Writing on Writing: Exploring the Hues of Feedback

by Wendy Blake

I don't give feedback in red ink because I find the idea of bleeding on someone else's page unsavory. As a writer, I open the metaphoric vein and drizzle it onto the page, but that's a private matter. As a teacher, editor, and friend, I praise, criticize, and thoughtfully inquire in pencil, green ink, or by tracking changes and inserting comments in Word documents. I enjoy the experience of providing feedback because it inspires growth in other writers by helping them look at their own works from a fresh perspective.

Margaret Doran's poem, "Going Home," evolved into its current form through conversations she and I had over e-mail. Originally submitted for publication in a prior issue of the zine, the poem contained some vivid images and quirkily half-connected lines that caught my attention, but a few phrases that seemed out of step and sweeping generalizations in the last few lines detracted from the poem's overall strength. I sent this—and more specific—feedback to the poet, inviting further correspondence, but heard nothing until a few months later when Margaret reconnected with me. She wrote that she had disregarded my comments and had dismissed my misguided decision-making. But something had prompted her to revisit my feedback, reconsider the original poem, and ask for my response to her revision.

Beyond the Red Pen

My original feedback might have left her with the unsettling ire of the brutal red pen. The red that suggests a deficit or even calls out, "Stop!" I've seen this response in my students on the one occasion that I tried using red ink on their papers. Even the words "great," "yes," "true," and the grade of "A" look dauntingly negative when scribbled in red among questions of clarity and suggestions for correction. Because of our experience with negative feedback and unhelpful criticism, we often rush to give only positive general comments that neither help a piece improve nor explain its strengths.

Because it's not easy to accept feedback that seems to ignore hard work, it is hard to learn to criticize other writers. A writer needs to know, specifically, the strengths and weaknesses of her writing if she is going to grow as a writer. When Margaret contacted me, I appreciated her forthrightness. I responded that I would love to take another look at her poem, and I expressed my enthusiasm at her belief in her own poetry. A writer who supports, nurtures, and strives to improve her work is a successful writer, regardless of the size of her portfolio.

My second look at her work reinforced my faith in the power of thoughtful and honest feedback. After considering my comments and returning to her poem with fresh eyes, she revised and encapsulated the generalizations from the earlier version into concrete images that gave the poem a presence that made me experience its action, rather than listen to its philosophy. Working from the strong foundation of the earlier draft, she created a careful balance between home and heart and vividly described the complexity of patience and hope.

Our correspondence continued over several weeks. We discussed meanings, origins, and forms; Margaret worked through a couple more drafts and I gave feedback to each one. Soon, she reached the poem she had set out to write. One that, as she commented, is not "particularly 'dramatic,' but rather . . . moves between the changes that happen over which we may not have control or between those things that we 'perceive' we have no control over."

Supporting New Growth

The "something" that inspired her to revisit my feedback on her original submission might have been a reinterpretation of my figurative red pen. Perhaps she came to see my inserted comments as pencil marks: fleeting, erasable feedback on an evolving work of art. Or maybe the ink in my editorial pen was green, suggesting new growth and fresh air, or calling out, "Go!"

When offering feedback on another writer's work, I concentrate first on the strengths of the piece. It might have a striking image or a well-turned phrase, imaginative message or characteristic voice. I try to encourage a writer to move forward, building on her strong points. Then, I point out weak points: vague references, mechanical errors, mixed metaphors. I try to be specific, give reasons, and draw a distinction between the writer and the work. When my feedback inspires a writer to action, I am satisfied. My reward comes when a writer shares the enthusiasm Margaret expressed when she said, "I wrote another autumn poem today. All I needed was your suggestion to get me started . . . thanks!"

Wendy Blake is an adjunct professor of English who strives to find her own way as a writer while offering editorial guidance to others. Contact: wendyblake@attbi.com