is always some variation of “how do eyes radiate?” Or “what does it mean that his eyes brightened/darkened/got a feral glint?” And don’t get me started on how which body movements we focus on as writers say as much if not more about our experiences and biases as the “observer/conveyor” as the characters we’re writing about. I don’t have the bandwidth to delve into gazing upon “the gaze” here.
Ultimately, we struggle for words to properly meld what we see–the eye movement–and what we perceive and experience–the emotional punch.
And I have never read anything that punched as hard as the Jin/Akin scene that started me down this path.
Have you? If so, send me your recommendations…
Podcasts: A listical
I started running last year. I hated it at first. The repetitive stomping. The jiggling of fat around elastic waistbands. The constant puffs of breaths. (Yup, my own breath annoyed me. Yeah, I know. I’ve already put it on my Things to Talk to My Therapist About List.) Then, I realized it wasn’t actually the act of running that I hated. I didn’t mind tasting copper at the back of my throat as my lungs bled to keep up with the demand of my quads. I didn’t mind that my knees mimicked mini-maracas when I walked up the stairs after every run. I didn’t even mind the increase in laundry and my pantry chalk-a-block full of Nerds gummies, Liquid IV and Gu. (When you run enough there’s no keeping up with your metabolism. It’s a whole thing.)
What I hated was being alone with my thoughts. In case you haven’t read any of my stuff, my thoughts are far more terrifying than bleeding lungs, bum knees, and increased laundry and grocery bills.
I needed something else to listen to. I got a Libro.Fm account and start listening to books. (Hey, you. Yeah, you. The judgmental reader beetle in the back. Listening to audiobooks is reading. Now, shoo. Go back to your little hole.)
And I also increased my podcast list, a lot. So, I figured I’d take this opportunity to share some of my favorite writing-related podcasts. (All of these can be found on your pod-catcher of choice. None of them as of this blog’s pub date are exclusive to any one entity. Also note: these are in no particular order. I just listed them as I saw them in my podcast app.)
Craft:
1. The Rebel Author:
Publisher: Self-published
I’m new to The Rebel Author, but so far it has been very interesting and motivating. The host, Sacha Black, is incredibly insightful and has great guests on. You’ll get craft tips and tricks, but also some industry knowledge—which is always helpful.
Who is this for: This whole section will be for all writers. So…all writers.
2. The Shit No One Tells You About Writing:
Publisher: Self-published
Anyone who says the phrase “curiosity seeds” probably listens to this podcast. I have a hard time binging this one just because the information is good I feel like I should be taking notes. Some episodes they read query letters that are sent into the pod and break them down—some people have gotten requests from the two agents on the pod, Carly Watters and CeCe Lyra, that way. Other episodes include author, Bianca Marais, interviewing other authors who are pushing their new novels. The entire podcast is incredibly insightful and should be a staple in every writers’ podcast feed. If you don’t take any of my other recommendations, take this one.
Who is this for? Do you write? Yes? Then this is for you.
3. Writers Who Read:
Publisher: Self-published
This one has a bookclub vibe that I really love. At the beginning of every month, they’ll announce what book they’re going to read. Then a few weeks later, they chat about it and record the chat. Because this podcast is hosted by Mira Landry, Gary Alan McBride, Whitney Pinion, and the occasional guest reader—all involved in the literary industry one way or another—we get the inside scoop on what’s working and what isn’t working on some of the newest books. They only cover books that have been published in the past two years and their insights are incredibly poignant.
Who is this for? Everyone.
Bonus: Another really fun book club-type podcast is Judging More Than Just the Cover’s Book Club Podcast. Is it put on by my friend and critique partner, Kate Ota and a few of her friends. They’re funny. They’re smart. And they’ll cover pretty much anything. Love a solid podcast that will discuss any and all genres.
Publisher: Content Hospital
It’s the Content Hospital podcast. There’s only one episode. We talk about all things spice with Darcy McGuire . It’s fantastic. Don’t forget to like and subscribe!
Publisher: Self-published
Full disclosure: I haven’t listened to this one yet, but pretty much everyone on the r/writing subreddit said it was great. Each episode is no more than 35 minutes long, super short for a podcast. With hosts like Dan Wells, DongWon Song, Howard Taylor, Mary Robinette Kowal, and Erin Roberts, I’m not sure how it could be anything but fantastic.
Who is this for? Apparently all authors who want to hone their craft a bit more.
Bonus: I don’t care what Gen Z says, Youtube videos are not podcasts. (Don’t @ me.) However, Brandon Sanderson has an amazing craft course that’s entirely free on Youtube that every single Spec Fic writer should watch.
Speculative Fiction:
Publisher: The Rusty Quill
This list will be a mix of craft spec fic podcasts and just good old fashioned serialized audio drama. First up: The Magnus Archives. I’m just going to quote what the website says, because they say it best, “A weekly horror fiction anthology podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organi[z]ation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird.
This podcast is truly terrifying. The production value is also quite god. If you’re new to this pod, I suggest at least starting at ep 1 of the Magnus Archives. You can start by listening to The Magnus Protocol if you’d like even more context, but it’s not necessary. They’re both very good and a masterclass in tension.
Who is this for? Horror writers. Dark fantasy writers. Grimdark writers. And honestly, anyone interested in cyber punk, government cover-up weirdness. If I say anymore it’ll give it away, but yeah. Very good. It is scary, so if that’s not your jam this isn’t for you. But the tension is truly fantastic, if you don’t mind a little scare here and there.
2. Run, Fool!:
Publisher: Ballen Studios | Campside Media | At-Will Media
Rodney Barnes is a screen writer turned podcast writer. He hosts each episode which is its own little one-off story. (Some episodes have two or three parts, but it’s rare.) He covers cryptids, indigenous horror, cult horror, religious horror, folk horror, etc. And his stories do not shy away from the gruesome. Consider this your content warning! And let me know when you get to the episode with the disembodied heads. That one has lived in my brain rent-free all week.
He has this really lackadaisical style of story telling. Before you know it, the story has grabbed you by the ankles and is dragging you to Hell. It’s a rare gift and perfect for a horror podcast.
Who is the for? Horror writers or anyone curious about writing horror.
