Ernestly Speaking

I really thought I was finished.

The draft was well edited and re-edited. Spelling and grammar errors were found and fixed. Transitions were clear. Fact-checking blanks left open ‘until I had time to look it up’ were filled in. The three-character dialogue made sense. What was imagined in my head transferred to the page in perfect black and white for my first readers to absorb and hopefully enjoy.

Alas.

That’s why writers have a small group of first readers who burst these ridiculous bubbles.

Yes, First Reader Friend, the boyfriend is Taylor on page 42 and Benedict on page 94. The town is Cannonberg in chapter 2 and Cannonburg in chapter 12. The metaphor, cliché, excuse, anecdote, explanation, analogy, allegory describing the main character’s relationship with her mother is (I agree now in the light of day) trite. OK, it’s even confusing and unworthy of the pixels it is typed in. Oops! I didn’t realize people didn’t waltz in the High Middle Ages. Good catch!

 The distance between clutching our story to our chests with endless edits pondered in bubble baths of self-doubt and tossing our pages into the world with a ‘reader be damned’ salutation, is a wide gulf indeed, but it must be traversed.

First readers are those blessed friends and colleagues with literary chops, editorial eyes, and genre knowledge who take our baby out for a stroll and tell us the state of its diaper. They may be someone with a particular knowledge or skillset—farming, lawyering, pastry chefing, teaching, digging up Roman ruins, or flamenco dancing—and can offer the correction needed so our characters don’t use the wrong kind of butter, try to milk a steer, or talk about fungus officio.

So, thank you, first readers! Thank you for your time, your honesty, your enthusiasm and care for this writer’s fragile creations. May your tribe increase.

And would it be possible to give me first thoughts by. . .? (Asking for a friend.)