Here’s a stupid thing I did in college that I hope I’ve learned from.
I was working on my minor in writing— taking a short story class.
I was working on my minor in writing— taking a short story class.
These classes all follow the same general pattern, every session a few people turn in stories, the whole class then takes them home to read and write up feedback.
So I get a story about a teenage girl who was in love with some boy who had super natural powers. (He might have been a vampire? I’m not sure...it’s been a long time)
And the story spends a lot of time talking about how great this guy is. He’s very attractive. Super smart. Nice. And the setting is at a club where he’s the lead singer of a band that absolutely kills it.
Meanwhile we know basically nothing about the narrator, is she also smart? funny? attractive?
She definitely does not have super powers like our romeo.
She definitely does not have super powers like our romeo.
So inevitably we get to the point in the story where we find out mr perfect just has this massive crush on our protagonist.
And I sort of lose it. Why would this guy who could seemingly be with anyone in the world like our narrator? What qualities does she possess that makes this make any rational sense?
So I center almost all of my feedback around this central point. On how I just can’t suspend my disbelief on why these two should be a couple. On how the story would be so much better if our POV was a super human too.
Flash forward a few years of making games where you can literally slay dragons or fight 40 people alone, and it hits me about how wrong I was.
The story wasn’t trying to be realistic; it was trying to sell you a fantasy. A fantasy about some perfect person loving you, a fantasy that’s maybe a lot more believable then stuff I work on a daily basis.
The person that wrote the story obviously knew what the fantasy was. But I didn’t take the time to ask. I was so hung up on what was “wrong” with it that I didn’t look for what it was doing right.
My feedback wasn’t going to make that story any better.
When giving feedback it can be tempting to just yank the wheel and try to steer the car to where you want to go, instead of making the effort to realize where the driver is going and help them get there.
The creatives around me that get invited to the most “fun” meetings or seemingly get to put their stamp on so many projects are all upgraders.
They don’t get in the car and immediately try and take the wheel. They listen, they learn, and then they build a fucking rocket pack that straps on to the roof and takes you where you wanted to go better than you ever could alone.