3. Talking Scared:
Publisher: Self-published
This one is an absolute must for horror writers. Horror enthusiast and author, Neil McRobert, interviews some of the biggest names in horror today throughout each episode. They discuss each authors’ upcoming book, and what drove them to write it. It’s the latter part of this that really pulled me in. I know why I like horror. But I’m always fascinated by what drives others to such a dark subject, and why some people would rather dig in the dark to find the light.
Who is this for? Horror writers or those looking to add to their TBR list.
4. The White Vault:
Publisher: Fool and Scholar Production
Another good ole’ fashioned audio drama, The White Vault, has several seasons. I jumped in on the newest season, Goshawk. Honestly, the phrase “emotional rollercoaster” doesn’t do this one justice. Set in the snowy wilderness of Maine, we follow the story of photo-journalist, Iffy, and her boyfriend, Jean. And it uh… Well, it doesn’t go well for either one of them.
I haven’t listened to the other seasons yet, but if they’re as good as Goshawk then is podcast is definitely one to binge.
Who is this for? Horror writers or those interested in very intense audio dramas.
5. SFF Addicts:
Publisher: Self-published
Author Adrian M. Gibson, Greta Kelly, and M. J. Kuhn take turns interviewing some of the biggest authors in Sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. Not only do they interview each author, but some episodes include master classes that are a plethora of amazing information on things such as world building, incorporating grief into your story, and finding your story’s emotional core. They also publish panels from a vast variety of cons. These episodes can be very long. So you might have to listen to them in chunks—and honestly they’re typically full of so much good info that you might want to do that anyway. Worth every minute.
Who is this for? All speculative fiction writers.
Non-fiction:
1. Noble Blood:
iHeart Podcasts | Grim & Mild
Author of Anatomy: A Love Story and Immortality: A Love Story, Dana Schwartz, does a deep dive into some of the most fascinating stories about royals all over the world and throughout history. I especially love this podcast because Dana is an excellent story-teller, but also she covers those who are otherwise not in the (American) history books.
Who is this for? History nerds. (Yeah, I see you standing there in the corner by the punch bowl. You wallflower, you.) Authors of historical fiction, obviously. This could also be really useful for second-world spec fic authors looking for plot ideas. If George R. R. Martin can use the War of Roses as plot inspiration for A Song of Ice and Fire, you can use the 6th-century rivalry between queen Brunhild and Fredegund as the basis for your next sapphic romantasy. (Oh my god, someone please write that book.)
2. Buried Bones:
iHeart Podcasts | Exactly Right Network
Historical true crime author, Kate Winkler Dawson, and retired cold case investigator, Paul Holes, break down some of history’s real-life murder mysteries “from a 21st Century lens.” Kate is an amazing journalist and researcher and presents the stories every week in a who-dun-it format. Paul does his damnedest to try to figure out who the murderer(s) were with extremely limited evidence and decades of experience. I find it really entertaining to see if Paul and I come to the same conclusion.
Who is this for? Anyone who likes True Crime, honestly, but it’s really helpful if there’s a crime scene in your book. Paul’s insight into how to read a crime scene is invaluable.
3. MrBallen’s Medical Mysteries:
Publisher: Wondery | MrBallen Studios
Former Navy SEAL, Jonathan Bartlett Allen (AKA: MrBallen), hosts a podcast all about the terrors that live within us. Every week, you’ll hear a new horrifying medical story that will make you second guess your life choices. I have personally found a lot of inspiration from this podcast. To me, there are few things less terrifying than not being in control of your own body. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll put that Therapy List, too.) MrBallen tells his stories in such a way that I’m trying to solve the medical mystery by the end of the episode. I’m not sure if he realizes this or not, but it also shines a light on how frequently women, specifically, are gaslit by the American medical industry—which I know is well know, but it’s still an extremely prevalent theme throughout his stories.
Who is this for? Horror writers looking for an idea, for sure. But really anyone curious about medical history or those that want to weave a mysterious illness into their story for whatever reason.
Bonus: He has another podcast called, Strange, Dark, & Mysterious. I haven’t listened to it yet, but it was actually the first one he came out with. Medical Mysteries is a spin-off. Strange, Dark, & Mysterious is probably just as good.
Publisher: iHeart Podcasts | The Exactly Right Network
Probably the most famous of all the podcasts I’ll mention on this list, Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark are the Godmothers of the True Crime podcast world. They’re hysterical. They’re poignant. And they vulnerable in every single episode. They also focus on the victims of each crime rather than the murderers, which is a huge plus, and they’re not afraid to admit when they’ve made a mistake.
Who is this for? Again, anyone looking for insane plot idea and fans of True Crime and historical non-fiction. I can definitely see some of these stories being the basis for historical fiction murder mystery as well.
5. Wicked Words
Publisher: iHeart Podcasts | The Exactly Right Network
Another Kate Winkler Dawson joint, this podcast interviews authors of true crime novels. This is another source of inspiration for me for both my TBR list and for plot ideas. Some of the stories covered on this podcast are absolutely insane. It’s also incredibly interesting to hear other authors discus their journeys.
Who is this for? Writers of thrillers and murder mysteries for sure. But again, this is just good plot idea material. Much like everything else in this category, these concepts can be used in pretty much any genre.
Comedy:
Publisher: Self-published
Jamie Morton’s father wrote an erotic novel. Several, actually. And they are all objectively terrible. Jamie and his two friends, Alice and James, read the books chapter by chapter together and break down each scene. Turns out, Jamie’s father knows extraordinarily little about female anatomy, which is both hysterical and concerning—mostly for Jamie’s mother.
Who is this for? Honestly? Everyone. But it’s actually a great example of what not to do. Or how to fail so epically that you become a huge success.
Publisher: MaxFun Network
Put on by my favorite comedy family, The McElroy’s, The Adventure Zone, is a rotating Dungeons and Dragons podcast. Three brothers, Justin, Travis, and Griffin, play DnD with their dad and take turns as game master by season. It’s hysterical and the writing is fucking phenomenal. (Start with the first season, it is objectively the best and they have a graphic novel series out for it. Listen to Amnesty next.)
