Betas and How I Could Not Live Without Them
You know who just never gets enough credit? Betas. Those generous people who take time out of their own writing and jobs and families and responsibilities to help you make your story better. I have been blessed with a fabulous collection of betas and I am sure I don’t tell them how essential they are to me nearly enough. (Doubly so for those poor wretches who put up with my WIPs and escalating word counts and general woobie!Annerb behavior. ;)
But here, for your amusement, enjoyment, torture…a glimpse into the process that is beta and revision. Dedicated to all the betas with much love from me! Oh, writing. What a twisty, twisty hobby you are.
An Ode to Betas…
So, you’ve just finished writing a story. Shoved those last missing pieces in to place, deleted all the off-hand comments to yourself (such as *insert kissage here* or *insert plot here*), and finally, finally, finally created something done and whole and DONE. What do you do next? Well, you send it off to your friendly neighborhood beta or betas, if you’re lucky. You reassure them that yes, you really do want a thorough, honest, hard beta, really. Honestly. Tell me what you really think. Please.
You ship it off and sit there waiting by your computer, trying to imagine exactly how long it might take them to get the email, open the file, read the story. You tell yourself to calm down and just wait like a normal person. Hours, days, (what feels like weeks, but never is) pass and you get that email waiting for you. “Your Story Beta’d!”
Now this is where things start getting weird, because despite what you have said, what you have sworn on your life, promised, there is still a rather loud and obnoxious part of your brain that wants nothing more than to open that file and find a note in bright shiny red letters at the top that declares, “It’s absolutely PERFECT! Post now!”
Of course, having begged and pleaded for a hard, honest beta, you do not find this note at the top. Instead you find corrected grammar, commas in their proper place, and notes here and there asking perfectly innocent questions, valid canon issues, and clarifications (“Is that even a word? Are you sure?”). There are even some notes telling you how great and hilarious a certain line is, or how well done a certain passage is. But all you see are these comments everywhere, telling you your story SUCKS. At least, this is what that loud obnoxious part of your brain is yelling.
For five minutes, you sit there staring at the draft and decide the beta has no idea what they are talking about. You rationalize every single little thing you have done and why it is perfect the way it is. You are irate and hurt and plain old put out.
Luckily for all involved this bout of insanity only lasts about five minutes. Usually. Because then the doubt sets in. God, how could you have been stupid enough to think this story was any good, that anyone might want to read it? You consider deleting it. You remember that the beta has a copy, so really, what’s the point?
Hopefully around this time you get up and walk away from the computer. Do some yoga. Go for a run. Bang the dishes around in the sink in the guise of washing them. Watch your favorite season 2 episode. Drink some wine. Drink a lot of wine.
Slowly, as rationality and sanity start to kick the crap out of the stupid whiny voice, you realize that somehow, your beta has managed to stick a finger on the exact issues you had known perfectly well were there to begin with, but you were too blind, or lazy, or just plain old stupid to pay any attention to. Well, dammit. Now you can’t ignore these problems and issues anymore, because you asked for this, remember?
Why the hell did you ask for this again?
But then, lo and behold, you have a thought, and another, and an idea or two, and you start to futz and trim and expand and sure, it gets a hell of a lot messier before there is any hope of order, but it’s not like you have a choice. You asked. You just hope you don’t pull that one thread that leaves you with nothing but a useless pile of yarn rather than a tea cozy.
You consider deleting your story again, even if this means you will have to hack into your beta’s computer somehow. If Sam Carter could pull it off, so can you.
But you don’t. You just pick up that damn pen again and Keep. Going.
Finally, finally, finally after you spend the time to consider and rewrite and polish and step back and read those golden, pertinent comments again and again, you think you see a glimmer. And it’s just…so much better than it was before. It’s a story, whole and complete and shiny and something you can be proud of. Even that shitty obnoxious voice is now saying things like, “That wasn’t so bad. What the hell were you complaining about?”
You consider sporking said obnoxious voice into oblivion, if only there weren’t that high probability of permanent brain damage. You crack open a bottle of celebratory wine or soda or chocolate sauce instead.
Raising your glass up, you think, 'Thank God the draft didn’t just say, “It’s absolutely PERFECT! Post now!” Just…thank God.'
You decide your beta deserves a parade and a macramé scarf with her/his favorite character embroidered on it. You decide betas are the greatest things since sliced bread and that you couldn’t live without them (which is completely true, but never said often enough).
But most of all? You are so, so glad you asked.
Next time you finish a story, you will nudge them. “Hey, can you do me a giant favor? Read this and just be honest. And hard. I mean it!”
