Getting Feedback Doesn't Suck; It's a GIFT

So be really, really nice to editors and others who offer constructive criticism.

Listen to the audio of today’s Substack by clicking below:

I’m writing this today for you just as much as I’m writing it for me. Interestingly, I wear two very distinct hats—writer and editor—and those two parts of me feel very differently about this subject at hand. Well, maybe they don’t ultimately feel differently, but their initial reaction to constructive feedback is wildly opposite.

If I were a day drinker, I’d definitely have a shot now in preparation for talking about this hilariously emotional topic. But the most I can do is my daily Calm meditation.

… OK, I’m back.

Feedback. As an editor, I give it all the time. I have become accustomed to finding the balance between expressing what will make the piece stronger and ensuring the writer’s feelings are not hurt. It can be tricky. I think offering feedback on what is working is just as important as offering feedback on what might be stronger if ….

And though I write a lot more than I edit these days, I do know all too well that editing is generally a thankless job. Writers (and I say this from experience as a writer) tend to look at feedback only as a reflection of themselves and an indication of how much time they need to set aside to do rewrites. Rarely is there a writer who also recognizes what was likely a massive amount of work and brainpower by the editor to provide those edits in the first place. Add to that the fact that of course an editor doesn’t get the byline, and it can be an exhausting role to play, one that is frequently taken for granted.

It can also be absolutely thrilling and deeply gratifying. I find such joy in helping someone reach their greatest potential, and though I loathe jigsaw puzzles, the one puzzle I like is looking at an article or essay, squinting my eyes, and trying to imagine how it can be even better. I even find it a cool experience to put together the notes for the writer, especially if they are a new writer. Once the piece is published, I put my feet up and look at the side-by-side “before and after” of the story. And then I pat myself on the back, even if the writer never did.

And yet, how quickly I forget all of the above when I am in the writer’s seat and I am the one being provided the edits.

Immediately upon getting edits, I am momentarily transformed into a monster version of myself. Because what I wrote was clearly perfect.

LOL? Time to start day drinking? Time to quit?

No, of course my writing is very flawed. Whose isn’t? I don’t think I’m any better than the next guy … in fact, I frequently feel I have any kind of even moderate success because I am an excellent hustler, not because I’m an excellent writer.

(Having the hustle is important, but that’s for another time.)

Where am I going with this …

I am lucky enough (and I genuinely mean that) to be on the other side of some really thoughtful edits that I just received yesterday. I stared at the pages and pages of suggestions and comment bubbles and I didn’t make a sound. My eyes were wide, my fists slightly clenched—mostly because my first thought was that I didn’t set aside enough time to give this the full edit (including a couple of big rewrites) that it deserves.

Why didn’t I? I mean, I knew these edits were coming. And I completely know I’m a person who needs to revise (who isn’t?). But my ego momentarily intervened, and in that moment, I wanted to throw my computer out the window. (Don’t worry, I didn’t. I don’t have AppleCare.)

So I left a confidante a Marco Polo message explaining how short on time I was and flipping out about how I could possibly make the time to edit this thing.

Then I came inside and had some CBD, pet my dogs, sucked an ice pop, and put on my fuzzy purple slippers. Far in the back of my head came a voice. “Feedback is a gift,” it said.

Right. Feedback is a gift.

That’s a turn of phrase that my acting teacher in LA used to say constantly. I was trained as an actor growing up, and I’d heard those words thousands of times. In class, after you deliver the monologue you’ve been working so hard on, you stand in front of the rest of the class and the teacher tells you everything you did wrong. Your job is to nod enthusiastically and then say “thank you” before taking your seat again.

Same thing is true at rehearsals: When the director gives notes after the run-through is over, you jot them down in the margins of your script, you smile, and then you go to a dimly lit wine bar with your fellow actors and discuss whether Beanie Feldstein deserved half of the bad reviews she got for Funny Girl (she didn’t).

I started acting school when I was eight; that was just about 35 years ago. That means I have three-and-a-half decades of experience taking feedback, taking notes, and taking a big breath instead of ticking off the director by saying, “Yeah, but …”

There’s no room for the yeah but.

This isn’t to say you can’t have a dialogue about the feedback you’re receiving, especially if you have thoughtful insights and can come to the conversation without defensiveness. Any experienced acting teacher, director, or editor would welcome the opportunity—at the right moment, of course—to dive deeper with you, as long as you recognize that (say it with me) feedback is a gift.

So by the time I got back to my computer—the edits I’d received still lit up on my screen like they were waiting for a high five—I had let go of my well-worn initial reaction of WTF and remembered why I was there: to do service to a project that I believe in whole-heartedly.

To think that I would be able to reach that without others’ input is just plain silly.

Every writer, even if they’re a seasoned editor, is going to be myopic when they’re in the weeds with their words. But every writer needs to have the perspective it takes to pull themselves away from their ego long enough to recognize that the edits and feedback in front of them are a goddamn gift from the heavens.

Someone (in this case, not me—but it’s been me many times before) spent their precious time reading a document and working through the thousand-foot high view just as much as the line-by-line, more granular stuff. How amazing is that?! How lucky am I?! And the person editing me happens to be damn good at it. She sees things I couldn’t, picks up on everything from repetition to opportunities to go deeper, and has the “word-side manner” to deliver her edits with care and validation.

For me, finding the time to, in fact, go deeper is exactly what I have worked so hard to do for a living. So on what planet is my initial reaction warranted? On planet No Fucking Planet, that’s what planet.

Embracing feedback when we are the recipients of it is something we can probably all stand to be better at. Seeing the value in edits shows a real maturity and deep desire to dig deeper.

That’s not to say we’ll always agree with the edits or feedback, but if we consider even that a fascinating moment to be curious rather than an opportunity to roll our eyes, we might just find that (and I know this is going to sound harsh) we don’t always know the answers.

Sometimes, it takes an editor to figure out the best way forward.

(Note to self.)

xo,

jazz