I realize I've been a bad blogging buddy lately. You come here and then I don't go to your blog. I feel like that one sister in the ward who always has people babysit her kids but is just never free when people need it in exchange.

So, sorry! I'm hoping things ease up a bit soon.  School started, of course, and for moms that means 9 months of partial freedom.  For teachers, it's just the opposite, of course.

Then, I've been working like a madman on my middle grade novel.  Nights, meals, bus rides to 8th grade retreats, election speeches by class officer candidates--however, I don't work on it during Church meetings because even I have my limits.

Anyway--I want to talk about that novel for a minute.

When it was first written, it was a little over 400 pages and it was brilliant.  I knew it.  I read a lot in this genre and I just knew it was excellent. I had some kids read it and they loved it, too.

I knew this was good.  I could see in my mind how good it was. Then I gave it to some friends to read. To my surprise, they showed me the weaknesses.  Too many instances of telling not showing, way too much narrative, long passages of unnecessary explanation.

At first I was confused. They must not get my genre, I thought. And then I looked more closely.  They were absolutely right. 

You see, my idea is wonderful.  It's interesting and a little unique.  And in my mind, it works perfectly. But they, of course, couldn't see my idea. They only saw what I had translated that idea into.  And the two didn't match.

I fancy myself as very self-critical and tough on myself.  But because I was so tuned in to the wonderful idea, I missed the rough execution.

My friends did me a HUGE favor by helping me see my work with new eyes.  And I went back and slashed and sliced ruthlessly. Any writer will know what I mean when I say that each slice felt like it was going into my heart.  But the book is sooo much better now!

A few more read-throughs and I'm going to send it off and try to get an agent.  This endeavor was faciliated greatly by my friends, who loved me enough to be honest.  They helped me see the difference between what I wanted and intended to do and what I actually did.  Good friends.  May I always have those kind of friends and may I always be one of those friends!  I think there is a larger parallel here, but I'm going to leave it for you all to apply.  I've gotta run!

I’ve been teaching various theatre camps all summer (part of the reason I haven’t been visiting your blogs as much) and last week was Musical Theatre.  One of my students was an 8th grader who graduated in June, but she came back to be my assistant and also to participate.

On Friday, we had a performance for the parents.  This student was the last one to perform.  She sang a very long, complicated song straight from the score of a Broadway play—not a watered-down arrangement, the real thing.  And she nailed it.  NAILED it!  It was perfect musically and dramatically. Not "pretty good for a kid." Perfect. It’s a dramatically demanding song and she sung and acted magnificently.  She couldn’t have done it better and if you had heard it, you would not have believed she was 14. 

As I stood in the corner listening to her, I got a bit teary and choked up.  Not only because it was beautiful—which it was.  Not only because it was powerful—which it was.  But because I knew what this student had gone through.

I have directed her in plays and taught her in choir and given her private lessons now for three years, so I know her fairly well.
 
When I first met her in 6th grade, she had a pretty voice.  But she had some bad vocal habits that she developed by trying to match the pop stars she heard on the radio.  And, while her voice was pretty, it wasn’t terribly strong. 

Her acting and stage presence were virtually non-existent.  I gave her a small, featured solo in a play that year to see how she would do.  She stood there stiffly and rigid, singing softly and without any energy. 

So, how did she get from that point to where she is blowing audiences away?
 
Part of it, to be sure, is maturity.  But there is so much more than that.  This student is one of the most teachable students I have ever had.  She wants to learn.  That means that she willingly accepted all the criticism, correction, and feedback I have ever given her.  She never rationalized, justified, or argued.  She hasn’t pouted, had tantrums, or even scowled or frowned when I corrected her. She works to implement whatever feedback I give her.

Because I don’t have to worry about her ego or being diplomatic or hurting her feelings, I have been free to teach her far more than I normally can.   She listens and then practices what I tell her until she can apply it.  

She didn’t learn by being told how wonderful she was or how great her voice was.  She learned by having someone who knew more than she did critique her and tell her what she was doing wrong and how to fix it.  That’s important. 

Correction and seeing our flaws is not pleasant, ever, but for her, the goal of being an excellent performer is far more important than just getting warm fuzzies.

It has me thinking a lot about the way I respond to counsel and correction from those who are in a position to teach me.  Especially, the Master Teacher.


P.S. I'll be up at YW Camp for most of this week, so if you don't see me on your blogs much, that's why.