Heidi Heilig

Archives for February 2015

Why YA?

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IT’S BACK!

No, not the McRib. (Okay in some places, yes, the McRib.)

But I’m talking about The Question. You know the one. “Why do so many adults read YA?”

My answer?

“Because we’re adults and we can do what we want. (HIGH FIVES FELLOW ADULTS!)”

Case closed, right? Well. Not always. Because some people (not the most recent asker of The Question, but SOME PEOPLE) follow up with another question:  Shouldn’t adults be ashamed for reading YA?

To which I respond:

“Is this even a serious question? No. Obviously. Christ.”

There is a weird amount of hate on YA and on the adults who read it. And I find it interesting that in a country where a quarter of adults have read zero books in the last 12 months (and fifty percent of adults have read less than five books in that same time period), that so much judgment and ink goes into scolding those readers and auditing their choices.

I think it has a lot to do with gatekeeper fear, and with people not respecting youth, not respecting the next generation, not respecting the writers of YA fiction which are overwhelmingly women.

I personally have read five novels in the last month. (And no, that’s not my own five times.) (Salvage by Alexandra Duncan, The Fall by Bethany Griffin, The Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan, Laini Taylor’s Smoke and Bone trilogy, Leigh Bardugo’s Grisha trilogy, and yes, I am counting two trilogies as one book each, so that’s actually nine books, but I did read the first of each series earlier this year so its really only seven. ANYWAY.)

These books had gripping stories, sparkling dialogue, and deep themes–family, feminism, love, longing, madness, power. They were well-written and I devoured them and I am hungry for more.

So the question shouldn’t be “Why do adults read YA?”

The question should be “Why does anyone have a problem with that?”

Critique: How do you like it?

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Two* things power my writing, and they both start with C: Coffee and Critique.
 
You know that old joke? “I like my coffee like I like my soul: bitter, black, and cold.” (Or something like that.) You can use a similar formula for critique!  I like my critique like I like my coffee:
  • Plain, strong, and harsh enough to give me a stomachache.
  • Sweet and half hot air, but still powerful enough to reenergize me.
  • In small, concentrated servings that keep me up all night.

You get the picture.

So this is actually how I take my third+ cups of coffee:
Lukewarm and watered-down.

Just like coffee, it’s incredibly important to know how you want your critique before you ask for it, and to tell someone how you like it before they prepare it for you**. And while there is a right and a wrong in coffee (at least, according to the purists***), there is no right and wrong in critique. You need to ask for it the way it’s most helpful to you. If not, you’ll wind up with something you may not be able to stomach.

 
In fact, giving your critique partner some parameters can help them, too. No critique partner wants to give unhelpful–or even harmful–critique. And of course, a critique partner has the absolute right to say upfront “I actually can’t do that for you,” and that way, no one’s time is wasted. It’s a win all around.

So think about how you like your critique, and be aware that your critique needs will almost certainly change based on the stage of the project: on your first draft you may only want a list of things that make no sense, but by the time you get to what you hope is the final draft, you may care only about whether there are any typos.

 
Personal story time. Now, I love critique, the more incisive, the better. The most helpful critique for me is when people I trust pick apart my ideas and argue with me, making me justify each choice. The one caveat? I only like that critique once the first draft is completed.
 
Once, I was in the very early phase of a project, where I was still bubbling over, and I told a great critique partner that I had this amazing idea for a story. I started rattling off little details and funny dialogue and fascinating settings which were awesome to me but ultimately only related by invisible threads in my mind.
 
And then I was like: “So what do you think?”
 
And the friend was like: “I don’t get it.”
 
I spent literally the next month surfing the internet rather than writing, unable to regain the enthusiasm that had vanished in the face of those four little words. And of course my friend felt terrible, but they were only responding in the way they were used to critiquing my last piece, where I was on the third draft by the time they first saw it.
 
The mistake was mine, of course. I now know that, in the brainstorming phase of a story, all I want is positive energy. I don’t need lies–“Wow! You sound excited!” is perfectly acceptable–but any hint of negativity kills the early creativity. So now, before I speak to any critique partner about a project, I make sure to tell them how their response can be most helpful.

What about you? How do you take your critique?

 
 
*Okay three things, the third being cookies, but I couldn’t find a metaphor for that.
 
**For those who are thinking “But a critique partner is so much more than a barista!” don’t bag on baristas. They are friendly and sweet and they usually really care about making sure your coffee is just the way you like.
 
***My way is the right way, of course.