For those of you who wish to read more about my opinions on the Amanda Hocking and DexRaven conversation, I have more to say on the subject, but I’d like to discuss the idea of quality a bit first.
at the start of things…
across the stars far away from our own planet not just thousands but TRILLIONS of miles away
you’ll find the [ JAKS ]
In the huge regions of outer space, the gigantic stellar star systems roll on on and on, in fact some species will never meet, some will be in their infancy growing, learning and thinking as they gaze into the night sky at the wonders to behold, that shining star, the outline of other planets or moons or or..
The people who have spread their wings and have encountered other alien races will be friends, allies or enemies; simple as that ! but all will have one common denominator in amongst their numbers which is where
you’ll find the JAKS
Actually its a short version of [JAKLAKLING ] though normally applied to males the [JAKLA ] being female.
All shapes, sizes, shades and so many to behold.. ! Some have body markings like tatoo’s, sometimes from birth, genetic or at some stage of growth as an infant into adulthood these marks may show or be given to them to signify who they are, a sign to others which might demand love or subservience ?
Hmm oh yes, slavers, slave owners they exist, cruel savage merciless traders who would sell their own grandmother to make coin or to command land or simply to get some peace and quiet … we’ll not go there !
This is bad writing. I copy/pasted it from an author’s website then changed it quite a bit to protect the author from malicious Googling. The italics are original to the text.
“Listen at you, now.” Luster said. “Aint you something, thirty three years old, going on that way. After I done went all the way to town to buy you that cake. Hush up that moaning. Aint you going to help me find that quarter so I can go to the show tonight.”
They were hitting little, across the pasture. I went back along the fence to where the flag was. It flapped on the bright grass and the trees.
“Come on.” Luster said. “We done looked there. They aint no more coming right now. Les go down to the branch and find that quarter before them niggers finds it.”
It was red, flapping on the pasture. Then there was a bird slanting and tilting on it. Luster threw. The flag flapped on the bright grass and the trees. I held to the fence.
“Shut up that moaning.” Luster said. “I cant make them come if they aint coming, can I. If you dont hush up, mammy aint going to have no birthday for you. If you dont hush, you know what I going to do. I going to eat that cake all up. Eat them candles, too. Eat all them thirty three candles. Come on, les go down to the branch. I got to find my quarter. Maybe we can find one of they balls. Here. Here they is. Way over yonder. See.” He came to the fence and pointed his arm.
Whatever one thinks of Faulkner, this text is superbly written. It is nearly impossible to deny the skill with which he walks the line between crafting a work of beauty and the clear indication that his narrator is of below-average intelligence or otherwise mentally hindered.
I chose Faulkner rather than one of my own favourite authors to illustrate that we as readers are capable of distinguishing clearly between authorial voice and the voice of a viewpoint character.
Many inexperienced writers claim that errors in their work are a form of artistic expression — that the reason their novel is unpublishable is because readers cannot distinguish between the art and the craft of their work.
As a few paragraphs of Faulkner demonstrates, this is a mistake.
True, one could argue that in the home galaxy of the JAKS, writing like the above excerpt is the pinnacle of intellectualism. I have no reason to believe that this is not the case; in a novel’s mythos, the author makes the rules.
But I don’t believe it, and neither do you. Even if we were to believe the author’s explanation, why does it matter? The passage is entirely indistinguishable from (forgive me) ungrammatical, uneducated verbal slurry.
I think that most amateur writers have eyeballed the competition. Since my signing, I have become one of the worst offenders — as I said in my previous post, I greedily devour unproven fiction, published and unpublished — figuring out what is up for bestseller status (the subject of a different post) and, more interesting to me, the psychology of the not-yet-successful author.
There are a few kinds of amateur author I’ve spotted. Most write the kind of fiction that will never quite be publishable, but is at least somewhat readable. Some write fiction that might be publishable, with a good editor and some serious grunt work. A very few have a lyrical authorial voice that reaches out to me and makes me hope for their luck. The remainder write like the poor author of the above paragraphs, or worse.
In every group there are people who hope fervently that they are an undiscovered genius — and in every group, save the last, this pattern of thought is something I understand and deeply empathise with.
The latter group is one I seek to understand above all others. Their hope approaches delusion, but some of them cling to it so tenaciously, they have convinced themselves they are undiscovered masters of the art — as did the above author.
His website is filled with praise: written in a similar voice to his work, in quote marks, no sources cited. To make matters worse, it’s also a dizzying maze of Web 1.0 graphics and layouts, suspiciously grainy and bright “official” seals and images, and baffling introductory pages proclaiming his company’s dedication to quality and the charities that will share his profits.
