![[How to receive notes as a writer - Anton Raphael Mengs, Portrait of Mariana de Silva y Sarmiento, duquesa de Huescar (1740-1794), 1775 (detail).jpg]] <p class="caption">Anton Raphael Mengs, <em>Portrait of Mariana de Silva y Sarmiento, duquesa de Huescar (1740-1794)</em>, 1775 (detail)</p> You have a draft. This is huge. You’ve fallen in love with an idea, poured your heart into it, and refined it as much as you can. Now it’s time to traverse the next leg of the [[Completion is a sacred spot|journey to completion]] — notes. Receiving notes, like [[How to give notes to a writer|giving notes]], is its own skill set. I learn more each time, but here’s a few pointers I’ve gathered along the way. **Trust the process.** Notes will always make your story better — that is, more _itself_. Even disagreeing with one sharpens the boundary between what your story is and isn’t. Notes fill your blind spots by ensuring the complete vision makes it onto the page and is received as intended. It’s natural to fear that the process will change your story into something unrecognizable. But while [[Stories reveal how people change|change is inevitable]], you’ll always be there to keep it close to your heart. **Be selective when seeking notes.** If you’re writing a horror story, someone who’s never read horror might not get it. But if you’re looking for a new perspective, they might notice things avid horror readers won’t. Since no one can give truly objective notes, understanding where your readers are coming from and what you want from their feedback will help you decide which reads to get. I recommend keeping the list short to leave room for fresh takes on the next draft. **Know what you’re going for.** Have a vision of your story’s final form, even if you don’t yet know how to get there. What kind of story is it? Where do you see it living in the world? What impact do you want it to have? Owning the project’s identity will give you clarity on how and if you should apply a note. And being able to say “here’s what I’m going for” in a notes call can transform a “this isn’t working” note into brilliant insights on what will fully realize your vision. **Focus on understanding.** Your goal in the notes call is to fully understand the notes, not to explore the world of meanings behind them or try to find the solutions in real time. A story is a hot rod of energy that can’t be touched for too long while settling into its final shape; unpacking inspirations, mechanics, and philosophies can create a [[Meaninglessness never lasts when you create|firework of meaning]] that distracts from the changes to be made. Don’t look under the hood when you don’t need to. Ask follow-ups only for clarity, and then it’s between you and the material. **Make notes actionable.** There’s a lot you can do to bridge the gap between the notes you receive and the changes you’ll actually make. If a note is framed in the negative — “this scene drags” — try reframing it in the positive during the notes call to land on what change would address it — “she needs to be chasing her goal in this scene.” (And it’s always great to restate notes to make sure you’re on the same page.) Give extra weight to notes you’ve gotten multiple times or that strike a suspicion you’ve already had. And clarity can always be found by freewriting through roadblocks, which I do in a Scratchpad document I create for each project. > A problem well stated is a problem half solved. — Charles Kettering **Don’t sweat “what ifs” and “make sures.”** Sometimes you’ll get notes that are actually just interesting ideas or observations about your story rather than changes that would improve it. Usually these manifest as “what ifs” or “make sures.” “What if you started with the midpoint?” is an interesting idea, but it won’t necessarily make your story more _itself_. “Make sure the romance arc is working” is really just an observation that your story has a romance arc — though it may be helpful to see if there’s a note behind the note. Did the note-giver feel like the romance arc wasn’t working? What would make it work better? If there’s nothing there, don’t sweat it. **Give yourself room to experiment.** Usually the only way to tell if a change works is to see it in action, whether in the draft itself or an outline you freewrite. I’ve surprised myself many times by taking this leap of faith and realizing I don’t miss anything — if the plot doesn’t need it and it isn’t necessary for the character work, usually it won’t be missed. (And you can always go back to the previous version.) When exploring how to apply the note, the solution almost always lies in elements [[Use what you have|already present in the story]] — often it can feel like they’ve been waiting to fit together in this new way. **Emotion over logic.** Most notes are about logic and especially causality — making sure the reader gets what’s happening as each plot point leads to the next. Yet stories are meaningful not because of how elegantly they suspend our disbelief but because of [[Realness makes stories great|the way they make us]] *[[Realness makes stories great|feel]]* once our disbelief has been suspended. That closeness is achieved by prioritizing emotion. You only have to unpack your story’s logic enough for the reader to feel close to it; when a note asks for clarity, the solution lies not in adding chunks of explanation but in reframing the story so that logical hiccups don’t interrupt that emotional connection. > There are two things that separate writers who go on to publish from those who don’t. First, a willingness to revise. Second, the extent to which the writer has learned to make causality. — [George Saunders](https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/609280/a-swim-in-a-pond-in-the-rain-by-george-saunders) **Reject doubt.** When looking for flaws in your story, it can sometimes feel like all you see are flaws. Doubt is a powerful destructive force; it’s easier to be convinced that something isn’t working than to believe in it. Sometimes you have to choose to believe in it and be patient — if a note feels impossible, you might just need some distance. Every time I’ve thrown a question up into the air, it’s landed a day or two later with either an answer or a direction forward. Sometimes that means letting the note go, but usually it’s a simple change. Making a character more likable doesn’t necessarily mean rewriting each of his scenes; it can come down to tweaking a few words in the description when we first meet him. **Stay in love.** To write anything is to build an attachment to it, and often notes can feel like an intrusion on that sacred bond. Find ways to stay connected to what excited you about this story in the first place — [[Never leave the Zone|a playlist, a list of Touchstones]], a piece of art that sparks the same feeling. And know that as in any relationship, you and your story will continue to grow together. Notes are a gauntlet in which your story’s timbre is tested, but they always move it forward. The pressure they exert on the material forms it into a shape greater than what one person can conceive. They both help you reach what you’ve been seeking and allow it to grow beyond you, which, let’s be real, was where it was always meant to be. _written listening to [“Soft Meadow” by Green-House](https://open.spotify.com/track/4Xe5aArRgoUutgD8MP00Qs)_