When to Show People Your Work

When you have wonderful, supportive friends who are clueless about writing

Dear Sonal,

I’ve recently rediscovered writing after many, many years away. I love it! I’m so happy to be doing this. And I’ve been telling my friends and family about writing again, and they are all so supportive and it’s wonderful.

But this is also the problem. They are maybe a little too supportive. They all want to read my work and somehow, I’m not sure that I want to show it to them.

I feel so ungrateful. Of course it’s a good thing that they want to support me and read my work. And of course I’m writing work that I want people to read, eventually.

But I’m so confused as to why my first reaction to letting them read my work is to say no, and I’m running out of polite ways to put them off.

Sincerely,
Killed by Kindness

Dear Killed by Kindness,

Friends who aren’t writers, who want to support their writer friends, are both wonderful and terrible. Wonderful because for some of us, writing is this weirdo thing we do and friends who love that for us give us the warm fuzzies of acceptance.

But terrible because there are many things about writing (and later, publishing) that they don’t understand. How can they? Most of us writers don’t understand any of this for quite a while either.

There’s two mysteries to sort out in writing: the creative side, and the business side. You’re asking about the first part of it, but let’s tackle them both because evidently I like to write longer newsletters.

A first draft, especially when you’re a newer writer, is a deeply precious thing. This is your heart and soul on the page, a tiny sprout germinating from a mystery seed in the warm protected environment of a carefully controlled greenhouse. It needs gentle care and time for it to grow into whatever it is. Even if you think you know exactly what seed you planted, the writing has a way of surprising us, and it needs time and trust to make itself known.

Taking it outside to show off to the world is a bit like planting it out in the garden too early. It hasn’t grown enough, it hasn’t been hardened off against the variabilities of the real outdoors. It’s not yet strong enough in the knowledge of who it is, and can still be killed, stunted, twisted or simply not get all the resources it needs to thrive, and am I stretching this metaphor too much?

Your instinct, to not show these early drafts to your non-writer friends, is a good one. It’s a protective one. This is still the exploratory work of figuring out what you are writing about, the very rough and early sketches to see what feels right. There’s no reason to invite opinions—however kind—when you’re still working this out for yourself.

As for what to tell them, there are a few approaches.

• You can be slightly cheeky and tell them they can read it when it’s published

• You can be an artiste and explain that you don’t show your work to people at this stage in your process.

  • Side note: Anything you want to do from now on can be explained as part of your process. Chips for dinner? Process. Midday naps? Process. Skipping out on family events? Listen, is it your fault that your process requires absolutely no conversation with Shona Aunty? The muse wants what it wants. (Side-side note: If you have immigrant parents as I do, they will not accept this rationale, but I invite you to try it and please send me the video recording.)

• You can explain that your writing coach (me, I am your coach now) recommends that you wait to share your work

At this point, you needn’t show the work to any writer friends either, unless you trust them to be able to respect where you are in the draft, and this is the point where I really need someone to ask me a question about critique and feedback, because I have a lot to say on this topic, and I’m surprised that I don’t already have a column on this.

There is, of course, also when non-writer friends try to support you without any understanding of the mysterious business of publishing, which is something that came up in the comments last month. One day, you will reach a point where you finish writing a book, even after revisions, and the same well-meaning friends will want to know, when they can buy it.

And as lovely as their support is, they may be surprised to know that there are not publishers lined up and eager to publish our books and put them on the front table in big box bookstores right away.

There is—especially in the US, but increasingly elsewhere—the many months or years-long process of finding an agent, the many months or years long process of finding a publisher (even with an agent) and even publishing itself takes a good year or more of editing and marketing and printing and distribution and such.

As writers, as much as we’d love for our non-writing friends to understand this, we also need to recognize that we can’t expect them to, any more than I can be expected to understand when a friend of mine discusses the challenges of the insurance industry—and hey, I’ve even done work in the insurance industry. (This is the sadly true statement that I could use in a game of Two Truths and a Lie.)

And this is why we need writer friends. Not simply for feedback and critique—although those things are helpful too—but simply to be able to talk about this weird business of creative work and the strange ways it intersects with money.

So as you enter this new world, Killed by Kindness, hang on to your wonderfully supportive old friends, but be sure to also look for new friends who can support you in new ways too.

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Readers, how do your friends and family outside of writing and creative worlds support you—or not support you? How do you wish they would support you? Comment below.