Beyond the Realms of Critique & Perfection

As writers, we spend a lot of time in the realms of “Critique” and “Perfection.”

And with good reason. Critique from outside sources—our peers, professors, editors, book agents (one day!), best friend, and relative who loves to read our work but always finishes her emails with “I just wish I knew what you were talking about!”—is a valuable tool. It helps us transcend ourselves and our intense attachment we almost always foster to each of our written works, see the piece from a different perspective, catch the holes and missteps and types (I mean, typos). Constructive feedback—and yes, even the shot-to-the-heart feedback—can make a good story great.

Any writer who says they don’t try to produce perfect writing is either lying to you, kidding themselves, or experimenting with society, form, or your emotions—even as my “mistype” above was an intentional choice. No one wants to work for countless hours on a story only to find, when it finally makes it to the shelf, that there is an error on page three. We edit our pieces incessantly (sometimes, that’s what stands in the way of writers ever finishing). Then we hire other people to edit our pieces. And then we wait for someone else, completely disconnected from our own reality and process (maybe a book reviewer on Instagram or Substack), to tell us why our book or short story or poem is—or isn’t—perfect.

These two realms—Critique and Perfection—are inherent to a strong writerly practice.

But they have their pitfalls.

As already mentioned, sometimes our inner editor keeps us from being able to get past the first page of our novel. Other times, we bring the delicate seedlings of our stories to others for their input, and the precious possibilities are crushed underfoot before they have time to take root. The need to fit into a genre or meet expectations can hinder creativity and force us to slot would-have-been-revolutionary works into neat marketable cubbies so we can pay rent this month. Fears of failure, rejection, burnout, inadequacy, and imposter syndrome can stop us from ever sitting down and doing the hard work of writing, especially in a world that only values creative energy when it brings commercial success.

That’s why we as writers need access to other realms. There are many, but I’m going to talk about two that I’ve found to be invaluable for my own practice.

1. The Realm of High Expectations

Your initial reaction to this heading may be, “Well, how is this different from your realm of Perfection?” You could argue that we’re arguing semantics a bit here, but I would argue that that argument is all about words, and as writers I think we can all agree that word choice matters (we are, after all, the ones who spend hours contemplating whether it was a “rainy,” “misty,” or “dreich” afternoon), so let’s not argue, okay?

Anyway. High Expectations. Here’s what I mean by that.

This is the realm of “Shoot for the moon—and even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” It’s the place where everyone’s talent is recognized as their own and nurtured as such. In the Christian tradition, we would say that it’s admonishing folks to aim for excellence, with permission to operate “each according to their own ability.” It is equity, rather an equality. And it is, importantly, a mutual accountability based on agreed-upon community standards.

That is the main difference between this realm and that of Perfection. Perfection demands we hit certain marks someone else has set in place—this many words, that level of sophisticated vocabulary, another sort of degree or fellowship—while High Expectations sits down at the table with us, listens to our stories, and says, “You can do great things. Let’s figure out how we can be great together.”

It is good and proper for us as writers to expect great things of each other. Mainly because we are each capable of great things. When tempered by grace, nurtured in community, and encouraged to be imaginative, “high expectations” of one another produce powerful writing and confident writers.

2. The Realm of Creative Freedom

A word a little too casually thrown about and easily misunderstood, freedom is essential to healthy writing spaces. Entering this realm is a choice—especially for those of us who have been reading and writing for a long time and are all-too-aware of the myriad rules governing things like literature and success. Navigating this realm requires a certain wisdom—and an exhilarating audacity.

This realm is permission to write something purely because if you don’t, it will keep showing up at your door, crawling into bed with you and poking you in the face while you try to sleep, intruding into your conversations with friends and your to-do lists at work. It is writing in a completely different way, in a voice that is “not yours,” in a genre that you’ve never tried before but that has always fascinated you. It is finding peace in your own creative lane and deciding that you like the smooth ride and, heck, you’re going to write nothing but fan fiction or Victorian era romance novels for the rest of your life.

This kind of freedom is breaking free of chains and bursting open locked doors into bright open spaces—while still being beholden to the law of gravity (and grateful to it, because otherwise we’d float off into cold, dark, vacuous space).

Here’s the most remarkable thing about these two realms: they co-exist seamlessly here at Hillfire.

This was not happenstance. The marriage of High Expectations and Creative Freedom has been cultivated, ushered into existence by hands that love writing—and love writers. Hillfire has become for myself, and many of our writers, an outlet for experimentation with form and voice; an opportunity to publish pieces that don’t fit between other bindings; and a way to connect with writers across the globe who are dedicated to being both excellent and wild on the page. With every anthology—not by accident, but through months of hard work, deadlines, and mountains of Google docs—we produce a fabulous patchwork of stories and poetry, each reflective of the individual writer’s skill, interests, and life season.

Every so often, a writer’s journey will meander through the realms of Critique and Perfection. Our drafts will be ripped apart in workshops and tied back together with copy-edits. And we will be forever grateful for our proofreader’s line-by-line perfectionism and our typesetter’s meticulous eye. But for much of the time, I argue we must tarry in these other realms. As we’ve seen in the last three years with Hillfire, these are the places of rich soil, radiant sunlight, and nutritious storms. These realms are where our tender seedlings find root and grow into incredible things.