I am only a curious onlooker; I am no psychologist, nor anything more qualified than a BA philosopher. However, for what my opinion is worth, I should like to offer it nonetheless, in the hopes that it will be momentarily thought-provoking or of some small interest.
I believe there are two explanations for phenomena like these — which may exist in varying degrees in different individuals.
The first explanation for this kind of behaviour is a deep denial of truths that is rooted in unpleasant emotions such as depression or fear. The person is first confronted with his desire to succeed, and then the inability to succeed — finally, unable to accept the hopelessness of his situation but unable to give up his desire, denies his incompetence as best he can for as long as possible.
This denial is, I think, made easier by modern beliefs (led by a culture of monetary meritocracy) that all persons can, if they want to really really badly, succeed to an equal degree. No, worse: that it is their Human Right to be the intellectual (or whatever) equal of their neighbours without putting in the work required. Perhaps even superior to their neighbours! Who says they can’t, anyway?
I digress: the point of fact is that denial must play some part in most such cases.
The second explanation is somewhat more involved and, fascinatingly, has some evidence to support it, known as the Dunning-Kruger effect. I would do a very poor job of describing this theory, so I shall hand over the stage to YouTube user TheraminTrees, a student of psychology (skip to about 1m10s if some political/religious rhetoric bothers you — after that time the video is entirely about the topic at hand):
I find this video fascinating. I hope to learn more about the subject at a future date, but until then, this explanation satisfies me.
Suggested Reading:
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values – Robert M. Persig
not very alice 
Angela Perry
March 28, 2011
I’m a firm believer in the Dunning-Kruger effect. It truly exists. However, its existence leads me to question, how does someone know if their confidence in their work is misplaced or not? You can’t trust yourself, because you might be overestimating your own abilities. You can’t trust your family and friends, because they’ll tell you what you want to hear so as not to hurt your feelings. You can’t trust others, because the general population (especially on the Internet) is rude, condescending, and anything but supportive of artistic efforts.
It seems like it’s relatively easy to judge quality in others’ work, but nearly impossible to determine it in our own. So how do we know when to pursue our artistic endeavors and when to stop?
Alice M.
March 28, 2011
I have a few responses to this question, all based on different approaches.
Personal:
I have grave difficulty making quality statements about myself and anything I do or say. So grave, in point of fact, that I have struggled throughout my life with these sorts of questions. The only way I am personally able to get a grip is to look at a group of things about myself that are generally thought to be objective qualities, e.g. my academic achievements and the goals I sought but did not achieve, the depth and breadth of the knowledge I have gained through voracious self-study, my absolute inability to function in certain capacities, my English language skill-set (which is a subset of the systems of rules that comprise spelling, grammar, linguistics, etymology).
Philosophical:
Feh. It’s difficult enough to define the word “knowledge” without even beginning to tackle something crazy like, “I know I’m a good/bad writer.”
Pragmatic:
It’s easy to check whether your spelling and grammar are correct. If your sentences can’t be read aloud, your punctuation is wrong. If you write characters that are too perfect, characters that are clearly wish-fulfillment for your own fantasies, characters whose personality or motivation can be entirely summed in three sentences or less, or characters who can be described in three sentences or less when you are forced to leave out appearance, hobbies, and characteristics like musical/colour/sexual position preference, then your characters aren’t good enough. There are many, many ways to test your writing to see if it’s good. I recommend using all of them at your disposal.
The one that works best for me is reading bad and mediocre writing and then my own; I see if I can spot similarities I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed and strip them out. Every time I see something that really annoys me about someone’s writing, I edit for it in my own. I also follow my standard editing procedure: edit over and over and over and over until my eyes bleed.
There’s also Limyaael. I owe my current contract to her, without exaggeration. I read every single one of the rants on this list three times over. I purposely constructed Maybe’s plot and characters by trying to find the perfect fantasy book according to Limyaael.
Angela Perry
March 28, 2011
Good perspective. I like your idea about editing for things that annoy you in others’ work. If you I can identify it in someone else’s writing, I can consciously find it in my own, even if I overlook it unconsciously.
I also suspect if you question your own work’s quality and constantly strive for improvement, you aren’t a victim of the Dunning-Kruger effect. That very insecurity indicates you have moved beyond the worst extreme of overlooking your own flaws. I approach it by being cynical: if I think a story is great right off the bat, it probably sucks. Those are the stories that I send to lots of critique partners.
