My computer science husband often talks about the distinction between a “bug” (something that’s wrong with a program) and a “feature” (something that’s supposed to be there). I recently took scissors to the tattered fingertips of a grungy pair of gloves and turned a bug (holes) into a feature (no fingertips at all). Sometimes—rarely, Scrivas!—I do the same with a critique.
The bug: I don’t have the time or the mental functioning to do a thorough edit, which means to actively engage both sides of my brain. My left brain—my less dominant side and the area that does most of my language-oriented analysis—is out to lunch.
The feature: I turn what could be a half-baked whole-brained effort into a fully baked half-brain effort. I take off my editor hat and imagine myself to be a teen or middle grade reader (I’ve never tried this with picture books). I curl up on the couch rather than sit at my desk. I circle what “grabs” me in the text. I listen to my body while I’m reading for feedback that I’m relaxed, tense, afraid, eager, happy, or (horrors!) bored. Never once do I “think” of such concepts as point of view or narrative arc. I go with my gut.
Am I being a totally irresponsible Scriva? I’d like to think not. Right-brain and limbic reactions offer perspectives that can put you closer to your readers. It gets the most information out of a quick read. I trust that the other members of the group will have on their editor hats. That’s the beauty of a critique group.
