Some thoughts on writing, reading, and stories

I’ve had some interesting thoughts recently about stories. It’s come mostly from interacting with the writing group and with friends from the writing group. As I’m getting more and more into writing fiction, my thoughts about fiction, stories, and science fiction get more and more complex and interesting. This post is going to be a little bit abstract, but I think it will be a bit shorter than usual. And probably a bit more interesting.

There was this thread on the Quark board going on in the last couple of weeks about giving and taking criticism, and one of the points was that, as a writer, you really shouldn’t defend your own work. You shouldn’t argue with the readers.

I’ve heard this same argument before, but on slightly different terms. Those terms were “you should let your work stand on its own, without you trying to defend it.” I think that’s good rationale, but I would go a step further: I would say that you shouldn’t argue with readers because criticism is never objectively true or false. Criticism is a reaction from the reader’s experience, and no matter how much you argue with the reader, you can’t change the fact that that was the experience that he (or she) had with your story. The reaction isn’t objectively true or false; it simply “is.” And therefore, if you start arguing and saying “that’s not true about my story!” then really you’re just wasting your breath. Criticism may be helpful or unhelpful, but it isn’t going to be true or false–at least, not in some objective way independent of the reading experience.

So then, I was reading Aneeka’s personal writing blog (notice, Aneeka, how I preserve your privacy by not linking to you, even though it’s a really good blog), and I read this really depressing post about how bad her novel is (even though it’s not that bad) and about how she’s doubting that she can ever be a writer, etc. I wanted to say something, so I left this really long comment. And I wasn’t planning on saying anything in particular, but as I was writing, this really interesting idea came out:

I guess that at some point you just have to transfer ownership of the story to the reader. Since everyone has a different life experience, they’re going to experience your story a little bit different. When you want it to be “perfect,” you might actually be trying to control what cannot be controlled. Everyone who reads your book is going to come away with a slightly different story in their heads, just because they’ll approach it in different ways. You can’t really control the readers’ experience, so trying to do it is futile. I guess all you can do really is open a door and invite the reader in. Your story needs a reader just as much as it needs a writer in order to exist.

I wasn’t planning on saying that, but the idea just came to my head and I said it. Usually, when I do something like that, it ends up a) offending people, or b) making me say or do something that I regret, or c) both. But this time it just got me to thinking: does a story exist independent of someone reading it? What is a story anyways? What does “perfection” mean when you apply it to writing fiction?

Once you realize that a story doesn’t exist independent of someone reading it, it can really free you up in a lot of ways.  First of all, you realize that you aren’t going to please everyone, since the story will be different for different people.  Second, you realize that “perfection” is not something that you create alone.  It’s something that is created by the writer AND the reader.  You aren’t, by yourself, going to write a “perfect” story.  At least, not independent of someone reading it.  Your goal is not to write some story that is objectively “perfect,” independent of someone reading it, but to reach through the narrative to connect with the reader in some way, and allow them to realize the “perfect” story.

Sometimes (in fact, quite often) writers will have this fallacious idea that there is some possible combination of words, sentences, paragraphs, and other elements that is the “perfect” version of their story.  They’ll slave and slave just to get that write combination, then get discouraged and fed up with it all.  But if you can realize this point–that it is impossible for a story to exist independent of it being read–it can free you up to realize that there isn’t any one perfect combination of words, letters, sentences, paragraphs, structure, form, etc.  Once you try to get down to that level of minuteness, you are trying to exert too much control over the reader.  The truth is that the reader has some work to do as well.  We don’t call it “work” because it’s actually pretty fun, but the reader is the one who puts things together and actually “creates” your story from the ink that he (or she) sees on the page.  So, really, you shouldn’t be focusing on the words, sentences, paragraphs, and other structure, but on the reader and how the story will be read.  It’s not about getting the perfect combination of words as much as it is helping the reader to construct the story in his (or her) own head.  And really, you have to free yourself up to the idea that maybe the story that the reader reads isn’t the same story that’s floating around in your head.  You have to leave freedom for that, otherwise you cut the reader out of the act of creation.  When that happens, your story starts to suck–but if you can, essentially, open a door for the reader and enable the imagination to spread its wings and take off–if you can do that, you have got the potential to write an amazingly good piece of work.

So, those are basically my thoughts at this point. I may be right about some things, and I’m probably wrong about most things.  But it’s a fascinating journey.  I love pondering things.  And these are my latest thoughts. Feel free to share your own, debunk mine, or otherwise enlighten me.  I’m very eager to hear your own thoughts.