Who is this for? Fantasy nerds. Comedy nerds. All nerds, really. As for writers: It’s actually a great study in character development. The boys do their damnedest to make decisions based on how they’ve built their character and it’s actually really interesting to get their take on how they came to those decisions. Those who aren’t game master have one job: be true to their character. It’s the game master’s job to figure out what to do with those decision within the confines of the story he built. (I know this is classic DnD, but they do it very well.) Griffin is also an amazing story teller as game master and I truly don’t understand how he manages to balance chaos, comedy, and plot so well.
3. Finding Drago:
Publisher: ABC Listen
There are only two seasons of this podcast: Finding Drago and Finding Desperado. If you only listen to one, listen to Finding Drago. Australian comedians, Alexei Toliopoulos and Cameron James, discover an odd footnote on the Rocky IV Wikipedia page: someone has indie-published a book about Rocky’s arch rival, Ivan Drago. Together they hunt down the book and the author. There are twists. There are turns. There’s weirdly an insane amount of tension. And yes, it’s absolutely hysterical.
The second season, Finding Desperado, is also very interesting. (I, personally, just enjoyed the first one a bit more.) Throughout the second season, Alexei tries to solve the mystery of a 2005 Guinness Book of World Records held by an “elusive European aristocrat.” Is the record fake? Is it real? Is Desperado even an actual person? I’m honestly still not 100% sold.
Who is this for? I think most writers would appreciate this one. The way this story unfolds is actually told in the vein of Serial. It’s taken very seriously—until it’s not. The way they manage to keep tension in a comedy podcast about a silly book is actually really interesting and could be applied to most genres.
That’s a metric shit ton of podcasts. Happy listening!
…about the value of specific praise
In my day job, whenever I write a motion or a brief, I’m totally ready to have it ripped apart. First up, my colleagues–the damn thing comes back covered in “track changes” and comments. Once it’s gone through that crucible, it goes to opposing counsel and, oh boy, do they EVER tear it apart in their own brief. And once that’s done, the Judge takes over: they skewer your every weakness on oral argument, and then (usually) issue decisive judgment on the merits of your argument in their written order.
On the plus side, I’m used to it. You start prepping for this kind of negative feedback as soon as you step into law school. The Socratic Method does work–by having someone directly questioning you about your position, you learn how best to defend your argument. But when you get to practice, shit gets real. Are lawyers assholes? Yes. Intentionally? Sometimes. The reality is that our system is adversarial–it forces us into opposing corners in the hopes that “truth” or “the right answer” emerges when the two sides collide. It’s an erudite trial-by-combat.
So why am I talking about this? Because somewhere along the line, I decided that I wanted to be a writer. A fantasy genre fiction writer. Writing the kinds of escapist adventure stories I loved to dive into because the real world (as evidenced by my day job) is full of depressing, angry, harsh realities.
It’s a different skill set. And, in order to get better at this skill set, I took classes, practiced, and, most importantly, got myself a cadre of amazing critique and writing partners. And you’d think that being a lawyer used to giving and receiving criticism, I’d have it down.
Nah.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do think that my contributions to my groups have added value to the group and to the work product of my peers. Their contributions are patently visible in the quality jump in my books and without them, I’m not sure I’d be agented today. I was pretty sure that I was giving as good as I was getting.
Until I read this blog post advocating for the power of specific praise when giving critique. Written by Kaitlin Schmidt. One of my Content Hospital co-founders and an incredibly valuable critique partner. Who, at the time of this blog post, I’d been in a critique group with for a year. One. Whole. Year. Whose critique I had VALUED for one whole year.
It rocked me. And the more I thought about it, the more it rocked me. Why? I mean, I’d been a teacher before–we’ve all been conditioned to make corrections in a “praise-correct-praise” cycle. And, yeah, lawyer=asshole, so I’ve also been conditioned to look for the weaknesses in someone’s work and dig... But that wasn’t it, or not only it.
After sitting with it, I realized two things made me uncomfortable. First, I didn’t have an eye for finding the good. That muscle had atrophied while I developed my “weakness-finder” eye. Second, I’m the product of the Eastern European school of thought: Nothing’s ever going to be perfect, so just tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it. The good isn’t really important to acknowledge.
I know there’s therapy for that. I’m there.
So, for the last two months, I’ve been actively trying to apply the Kaitlin method to my creative writing critique groups. (The lawyers are a lost cause…) And here’s what I noticed.
I’m getting better at seeing good writing.
I know that sounds dumb, but the truth is if you ask writers what makes good writing, you’ll get a million different answers that when condensed generally comes down to “vibes.” By way of an analogy that lawyers would recognize, in 1964, the Supreme Court was asked to rule on an obscenity case. Justice Stewart famously explained that he could not define "hard-core" pornography with a set of rules or a test, but “he knew it when he saw it.” Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, (1964).
You know that you like something when you read it. But why? Is it perfect grammar? Punctuation? How it makes you feel? Voice? Prose? When you force yourself to focus on those portions of writing that give you the “yum,” you start to see how each of those elements come together to give you that lovely bit of dopamine. It’s not an overnight process. Sometimes, especially early on, I could only tell the author that I got the “yum” but not why. But with practice, or the more I looked at it, I could really point out something that specifically contributed to that “yum.” I’ve praised sentence structure, voice, imagery, evocative language, smooth foreshadowing, you name it. Sometimes it’s one sentence, sometimes it’s the whole damn section. But the longer I work on this, the more I know how to look for it.
And it’s not limited to my critique group work. It’s adding a layer to my critical reading skills for published works. Since “Reading is Fundamental” (thanks RuPaul), being able to pinpoint “yummy” writing that speaks to me means that I can better articulate what I appreciate reading. Which then means that I can practice that skill and grow as a writer.
Recipients of specific praise write better.
If this sounds like EXACTLY Kaitlin’s point in her blog post, it’s because it is. There. I said it. She’s right. Pointing out the stuff that’s working (and why it’s working) tells an author what they need to keep doing. Kaitlin gives a concrete example in her post, so I’ll follow suit. One of my writing partners feels she struggles with capturing and distinguishing her characters’ voices. She’s said she can’t tell when narration is in character or feels contrived. She’s been saying that for months. How stupid do you think I felt when I realized I’d never once pointed out where she’d done it perfectly? In the last few months–since implementing Kaitlin’s methods–I’ve noticed both her first draft and her subsequent edits have gotten so much stronger because she’s nailing that character voice more often.
