It’s sometimes as hard to give another writer the truth about the work as it is to take it. Let’s face it, we all love our own babies. Even if they are ugly squalling brats, we want to see the good side. The trouble is, if you don’t go looking for the faults you can’t fix ’em. Or to mix up the metaphor–if someone’s on a mule but asks you what do you think of their horse, it’s time to tell them that’s a fine mule but he’s never going to grow up into a horse. The truth has to come out then.

But I still struggle with it.

On one hand, I want to encourage other writers–it’s great to just be getting the words on the paper and who knows what kind of cool story could result. You may love taht mule you have! On the other, I can’t really encourage someone to head on down a rocky path without at least a warning–if someone really, really wants a horse, they should find out the differences between the two animals.

The warnings I give usually goes along the lines of you can do whatever you want, however…

It’s that ‘however’ that’s the kicker. The most common issue is that the story is going to disappoint readers or leave them utterly cold. I write for readers–I want folks to have fun with my stories. Yes, I’m the first reader I need to please, but I also figure if someone’s giving my work a few hours from their life, I owe them a good story. That means likeable characters, an entertaining tale well told, and a satisfying ending. I also figure other writers feel the same, but maybe they don’t. I do not think story telling is about me being really clever–it’s about me being true to my characters. I figure that’s enough to juggle without taking on major technical challenges, or trying to tackle epic themes with major point of view changes and a vast array of characters. I’ll leave that to the more ambitious and the more talented. But don’t all try to bite off too much at some point?

I’ve got several manuscripts locked away and a few more started and abandoned–stuff that I followed down that path to heartache because I was starting out and struggling and no one warned me. I thought I was riding horses every time, but turned out some of them were even donkeys. But I have to ask–would I have kept at it if someone had shot those ideas down? I think I would have–particularly if someone pointed out an easier or better way to get to a good story. Or had taught me how to look for the flaws. But I know we all have different levels of tolerance. What one person views as a challenge, another takes as a slapdown. We all have different skin thicknesses. But, ultimately, we also all have to find our own paths–a teacher can only point out different paths.

Which leaves me having to trust that truth is truth. Yes, it may be my truth–but you really have to be honest about the work. If I’m seeing a mule, and someone asks, I have to point out that’s a mule. If something is great, it’s time to give a thumbs up. But if that baby–or that mule–is going to give someone a world of misery, you have to point out the problems and hope to heck the writer has a thick enough hide to take the input and make something even more amazing.

After all, if you start telling lies to others, soon you may start telling them to yourself, too. And no writer can afford to do that.