A dear writing friend of mine recently sent me feedback after reading the manuscript I’m pitching. In addition to correcting grammar and typos, she left detailed comments about things she loved and things she didn’t get. It was wonderful. And when it cmae to one note, I was completely lost.
“I don’t get it,” I complained to my bestie and fellow writer Christine as we sat in her cozy sunroom, working on our respective projects. “She’s just crazy.”
“Stop that. She is not crazy.” She gave me a reproving glance. “Just because you don’t like the feedback doesn’t mean it’s not accurate.”
“But it makes no sense! She says, and I quote, ‘Okay, so your MC [main character] is focused on the demon. But then he’s focused on his brother. What happened to the demon? Then he’s focused on the crowd. What happened to the brother and to the demon?’”
Christine turned both hands up and shrugged. “How doesn’t that make sense?”
“It just… it makes no sense. He was looking at the demon, then looking at his brother, then looking at the crowd. What does she mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sake… let me see.”
I confidently handed over my laptop, convinced she would instantly agree that our friend is crazy.
“She’s right.” Christine handed the laptop back.
“What? You are no longer my best friend.”
“Stop that. She’s right.”
“But it makes no sense!” I threw up my hands. “That’s just how it worked. He was looking at the demon. Then his attention shifted and he was looking at his brother. Then his attention shifted again and he was looking at the crowd. What’s the problem?”
Christine cocked her head, her blond hair falling forward over her shoulder as if it too couldn’t believe my stupidity. “Oh my god, you have ADHD.”
I made a face.
“No, I mean… I just realized how much that shows up in your writing. You shift gears entirely. I mean, I know you do it in our conversations—you change topics and I’m left spinning as I try to catch up—but I just realized you write that way too.” She then went on to explain how neurotypical people apparently don’t do that. She explained that while looking at his brother and at the crowd, my main character would still be fully aware of the demon and fully aware of his brother, and all three sets of thoughts would intertwine.
I closed my laptop. “That settles it. My main character also has ADHD. I’ll write that in.”
“Stop that.” (Yes, she has to tell me that a lot when I’m being stubborn. I’m very good at being stubborn.) She reached over to open the computer again. “ADHD wasn’t a diagnosis in medieval times. Now let’s talk about how you can adjust this…”
That entire story is to lead me to one major point: having writer friends and beta readers is absolutely invaluable.
I’ll be honest, I still don’t get it. In editing my manuscript, I can easily locate word echoes or my overreliance on the word “and.” I can pinpoint where my characters are out of character or where I missed fully describing an environment. But ask me to identify where my characters are not observing correctly, and forget it. I just can’t see it at all. I’m literally searching for something which is invisible to me.
Our friend identified a few places in my manuscript on her read-through, and Christine is going through chapter by chapter with her editor’s eye for me. And I return the favor (in fact, right now I’m sitting in Christine’s living room, acting as her research assistant for an article she’s writing). Without their aid—and the help of a number of other writer friends—I would be completely lost and trying to find an agent for garbage.
Seriously. If you’re a writer with any type of neurodiversity, find a writer’s group. Whether it’s an online community such as Reedsy or Pitch to Published, or an in-person group at your local library or through Meet-Up, connect with other writers who will offer feedback. (As a side note, they don’t have to write your genre; Christine primarily writes historical nonfiction, and our friend is working on a historical women’s fiction.) They will see things that you cannot, and you’ll become a stronger writer for it.
So… to our friend, I’m sorry I said you were crazy. You were right.