But the other benefit I’ve seen is that recipients of specific praise write MORE. Or at least don’t quit. And if you think this is a question of “snowflake writers getting their sensitive feelings hurt,” it’s not. Or at least not entirely.
Don’t get me wrong, praise doesn’t hurt. But I’m desensitized to negative feedback courtesy of lawyering: I get a twinge of “aww” when I get criticism, and then I focus on fixing the issue. But what I never put together until I sat with Kaitlin’s post was that I’ve internalized that negative voice. I struggle to put creative words to paper. I demand perfection of myself even though I KNOW that I can’t attain it, and I certainly can’t attain it on a first draft. I love editing. My words definitely word when I’m editing. But I hate that first draft because I struggle so much to commit words to that damn blank page. I am self-editing–or worse, self-censoring–because I focus only on the “ick.” I can’t get over it and just write.
What if we take that to the extreme? What if we get to a point where we writers-block ourselves? What if we get so discouraged we stop writing? What if my own brand of asshole-direct-passionate-tactless-focus-on-only-the-bad critique led someone to doubt themselves? To stop trying? What if someone has internalized me–the lawyer=asshole? I don’t mind making opposing counsel want to quit their jobs, but I never want to be a part of the reason someone quits a writing group or bows out of creative writing. I hate what I’ve done to myself–why would I want someone else to suffer like me?
So, I wondered if it would change if there was equal air-time given to the positives. I still struggle to get words on page (don’t ask me about bison). But, if I focus on my strength for writing dialogue/banter, I write more. It’s like I need that skeleton, because then I can go back and pad it out with action/dialogue tags, setting, movement, and better prose. And I do that FASTER, because I’m more comfortable with editing than the initial drafting. It’s like I’ve hacked my system: if I circumvent my inner asshole by focusing on something I’ve been told I do well, I don’t stop writing.
And what about my writing groups? Well, I know that at least one of my partners has felt beat down by critique before. In one case, it got to the point that they took a hiatus from writing and weren’t sure they would come back. I can’t draw a direct correlation between the implementation of specific positive praise and their return/renewed participation, but I’m pretty sure that they haven’t walked out of a group meeting feeling beaten down since. It’s made the whole experience of receiving critique so much better.
Knowing what I know now, it’s hard not to feel guilty that I wasn’t doing this to begin with. Yeah, maybe I gave praise, but it was generic and probably felt disingenuous when I spent the rest of my time pointing out all the things that didn’t work for me. And I’m not shy about expressing my opinions, so it probably felt like a full on cross-examination. It’s hard knowing that my failure to give equal time to the positives in writing has sabotaged me and may have sabotaged others.
All I can say is that I’m grateful for Kaitlin’s insight and the discussions we’ve had about her methods. Kaitlin’s critiques are always amazing–whether constructive or praise, she nails them every time. No wonder she does it professionally.
I don’t think I’ll get to her level, but I owe it to my writing partners and to myself to keep trying. One piece of specific praise at a time.
In my day job, whenever I write a motion or a brief, I’m totally ready to have it ripped apart. First up, my colleagues–the damn thing comes back covered in “track changes” and comments. Once it’s gone through that crucible, it goes to opposing counsel and, oh boy, do they EVER tear it apart in their own brief. And once that’s done, the Judge takes over: they skewer your every weakness on oral argument, and then (usually) issue decisive judgment on the merits of your argument in their written order.
On the plus side, I’m used to it. You start prepping for this kind of negative feedback as soon as you step into law school. The Socratic Method does work–by having someone directly questioning you about your position, you learn how best to defend your argument. But when you get to practice, shit gets real. Are lawyers assholes? Yes. Intentionally? Sometimes. The reality is that our system is adversarial–it forces us into opposing corners in the hopes that “truth” or “the right answer” emerges when the two sides collide. It’s an erudite trial-by-combat.
So why am I talking about this? Because somewhere along the line, I decided that I wanted to be a writer. A fantasy genre fiction writer. Writing the kinds of escapist adventure stories I loved to dive into because the real world (as evidenced by my day job) is full of depressing, angry, harsh realities.
It’s a different skill set. And, in order to get better at this skill set, I took classes, practiced, and, most importantly, got myself a cadre of amazing critique and writing partners. And you’d think that being a lawyer used to giving and receiving criticism, I’d have it down.
Nah.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do think that my contributions to my groups have added value to the group and to the work product of my peers. Their contributions are patently visible in the quality jump in my books and without them, I’m not sure I’d be agented today. I was pretty sure that I was giving as good as I was getting.
Until I read this blog post advocating for the power of specific praise when giving critique. Written by Kaitlin Schmidt. One of my Content Hospital co-founders and an incredibly valuable critique partner. Who, at the time of this blog post, I’d been in a critique group with for a year. One. Whole. Year. Whose critique I had VALUED for one whole year.
It rocked me. And the more I thought about it, the more it rocked me. Why? I mean, I’d been a teacher before–we’ve all been conditioned to make corrections in a “praise-correct-praise” cycle. And, yeah, lawyer=asshole, so I’ve also been conditioned to look for the weaknesses in someone’s work and dig... But that wasn’t it, or not only it.
After sitting with it, I realized two things made me uncomfortable. First, I didn’t have an eye for finding the good. That muscle had atrophied while I developed my “weakness-finder” eye. Second, I’m the product of the Eastern European school of thought: Nothing’s ever going to be perfect, so just tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it. The good isn’t really important to acknowledge.
I know there’s therapy for that. I’m there.
So, for the last two months, I’ve been actively trying to apply the Kaitlin method to my creative writing critique groups. (The lawyers are a lost cause…) And here’s what I noticed.
I’m getting better at seeing good writing.
I know that sounds dumb, but the truth is if you ask writers what makes good writing, you’ll get a million different answers that when condensed generally comes down to “vibes.” By way of an analogy that lawyers would recognize, in 1964, the Supreme Court was asked to rule on an obscenity case. Justice Stewart famously explained that he could not define "hard-core" pornography with a set of rules or a test, but “he knew it when he saw it.” Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, (1964).
