Yesterday I had finished writing up notes on another writer’s novel draft, and I ran them through Claude Opus to check that my notes seemed fair and accurate. Claude confirmed that they were fair and accurate, but noted that they were mostly negative, and that I had failed to point out several of the elements of the story that were working. As I began my attempts to remedy that, I came to the conclusion that I am really bad at coming up with positive feedback. It doesn’t come naturally, and I’m embarrassed to admit that it was somewhat of an epiphany for me to realize exactly why: well written story elements, by nature, are transparent.

I pride myself on being as genuine as I can with feedback while also trying to be kind. For that reason, I have always avoided flattering writers just for the sake of it. I would want the same treatment for my own writing, and I have always thought that, if I think something is good, I should make sure to tell the writer so. If something isn’t working, it’s my responsibility to be honest and let them know. Sometimes drafts just need more work. Sometimes the negatives genuinely outweigh the positives — or the positives are hard to see until some of the negatives are cleared away. This has always seemed fair.

However, I realize now that I have been framing many of the transparent bits, the elements that are working, as “average” and unworthy of note. This isn’t fair, because flattery and praise are not what is important about positive feedback; what’s important are the specifics regarding what makes the reading experience smooth, transparent, and enjoyable. The writer needs to know about these things just as much as what doesn’t work.

Another factor in unlocking this revelation for me is that the “average” framework has its basis in finished novels that have already been through re-writes and edits, and have been painstakingly polished. That’s not a fair basis for comparison for an early draft. As a writer myself, I should know better: publishable works of fiction do not spawn fully formed from the writer’s head. The rough edges need to be polished, yes, but the natural beauty also needs to be highlighted so it sparkles all the brighter beside what has been sanded smooth.

Now that I fully understand that, it’s something I’m determined to remedy.

When I started to think about what I could do to better develop my ability to call out good elements of storycraft, it started to take the shape of something familiar: mindfulness practice.

In Vipassana meditation, the bulk of the work is noting things. You sit, breathe, and try to note what you think and feel, and then let it pass. Naturally it’s a lot easier to note when you’re suffering or when your mind is hooked obsessively on something. It’s much more difficult to note when things are pleasant and you are at ease. When everything seems to be going right, there is less to “tap you on the shoulder” so you can be mindful of it. This parallels reading written work, so with the help of Claude I have arrived at some mindful reading practices to try.

  1. Note pleasure. If you’re enjoying something, flag it. You may not fully understand why at that exact moment, but the more instances you collect, the more clearly the reason will emerge.

  2. Note behaviors. There are several types of reading behaviors that indicate the writing is working:

  3. Your reading pace speeds up → Tension and urgency are being built

  4. A character says something that gets a reaction from you → Character voice is strong
  5. You’ve lost track of time / stayed up later → The story is immersive and there is momentum
  6. You like something enough to re-read it → Well crafted prose and sentence level wording

  7. You wanted to keep reading despite flaws → Something about the story or characters is engaging

  8. Note when things “click”. When you figure something out, a reason is revealed, or a plot point seems to pay off, re-wind and think about why that is the case. Most likely there was writing craft that went into you feeling that moment.

  9. Note (or contemplate) absences. Are you reading because you’re anticipating something or someone? Is there something or someone that you would miss if edited out? This typically indicates that the writing has done something with structure and plot that is working well.

I could probably come up with other techniques, but I am going to start with these four simple things, and I invite you to also try and track them while reading any book. If you are already a meditator within the tradition of Vipassana, I think you may find that it is very similar to your practice. Even if you’re not a meditator, I wouldn’t be surprised if you get better at mindful reading the more you do it, and that it improves your overall experience of reading.