Ideal Readers (2/12/2010)
I stayed up hours past my sleepy time last night reacquainting myself with a novel. One of my own. It takes place in Apalachicola and has to do with river beer and immortality and oysters.
I’ve had a love-hate relationship with it since 2008. I even emailed it to three friends over the summer and then immediately did what Raquel Pidal called a NINA RETRACTION. I actually sent a followup email imploring that they NOT read the story.
That’s right. I make a living critiquing others’ manuscripts but I am a just a big baby when it comes to my own.
The thing is, although my friends are supportive, there is a difference between having a handful of friends who say they’ll read your work to help you out, versus having an Ideal Reader.
I’ve had the great fortune of recently meeting someone truly willing to read my work. He genuinely enjoys it (you can tell when people enjoy your work because they ask for more). But he isn’t just gushing. He gives smart, thoughtful feedback that proves to me time and again that he gets it. It’s hard to find resonant people just to get drinks with, let alone see into your mind. I have no formula for locating your IR. But if you do stumble across one, hold on tight.
So, I was looking back over the river beer story, thinking about sharing it with him. And I realized I really liked what I had written. It was still in the process of developing, but I was proud of it. And I truly believe I wouldn’t have the courage to send it to him if he hadn’t already eased me into the mode of sharing my work again.
Stephen King discussed the concept of writing for the IR “Ideal Reader” in his book On Writing. Although I have yet to find that person who floats over me like a Beatrice-Muse while I travel through the creation process, I see a slightly reinterpreted, though equally valuable IR. My IR comes after the fact – to reassure me that what I’m doing isn’t just a waste of time.
We need this. We all need this. It isn’t arrogant, it isn’t selfish; it’s absolutely necessary to know that you aren’t working in a vacuum. And that your sweat and blood and song can be tasted and felt and heard, even if it’s just by one person.
I should send him a cake.
So, writer, do you have an IR?
I’ll give you a clue: if you have one, you know it.