You know that you like something when you read it. But why? Is it perfect grammar? Punctuation? How it makes you feel? Voice? Prose? When you force yourself to focus on those portions of writing that give you the “yum,” you start to see how each of those elements come together to give you that lovely bit of dopamine. It’s not an overnight process. Sometimes, especially early on, I could only tell the author that I got the “yum” but not why. But with practice, or the more I looked at it, I could really point out something that specifically contributed to that “yum.” I’ve praised sentence structure, voice, imagery, evocative language, smooth foreshadowing, you name it. Sometimes it’s one sentence, sometimes it’s the whole damn section. But the longer I work on this, the more I know how to look for it.
And it’s not limited to my critique group work. It’s adding a layer to my critical reading skills for published works. Since “Reading is Fundamental” (thanks RuPaul), being able to pinpoint “yummy” writing that speaks to me means that I can better articulate what I appreciate reading. Which then means that I can practice that skill and grow as a writer.
Recipients of specific praise write better.
If this sounds like EXACTLY Kaitlin’s point in her blog post, it’s because it is. There. I said it. She’s right. Pointing out the stuff that’s working (and why it’s working) tells an author what they need to keep doing. Kaitlin gives a concrete example in her post, so I’ll follow suit. One of my writing partners feels she struggles with capturing and distinguishing her characters’ voices. She’s said she can’t tell when narration is in character or feels contrived. She’s been saying that for months. How stupid do you think I felt when I realized I’d never once pointed out where she’d done it perfectly? In the last few months–since implementing Kaitlin’s methods–I’ve noticed both her first draft and her subsequent edits have gotten so much stronger because she’s nailing that character voice more often.
But the other benefit I’ve seen is that recipients of specific praise write MORE. Or at least don’t quit. And if you think this is a question of “snowflake writers getting their sensitive feelings hurt,” it’s not. Or at least not entirely.
Don’t get me wrong, praise doesn’t hurt. But I’m desensitized to negative feedback courtesy of lawyering: I get a twinge of “aww” when I get criticism, and then I focus on fixing the issue. But what I never put together until I sat with Kaitlin’s post was that I’ve internalized that negative voice. I struggle to put creative words to paper. I demand perfection of myself even though I KNOW that I can’t attain it, and I certainly can’t attain it on a first draft. I love editing. My words definitely word when I’m editing. But I hate that first draft because I struggle so much to commit words to that damn blank page. I am self-editing–or worse, self-censoring–because I focus only on the “ick.” I can’t get over it and just write.
What if we take that to the extreme? What if we get to a point where we writers-block ourselves? What if we get so discouraged we stop writing? What if my own brand of asshole-direct-passionate-tactless-focus-on-only-the-bad critique led someone to doubt themselves? To stop trying? What if someone has internalized me–the lawyer=asshole? I don’t mind making opposing counsel want to quit their jobs, but I never want to be a part of the reason someone quits a writing group or bows out of creative writing. I hate what I’ve done to myself–why would I want someone else to suffer like me?
So, I wondered if it would change if there was equal air-time given to the positives. I still struggle to get words on page (don’t ask me about bison). But, if I focus on my strength for writing dialogue/banter, I write more. It’s like I need that skeleton, because then I can go back and pad it out with action/dialogue tags, setting, movement, and better prose. And I do that FASTER, because I’m more comfortable with editing than the initial drafting. It’s like I’ve hacked my system: if I circumvent my inner asshole by focusing on something I’ve been told I do well, I don’t stop writing.
And what about my writing groups? Well, I know that at least one of my partners has felt beat down by critique before. In one case, it got to the point that they took a hiatus from writing and weren’t sure they would come back. I can’t draw a direct correlation between the implementation of specific positive praise and their return/renewed participation, but I’m pretty sure that they haven’t walked out of a group meeting feeling beaten down since. It’s made the whole experience of receiving critique so much better.
Knowing what I know now, it’s hard not to feel guilty that I wasn’t doing this to begin with. Yeah, maybe I gave praise, but it was generic and probably felt disingenuous when I spent the rest of my time pointing out all the things that didn’t work for me. And I’m not shy about expressing my opinions, so it probably felt like a full on cross-examination. It’s hard knowing that my failure to give equal time to the positives in writing has sabotaged me and may have sabotaged others.
All I can say is that I’m grateful for Kaitlin’s insight and the discussions we’ve had about her methods. Kaitlin’s critiques are always amazing–whether constructive or praise, she nails them every time. No wonder she does it professionally.
I don’t think I’ll get to her level, but I owe it to my writing partners and to myself to keep trying. One piece of specific praise at a time.
Just Give It To Me Straight
When exchanging feedback with other writers, have you ever heard things like:
Don’t coddle me
I don’t need you to be nice
Skip the fluff, I’ve got thick skin
Just give it to me straight
I’ve heard many variations on these statements, and it signals a significant misunderstanding of the purpose of praise between writers; namely, that praise is nothing more than fluff, an accommodation for sensitive writers who need the blow of critiques to be softened by flattery. It even implies that when the writers saying these things receive praise, they automatically believe it to be dishonest, which reveals three sad possibilities about how they’re thinking about praise: they may be highly self-critical of their own writing, the praise they give to others may be dishonest, and/or they may have become embittered by receiving token praise in the past.
On the other hand, maybe you’re in a critique group that values positive feedback, but it’s not usually substantial. The positive portion of the feedback might be something along the lines of “I loved the overall story” while the critique portion might be detailed multi-sentence explanations attached to specific passages. I myself have given feedback like this, and I was well-intentioned. But when praise is tacked on as only an introduction to detailed critique, it can feel like the fluff those cynical writers are talking about.
While I argue in favor of praise between writers, I don’t mean just any kind of praise—I mean specific praise, honest praise, and praise without agenda. Dishonest, vague, and/or controlling praise can be ineffective and, in some cases, even detrimental. This post will only cover specific praise, but stay tuned for Part 2 to learn about the other two aspects.
Specific Praise Is a Mirror
An important goal of critique is to hold up a mirror to the writer so they can evaluate the needs of their work in an informed way before revising. And in my opinion, critique that includes positive feedback is a more accurate mirror than solely negative critique.
My perspective on specific praise comes directly from my time as a high school English teacher. In my master’s program, I read research showing how important specific praise is for students. For example, Chalk and Bizo conclude this in a 2004 study of fourth graders titled Specific Praise Improves On-Task Behavior and Numeracy Enjoyment:
When praise is specific it carries with it more information than a purely positive remark, and thus affords pupils more control of their learning. We argue that specific praise is more effective at promoting the behaviour it reinforces because it makes the contingency between behaviour and praise more explicit.
