Sans Fig Leaf

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"Good intentions and elbow grease"

1 May, 2003

Back when I was the news editor for a university newspaper we received an angry letter from someone who was unhappy with the review we had published of the currently running school play. The review actually heaped praise on the production, only finding fault with a few minor details. However, the review had been written in a style mimicing the lyrical style of the play itself. The letter writer thought that this failed to show the proper respect for the many hours of hard work which the cast and crew had put into the production. Those hours must have been grueling, indeed, because the letter mentioned them no less than six times.

Our staff advisor, going over the following paper with us to offer critique and suggestions, paused at the letters to the editor section, stared at the letter for a minute, then shook his head. "I can't imagine that anyone thinks an endeavor deserves praise, regardless of how successful it is, simply because it involved a lot of effort," he said.

Unfortunately it seems that much of the world does think exactly that. If you point out that something wasn't a complete success, be prepared for some people to take you to task for not appreciating the good intentions and elbow grease.

Not that I think there is anything wrong with acknowledging the hard work someone put into something, and I certainly appreciate it when someone thanks me for putting a lot of time and effort into something. However, it is also perfectly legitimate to point out the things that didn't go perfectly. When you have experience in similar endeavors yourself, it is also perfectly legitimate to critique the decisions and methods used to create the work.

For example, several years ago I read the first couple scenes of a story I was working on at our monthly writing group meeting. I've been writing for a long time. I've been published in both amateur and professional publications. I've even won a few awards for my writing (mostly in the journalism field, but hey, an award is an award!).

The story stank.

I could tell as I was reading it aloud that I had made a serious error in crafting the opening. I could feel the people in the room squirming. I was tripping over some of the sentences because they were so awkward. It was like being in a nightmare, because it just got worse and worse.

They told me it stank. Everyone phrased it more politely, but they didn't mince words. The story was laughable when it should have been serious. It was confusing. It was done badly.

I didn't make excuses. I did not argue with their evaluation. I did not talk about all the research I had done (the story revolved around a teen-ager with a specific emotional problem; I had done extensive research on the particular mental illness, including reading a lot of case studies). I did not tell them how much time I had spent planning and writing those scenes. I also didn't tell them that the story had failed because they didn't properly appreciate my effort or hadn't been supportive enough. I thanked them for their comments and promised that I would do better next time.

And I did. I didn't come back to that particular story for many years. When I did, I approached the tale from a completely different angle and I presented it to the group again. It took two more rewrites, along with a lot of helpful comments from the critique group, but the final product didn't stink. It had improved not just because I put more time and effort into it, but because I figured out what I had done wrong, then took corrective measures.

Good intentions won't overcome a bad plan. No amount of elbow grease will turn a mud pie into chocolate mousse.