And you will mean it. Even if you forget for a while sometimes.
You keep a spork on hand, just in case.
The End.
+++
Let’s hear it for the betas!
But here, for your amusement, enjoyment, torture…a glimpse into the process that is beta and revision. Dedicated to all the betas with much love from me! Oh, writing. What a twisty, twisty hobby you are.
An Ode to Betas…
So, you’ve just finished writing a story. Shoved those last missing pieces in to place, deleted all the off-hand comments to yourself (such as *insert kissage here* or *insert plot here*), and finally, finally, finally created something done and whole and DONE. What do you do next? Well, you send it off to your friendly neighborhood beta or betas, if you’re lucky. You reassure them that yes, you really do want a thorough, honest, hard beta, really. Honestly. Tell me what you really think. Please.
You ship it off and sit there waiting by your computer, trying to imagine exactly how long it might take them to get the email, open the file, read the story. You tell yourself to calm down and just wait like a normal person. Hours, days, (what feels like weeks, but never is) pass and you get that email waiting for you. “Your Story Beta’d!”
Now this is where things start getting weird, because despite what you have said, what you have sworn on your life, promised, there is still a rather loud and obnoxious part of your brain that wants nothing more than to open that file and find a note in bright shiny red letters at the top that declares, “It’s absolutely PERFECT! Post now!”
Of course, having begged and pleaded for a hard, honest beta, you do not find this note at the top. Instead you find corrected grammar, commas in their proper place, and notes here and there asking perfectly innocent questions, valid canon issues, and clarifications (“Is that even a word? Are you sure?”). There are even some notes telling you how great and hilarious a certain line is, or how well done a certain passage is. But all you see are these comments everywhere, telling you your story SUCKS. At least, this is what that loud obnoxious part of your brain is yelling.
For five minutes, you sit there staring at the draft and decide the beta has no idea what they are talking about. You rationalize every single little thing you have done and why it is perfect the way it is. You are irate and hurt and plain old put out.
Luckily for all involved this bout of insanity only lasts about five minutes. Usually. Because then the doubt sets in. God, how could you have been stupid enough to think this story was any good, that anyone might want to read it? You consider deleting it. You remember that the beta has a copy, so really, what’s the point?
Hopefully around this time you get up and walk away from the computer. Do some yoga. Go for a run. Bang the dishes around in the sink in the guise of washing them. Watch your favorite season 2 episode. Drink some wine. Drink a lot of wine.
Slowly, as rationality and sanity start to kick the crap out of the stupid whiny voice, you realize that somehow, your beta has managed to stick a finger on the exact issues you had known perfectly well were there to begin with, but you were too blind, or lazy, or just plain old stupid to pay any attention to. Well, dammit. Now you can’t ignore these problems and issues anymore, because you asked for this, remember?
Why the hell did you ask for this again?
But then, lo and behold, you have a thought, and another, and an idea or two, and you start to futz and trim and expand and sure, it gets a hell of a lot messier before there is any hope of order, but it’s not like you have a choice. You asked. You just hope you don’t pull that one thread that leaves you with nothing but a useless pile of yarn rather than a tea cozy.
You consider deleting your story again, even if this means you will have to hack into your beta’s computer somehow. If Sam Carter could pull it off, so can you.
But you don’t. You just pick up that damn pen again and Keep. Going.
Finally, finally, finally after you spend the time to consider and rewrite and polish and step back and read those golden, pertinent comments again and again, you think you see a glimmer. And it’s just…so much better than it was before. It’s a story, whole and complete and shiny and something you can be proud of. Even that shitty obnoxious voice is now saying things like, “That wasn’t so bad. What the hell were you complaining about?”
You consider sporking said obnoxious voice into oblivion, if only there weren’t that high probability of permanent brain damage. You crack open a bottle of celebratory wine or soda or chocolate sauce instead.
Raising your glass up, you think, 'Thank God the draft didn’t just say, “It’s absolutely PERFECT! Post now!” Just…thank God.'
You decide your beta deserves a parade and a macramé scarf with her/his favorite character embroidered on it. You decide betas are the greatest things since sliced bread and that you couldn’t live without them (which is completely true, but never said often enough).
But most of all? You are so, so glad you asked.
Next time you finish a story, you will nudge them. “Hey, can you do me a giant favor? Read this and just be honest. And hard. I mean it!”
And you will mean it. Even if you forget for a while sometimes.
You keep a spork on hand, just in case.
The End.
+++
Let’s hear it for the betas!