In other words, specific praise is effective at reinforcing behaviors because it makes it clear what behavior the praise is actually connected to—AKA, it’s a more accurate mirror, so the recipient is better informed as to what they did well.
When I applied this strategy with teenage students, I was blown away by how it helped them grow. Once I told a student, “I heard you cite your classmate’s point when you made your argument. It really helped me connect the dots between your ideas.” Not only did they light up, but they started citing their classmates more frequently during other lessons, without being asked to do so, and reinforced their own good speaking and listening habits.
When I’ve applied the same strategy with adult writers, I’ve not only been told that my feedback is motivating and useful, but I’ve seen writing strengthen between drafts. I don’t think we grow out of this human need for positive reflection just because we grow up.
Specific Praise Between Writers
In a writing context, specific positive feedback tells us what to keep, and what to keep doing. When someone praises my writing with specificity, it tells me that something is working, and I should keep it and build on it. For me, sometimes no news means bad news; if I get radio silence on a large section of writing, I might assume it’s not doing what I wanted it to and start changing and deleting. Hearing detailed description of why something works, on the other hand, allows me to:
Set aside that part of my book as effective and stop wondering if it’s landing
Use the information about how that part of my book is landing to inform the writing that comes next
Understand why my writing is working so I can replicate it in the future
What I mean by that last bullet point is that specific praise can reinforce good writing habits beyond the text at hand. When I’m told that something in my writing is working, I am more likely to do that type of writing again elsewhere in the manuscript—and in my writing life in general. I told a client once that a section of banter between their MC and love interest was funny and filled with chemistry. They were shocked and confessed they never expected they’d be able to write banter. And guess what? The next story I read from them had even more banter, and it was even better. Holding up a mirror to what was working wasn’t about stroking the author’s ego; rather, it helped them make more informed writing choices.
How to Give Specific Praise
The reason specific praise is harder than critique is because we’re geared to see the negatives first. The irony is that the easier and faster a section of writing is to read, the harder and longer the writer probably worked on it!
So, if you’re critiquing and go silent in your notes for a while, that might be a sign the writer is doing something well. That means that in order to give specific praise, a key step is going back. Here’s a full breakdown of my strategy:
Negatives. Take notes on the negatives like normal. Those are still important!
Go Back & Identify Feelings. Now that you’ve gotten the negatives out of your system, go back to the sections you breezed through. Ask yourself what you felt while you read (excitement, fear, surprise, arousal, wanting to yell at a character for the choices they’re making…).
Name the Source of the Feeling. When you identify a feeling, pause. See if you can name what the writer did to evoke that feeling. Put your findings in your notes to the best of your ability.
Reverse the Order in Delivery. Consider reversing the order of your feedback when you actually deliver it, digitally* or verbally. The writer never has to know the order you wrote it in, and the fact is, some of us (me) ARE sensitive, and praise DOES soften the blow of critique when it comes first. Is that so terrible? If it’s honest and stated separately from the critique, it can be both practical and kind.
*If you’re leaving comments in google docs, the timestamps don’t actually detract from the praise. ;)
One of my writing partners suggested a clever alternate strategy, so if the above doesn’t resonate with you, consider trying this instead:
Go Back & Search for Contrast. Ask what your critiques are standing in contrast to. Sometimes the negatives pop out so much because they come right after writing that’s working; for example, I’m more likely to notice a section with talking heads if the section right before it is filled with rich imagery and action. So try naming the good stuff the writer was doing before they stopped doing it.
Examples of Specific Praise
Naming why writing works can be tricky if you haven’t had a lot of formal training. Over time you can apply more vocabulary (“prose,” “dialogue,” “pacing,” “characterization,” etc.), but even if those words don’t feel available to you in the moment, an honest attempt to describe why something worked for you is better than limiting your feedback out of fear of not sounding like a Real Writer. I’ve gotten some truly excellent feedback from untrained beta readers who simply have a healthy trust of their feelings and are creative in how they explain them.
That being said, if you’re not sure where to start, take a look at some examples of descriptive positive feedback I’ve given writing partners or clients:
This made me chuckle. Good characterization through the whistling and jokey dialogue
Nice development―there’s now a small mystery as to what so-and-so is actually doing here, which pulls the story forward as the reader wants to find the answer
The way you write this story (the minimalist conversations broken up by periods of silence) FEELS quiet. It’s overall so well done. The omniscient perspective holds us at a distance from both characters as well, which contributes to that quietness
Nice characterization here—hint of hypervigilance
You weave in backstory so efficiently and seamlessly here!
You immediately give sensory details when we’re taken to this new setting. It oriented me so naturally I barely realized it at first!
That tone of foreboding again! Yessss
This choice of sensory detail not only immerses me in the character’s experience, but it tells me so-and-so is really focused on flaws, so it’s developing their characterization, too
It doesn’t always take much! If you have the energy, a longer analysis of what’s working can be so useful to the writer. But if it’s the final hour before your critique group starts and you’re busting through the last submission (what? I’ve never done that, shhhh) then consider the following options:
A Love this-style comment (or even an emoji) on a particular line or paragraph still narrows down what’s working more than a general “good job” at the end of the document
A slightly expanded comment (for example, Love the character’s miffed tone here) gives the writer more targeted information to help them figure out what made that section work
Even small changes like that can create a more accurate and useful mirror for the author. Instead of feeling like you have to become an expert at specific praise right away, add just a touch more specificity here and there the next time you exchange critiques with someone. The feedback you’ll get ON your feedback might blow you away and create a delicious cycle of productive praise.
Just Give It To Them Straight
I can’t tell you how much I have never regretted taking the time to give specific praise. I believe “just giving it to a writer straight” should include what’s working—that’s almost certainly a more straight picture of the writer’s piece than highlighting only the negatives and ignoring the positives.
Plus, think of the long game. Your efforts could be the first step toward cultivating a culture of specific praise between you and your writing partners. I have built long-lasting writing relationships because of how much trust this kind of communication builds. Consider putting this kind of energy out there, then see what comes back to you.