Thanks for the link to Limyaael’s rants. That’s a fantastic resource! I anticipate spending a lot of time there.
Alice M.
March 30, 2011
Laurel:
The hypothesis I present in this post is that:
a) There are people who write objectively bad fiction. Some basic skill with spelling and grammar is required to create good fiction. As the Faulkner illustrates, it is relatively easy to distinguish incompetence and artistic misuse of the rules. Another illustrative example: if it weren’t possible to judge quality, there would be no use in editing. Why would I edit my work if I couldn’t make it better?
b) There is a subset of the people mentioned in (a) who do not know they write badly.
c) Dunning-Kruger tested:
– competence at humour, grammar and logic
– perceived competence at humour, grammar and logic when compared with others
They found that the less competent a person is at a certain skill, the less competent they are at judging how competent they are at that skill. They concluded that the knowledge a person draws from to be competent is similar to the knowledge they use to determine their own competence. Another thing to note is that judging other people’s art is not the same as judging one’s own skill at an art. This in my opinion is why we look at a prima ballerina and say, “She makes it look so easy.” The only reason we don’t say, “That looks really easy, I bet I could do it,” is because we know objectively how difficult it must be to be a prima ballerina.
d) My hypothesis is that it’s a mixture of Dunning-Kruger and denial that leads people with objectively bad fiction to believe they are geniuses.
I think the denial in question might, as well as the elements I mentioned in the post, require that the person not know just how difficult it is to be skilled at writing fiction. Yes, it is a skill. Painting is also a skill. One must know how to express light in two-dimensions, and this is something that is learnt.
It isn’t easy to account for preference, certainly. I grant you that. And there is natural talent available in every art. But that doesn’t change the fact that art is a skill. Creative writing is a skill — one that must be learnt before talent can really shine.
Laurel L. Russwurm
April 3, 2011
Alice:
The only problem with bad spelling and grammar is that it distracts from the story. Seriously, isn’t that one of the useful functions of editing? You can have perfect spelling and not write worth a d*mn, but if you can tell a gripping story there are an infinity of errors that can be corrected in editing.
Starting at the top:
(a) objectively bad fiction.
What does that mean, exactly? I take it that you mean we can look at that atrocious hackneyed bit of sf you quote and judge it “bad”. And that everyone reading it will also find it bad. I disagree; I imagine that there are people who would not judge it bad. Depending on when it was written, it may well have been considered groundbreaking.
Then you present the Faulkner excerpt as an example of “good.” Perhaps in context it is good, but out of context I found it just as bad as the other.
Neither breaking the rules or following them makes art “good” or “bad,” the only objective conclusion that can be drawn from rule breaking in art is that the rules have been followed or not. Facts are objective. Art appreciation is subjective.
The rules can be followed and everything done right, and yet it may not be judged good.
Perhaps the artist is ahead of his time and people around him just can’t see it in his lifetime: like Van Gogh.
Perhaps the story is received as too schmaltzy for the era, and audiences will turn their noses up at it, as happened with the Capra film “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
Perhaps you and I won’t laugh at the same joke.
I just read the latest book by my one of my favorite authors and he did everything “right”, but it lays flat just the same. I’ve been asked to review it, and I’m trying to determine why it doesn’t work. The reality is, part of it may be my subjective conditions. Or maybe he just phoned it in.
Art is subjective, there is no reliable test. It can’t be pigeonholed. Just because “everybody” says it is good, does not make it so. Commercial success doesn’t necessarily mean the art is good, it means that many people thing it is good. Subjectively.
That’s why one of the best bits of advice for any creator is to create art for yourself; don’t try to please others. If you are true to yourself, you may find an audience.
Editing is anything but an illustrative example of the existence of “quality.” Perhaps I am fortunate to have worked with some really good editors, as well as possibly the worst imaginable. I have seen weak writing improved by editing, and writing edited into painful gibberish. Every mainstream book and movie is subjected to rigorous editing. How much of it would you judge good?
The existence of editing is an illustration that we believe we can improve art.
Alice M.
April 3, 2011
And we can.
Alice M.
April 4, 2011
PLEASE NOTE:
Since the above comments, I’ve changed a paragraph of this post to more accurately reflect my opinion.
The paragraph is currently:
When I first posted, it read:
I actually think good art is something that can be taught from the ground up. Intelligence and talent (whatever they are) only serve to speed up the process. For goodness’ sake, that’s the whole point of the post in the first place!
My apologies; I’m not sure what I was thinking.