The funny thing about getting feedback on a book is that I am entirely at odds with myself in what I want.
On the one hand, I want this:
On the other hand, if I actually get a response remotely along those lines to a request for feedback, this is my internal reaction:
Thus, I’ve found it useful to ask my test readers a list of questions that will hopefully help identify ways to make the book better while still giving them room to tell me how wonderful it is, should they feel inclined to do so. (Which may sound greedy, but hey, after spending several months to a year on a project, sometimes you do kinda need a little validation before jumping into round two.)
Ideally, the questions get the readers thinking about specific elements of the book that worked or didn’t work for them, thereby avoiding the classic traps of feedback that is either too vague...
...or too specific...
...or too tied in to the reader’s particular worldview.
When the feedback finally comes in, I read it eagerly. And then begins the overthinking...
...and the defensiveness:
Finally, I work through all that stuff and get to the point where I can be properly analytical about it. Often feedback will identify a problem, but suggest a solution that won’t work for my vision for the book — but that doesn’t mean the problem isn’t real.
This time around, getting feedback was particularly interesting, because I had two readers who were actually in my target age group for the middle grade novel I’m working on (one 9 and one 11). The kids gave surprisingly awesome advice, and they identified some things the adults missed. There were also some parts that the kids really liked that the adults didn’t comment on, and vice versa. It all reminded me that kids and adults read for different things, and made me really glad that I had both adult and kid readers.
It did mean that my older daughter found the best way ever to get to stay up late, however.
And what have we learned today?
You can’t post a picture of one daughter and not the other.