You might even find yourself applying this strategy in other contexts. Think about how much it would mean to a romantic partner or friend to hear not just that you like them, but specifically something you saw them do that you like about them. In his excellent book Not Light, But Fire, educator Matthew R. Kay discusses the use of detailed compliments to build trust between students, and at one point he writes something that applies far beyond the classroom:
The need to feel appreciated is human, as is the desire to be celebrated for one’s contributions. I tell students after introducing the activity, “That person you are thinking about, right now. Yes, that person. They are sitting there hoping that someone says something nice about them right now. Ignore their averted eyes, and know that any cool-kid smirks are fraudulent. They want to hear what you have to say.”
Like I said earlier, I don’t think we grow out of the human need for positive reflection just because we grow up. So let’s give it to each other straight and say some descriptive positives.
Next Up: Honest Praise Without Agenda
Next time, I’ll discuss the benefits of praise between writers being honest and without agenda. Stay tuned for Part 2!
Concerning new year’s resolutions
New Year’s is my favorite holiday. I love goals and lists and spreadsheets and numbers, and I love seeing what I can do if I keep practicing. Every year, I set 3–5 resolutions, and usually at least one of them is related to writing.
This year, that one went well.
The best resolutions are typed furiously into one’s phone notes while avoiding sleep.
This looks like an outcome-based goal—and not even a particularly measurable one—but there’s a process goal embedded within it. I knew this goal would require writing more than one story. I also knew that, to find out whether my stories were anything like “excellent,” I would have to subject them to the scrutiny of people who judge such things.
2024, by the numbers:
New stories completed: 24
Submissions to contests and magazines: 112
Rejections (so far): 59
In pursuit of my resolution, I wrote, and I learned, and I put myself out there, and I received a great deal of polite rejection notes. Like many short story writers, I track and celebrate rejections, but every single one of them does sting.
But . . . I also won two short story contests with substantial prizes: NYC Midnight and Writing Battle. I’m proud of these successes. I love fiction, and I’ve been writing fiction all my life, and I’ve never received public acknowledgement for it before.
So why now?
It was in no way obvious to me why I had this result. Why this year, after a couple decades of writing? Why those two particular stories, when so many others got tossed directly in the round file?
My favorite story that I wrote this year still sits unpublished on my hard drive, having been sent off to twelve contests or magazines and counting, with its greatest accomplishment being an oh-so-slightly personalized rejection note from Apex Magazine.
I will be living off those nine extra words after “Unfortunately” for the foreseeable future.
The people who judge contests and run magazines like some of my words (which is wonderful), but they don’t like most of them. Not even the ones I think are best. Worst of all, I don’t know why, which means I don’t know why I succeeded at my resolution.
More facts and figures:
Total words written, across all projects: 285,065
Average words per day: 781
I think that’s a lot of words? Some of my writer friends tell me that is a lot of words. Still, it’s fewer than I wrote while focusing on novels in 2023 (748k) or in 2022 (records fuzzy, but similar to ’23).
So. The numbers say that the people who judge contests and run magazines like a very tiny minority of my words. The “why” of my successful resolution is still uncertain, but the “how” is starting to look a little clearer.
For me, it’s a numbers game.
I need to write a whole lot of words to eke out a few good ones.
This isn’t true for everyone. I’m privileged to know a few exceptional, award-winning authors who call themselves “under-writers,” who draft lean and then painstakingly fill out their stories in editing.
Could never be me.
Personally, I achieve concision only after backspacing through enormous swathes of hard work. I have never known how to just do it slowly and correctly the first time. Maybe you do! Maybe you’re an under-writer, and the reflection I’m doing here will not benefit you at all. Please take note of the law of equal and opposite advice, and listen to or ignore me accordingly.
What’s next?
I haven’t made a specific writing-related resolution for 2025 yet. I’m waiting to see if I get into a few different programs:
Still, I feel confident that regardless of whether these particular paths work out for me, my high-level plan is clear. When a strategy works, you should seriously consider simply doing it more.
In 2025, I intend to write more words and show them to more people.
What will you do this year?
I went to 3 conferences in 2 months. Here’s 5 things that I learned.
Why 5? Because 3 + 2 = 5. Logic. Duh.
I’ll go ahead and answer your questions up front. Yes, I am still tired.
No, I’m not crazy. At least, the voices in my head say I’m not, but you can’t really trust those guys.
I went to Killer Nashville in Franklin, Tennessee; the PNWA Conference in Seattle, Washington; and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Conference in Aurora, Colorado.
Get ready to be tip slapped.
1. Bring Snacks
Most of these conferences are in hotels that are in the middle of nowhere. You won’t leave those hotels unless you drove to said hotel or rented a car. And honestly, even if you have a car, you’ll be so busy with classes and workshops and networking (yeah, networking is part of it), that you probably won’t have a lot of time to go get food.
Say goodbye to the sun, my friend! There’s a good chance you won’t see it all weekend.
Since you won’t be leaving, and hotel restaurants are about as reliable as a McDonald’s ice cream machine, I highly recommend you bring snacks. In Tennessee, we went to Target. For PNWA, I went to Costco and went ham on the snack aisle. In Aurora, we got a half a dozen bagels from the Einstein Bagels in the Denver airport.
Life savers all. Seriously.
Truth fact: Your brain burns calories when you think hard. Bring snacks. Eat snacks. Be a snack? I dunno. I might have lost the thread.
2. Downtime is your friend
This might sound bonkers coo-coo crazy pants, but oh well. If you’re the kind of person who likes to look at the schedule ahead of time and plan out your days, first: hello, fellow type-A brain. I see you. I feel you. Second: pencil in at least fifteen minutes of downtime for yourself.
But, Emily. You told me I’d be networking.
Yup. But only extroverts who have ingested large amounts of cocaine can network all day without their very essence draining out of their eyeballs by the end of the night.
So, plan a little chunk of time to give yourself a break. Take a nap. Listen to a podcast. Read a book. Watch shit TV. Take a shit, for all I care. Whatever your little heart desires. No matter what it is, give yourself a little bit of time to just be yourself.
Without it, you will be nothing but a husk by the end of the conference.
And as you drive off into the sunset, you’ll realize you left something behind.
Your soul. It’s still at the hotel. A ghost now, wandering the halls of the Embassy Suites with dead eyes and a slack jaw, shoving translucent business cards at terrified patrons for all of eternity.
