In your compliment sandwich, hold the cheese
"You forgot the sandwich."
The fourth grader stared me down, her nose twitching, red hair statically charged and floating off her shoulders.
I shifted beside her desk, where a laptop displayed her personal-essay-in-progress.
"Was I supposed to bring lunch?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes and thrust her chin into her palm. She might be nine, but she definitely had the teen angst down. "No. The compliment sandwich."
"Yes, oh, sorry." As a parent editor, I was supposed to first give a compliment to the student, then make a single constructive suggestion, then finish with one additional compliment.
"Um, this part where the coach screams at you--very vivid."
The eyes rolled again.
The students were all at the point of their essay revision that turned them apathetic. I totally understood their impatience. How many times had I written something quickly, loved it, and wanted to proclaim it done? Oh, so there's a plot hole or two, and that one character just sort of disappears. And yeah, seventeen pages of backstory exposition is a lot...but it's good stuff! If we mess with it, we might lose the voice! Disrupt the flow! Or have to work!
I'm also an impatient critique buddy. I know we're supposed to compliment each other, support each other, keep each other going in the face of near crushing rejection from the industry. But I want to get to the problem, the slow part, the confusion, the part where I might fail.
I'll take the girl's warning, though, and remember to always build the sandwich. The middle parts don't hold together well anyway, tomato and lettuce sliding everywhere. And where would the honey mustard go? Showing another writer what they're doing right, and more importantly, what not to mess with, is just as important as listing their writing ails. I'll keep this in mind as I spend tonight critiquing some pieces of my own, trying to put together an application for a writing fellowship.
I can pat myself on the back. It's not a waste of time. Sometimes we're the only one who ever really "gets" what we're going for. So bring on the compliment sandwich, inner editor. Just don't let the bread get all soggy.
The fourth grader stared me down, her nose twitching, red hair statically charged and floating off her shoulders.
I shifted beside her desk, where a laptop displayed her personal-essay-in-progress.
"Was I supposed to bring lunch?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes and thrust her chin into her palm. She might be nine, but she definitely had the teen angst down. "No. The compliment sandwich."
"Yes, oh, sorry." As a parent editor, I was supposed to first give a compliment to the student, then make a single constructive suggestion, then finish with one additional compliment.
"Um, this part where the coach screams at you--very vivid."
The eyes rolled again.
The students were all at the point of their essay revision that turned them apathetic. I totally understood their impatience. How many times had I written something quickly, loved it, and wanted to proclaim it done? Oh, so there's a plot hole or two, and that one character just sort of disappears. And yeah, seventeen pages of backstory exposition is a lot...but it's good stuff! If we mess with it, we might lose the voice! Disrupt the flow! Or have to work!
I'm also an impatient critique buddy. I know we're supposed to compliment each other, support each other, keep each other going in the face of near crushing rejection from the industry. But I want to get to the problem, the slow part, the confusion, the part where I might fail.
I'll take the girl's warning, though, and remember to always build the sandwich. The middle parts don't hold together well anyway, tomato and lettuce sliding everywhere. And where would the honey mustard go? Showing another writer what they're doing right, and more importantly, what not to mess with, is just as important as listing their writing ails. I'll keep this in mind as I spend tonight critiquing some pieces of my own, trying to put together an application for a writing fellowship.
I can pat myself on the back. It's not a waste of time. Sometimes we're the only one who ever really "gets" what we're going for. So bring on the compliment sandwich, inner editor. Just don't let the bread get all soggy.