And as those patrons lie awake at night, they shake with fear. They know what’s coming. They’ve heard it before. They’re terrified to hear it again, yet they can’t seem to stop listening for it. In the petrified silence, your soul-ghost whispers, “Who are you pitching this weekend?”
Nobody wants that.
Trust me.
Downtime.
Take it.
3. Have a pitch. Even if you’re not pitching.
If you don’t have an agent, there’s a good chance you’re taking part in the shit storm that is pitching—or just interacting with—an agent or thirty.
For those that don’t know, pitching is the abominable love child of speed dating and interviewing. It is arguably the most self-masochistic thing writers can do to themselves. (You know, apart from actually writing. Har. Har.) Pitching is honestly a totally separate blog. Maybe even a podcast. Inez! Put it on the list!
Anyhoo, even if you’re not pitching, you will absolutely, without a doubt, be asked these three questions in rapid succession:
What genre do you write in?
Are you currently working on something?
Tell me what it’s about.
And if you don’t have at least a line or two describing what your book is about, you’re going to look like a fish gulping for air on a hot pier.
Why a hot pier, Emily?
Because I’m painting a freaking word picture. (And this is what happens when I eat crunchy peanut butter and chocolate chips for breakfast and lunch.)
4. Go to shit.
You’re there to connect with people. The only way to do that is to go where the people are. So, my little word goblin, put on your human flesh mask and go to the open bar, the author signings, the shitty hotel dinner. Talk to the people. Make the friends. I got a full manuscript request from one of my dream agents over dinner in Colorado.
Go. To. Shit.
5. Pay attention to the contests
Not every conference will have a contest, but if they do, pay attention. This is a good idea for a couple reasons.
If you enter the contest and win, you’ll probably get money. And being paid for your work is, you know, nice.
Even if you don’t enter the contest, go to the award ceremony. By attending the ceremonies, I learned: in Colorado, they’re looking for a more literary style of writing. Killer Nashville is basically looking for spy novels (as far as I could tell). And PNWA is looking for fucked up minds like mine. (Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I won that one. Toot. Toot.)
Conference season is buck wild. It’s exhausting. And, honestly, after a while, they all kind of feel the same. But, I met so. many. cool. people. I learned a metric shit ton both about myself and writing.
There’s a definite blueprint for how these things go. Once you get the hang of it, use it to your advantage.
Keep an eye out for next year’s conferences and start making those plans. Just keep these tips in mind and you’ll be fine. Maybe. Probably.
Extra Pro Tip: DRINK WATER. It’s good for you. Hell, you’re basically a water demon as it is. Hydrate, you little devil you.
. . . about writing advice (the free kind)
…about writing advice.
Writing advice is everywhere and it seems like everyone has an opinion. For example, there are hard-and-fast capital “R” RULES for every type of writing. Except that some of them can be broken—not that anyone can quite agree on which ones. Or the perennial debate: Tropes—good or bad?
There’s a deluge of advice on story structure, world-building, story archetypes. And a lot of it is expensive. Paid seminars, writing conferences, MFAs, pocket MFAs, online courses, workshops—it can really add up. I recently saw a Writers Digest University online course on blogging for $249. My wallet whimpered. Is the bang worth the buck? How do you sort through the noise? What’s the “best” advice that won’t break the bank?
My answer might sound like a cop out. Sorry, not sorry. Because, honestly, the best writing advice is whatever advice makes you a better writer.
Ok. But I don’t have the unlimited dollars to spend on try-fail cycles. To that I say: YouTube. Blessings upon the creators who have spent so much time putting up amazing, useful, exciting stuff on a platform you can access for free.
And that means . . .
“BE A VORACIOUS CONSUMER”
When so much advice is available for free, come to that buffet hungry. You never know what will work for you—for your method or your story. Be insatiable in your curiosity. If you’re new to writing, try things out; if they don’t work, drop them and try something new. If you’re not new to writing, try things that resonate with what already works for you. You never know what’ll take you to the next level. There’s definitely “crappy” advice out there—but sometimes, the act of trying something “crappy” makes you a better writer in the long term.
CRAFT YOUTUBE GAMECHANGERS
“AuthorTube” and “BookTube” and adjacent sectors of YouTube are jam packed with phenomenal free advice and analysis. Of these offerings, I have come back to these three resources many . . . many . . . many times:
Brandon Sanderson’s Creative Writing Lectures
Overly Sarcastic Productions: Trope Talks
Abbie Emmons: How to Write a Novel with the 3-Act Story Structure
Brandon Sanderson needs no introduction. An absolute master at his craft, his insights into all aspects of building the fantasy novel were priceless. And totally free. He’s put his 13-week BYU Creative Writing course lectures online. And they’re brilliant.
Everything produced by Overly Sarcastic Productions is highly entertaining. But when it comes to writing, their Trope Talks are . . . chef’s kiss. Although they focus primarily on movie content, their analysis of story and the structure of over 90 tropes is so, so, so good.
Finally, Abbie Emmons’ series on the 3-Act Structure is a wonderful, concise, back-to-basics primer. Her conversational style is easy to follow. Even if I already “know” the material, her presentation has frequently helped me unstick myself from a particularly sticky story situation. It’s a good playlist to have lurking in the background (particularly if you’re a pantser . . . sorry, “discovery writer” like me).
My other favorite channels? Reedsy, Storygrid, The Fantasy Writer’s Toolkit, and Story Garden Publishing have consistently produced materials that I’ve used to troubleshoot my work. There are certainly others, and I’m always on the hunt for new stuff. If you have a favorite, drop it in the comments or share the playlist.
If you’re more of a book learner, there are some amazing resources—see our Library section for some excellent suggestions—that you can also pick up from your local Library or through Kindle Unlimited (if you’re subscribed). And if you’ve got memberships to Autocrit, Plottr, and/or ProWritingAid, they frequently have free online courses, workshops, and summits (more on those later).
But if you’re like me and you like to squeeze in some learning between a full-time day job, part-time writing schedule, and adulting responsibilities, watching a few free writing videos with coffee in the morning or just before you fall asleep can really get the creative wheels turning. And who knows, you just might stumble on the solution to a thorny problem or an approach that gives you fresh motivation or a second wind.
HAPPY WRITING!