When it comes to critics I turn a blind eye.  If you can’t do, critique.

When I studied acting, my teacher didn’t really enjoy going to plays.  She went, but not very often.  And it wasn’t because she hated plays.  She loved them.  She’s worked with American greats like Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller, and several members of New York City’s Group Theater.  But her work, her job analyzing students, whether they were acting well or not, had become second nature.  An example, one scene I did required me to enter the stage.

As I walked on, she said in her frog like voice, “Jimmy. What are you doing?”

“What?  I didn’t even say anything, yet,” I said.

“You didn’t have to.  Your energy wasn’t there.  You weren’t present.”

She was right.  It was one of the coolest things that I remember about her.

So when she goes to theatrical performances, she can’t help but analyze everyone’s performances.

When I go to movies, watch TV or plays, read books, or listen to a story, I can’t help but see certain techniques used to create emotion, depth, the setup, etc.  I can, however, turn it off.  That’s how good I am.  Or maybe that’s how incompetent I am.

Before I went to see Blind Side, starring Sandra Bullock and Quinton Aaron, I saw the viewers’ reviews on Fandango.  It had a green cartoon bubble with a plus sign inside, meaning, go see this movie unless you’re a loser.  Not wanting to be a loser, I went to see it.  One of the things I noticed, just off handedly, there weren’t a lot of disaster.  I caught myself looking for it.It seemed pollyannaish.

I think what saved the movie, aside from being heartwarming, is thehumor.It’s not Will Ferrell kind of humor.  That can and does get annoying.  Absurdity upon absurdity isn’t absurd anymore.  It’s kinda like trying to find a black dot on a black screen.  It was the kind of humor that helps contrast Bullock’s confidence and Aaron’s low key performance.

Even though this movie broke a huge rule in compelling story telling, it worked for the general audience.  Because no matter what a professional critic may say, it’s the fans that determines the success of any work.

In saying that, reading what professional critics say can teach any storyteller some intricacies of the art, especially when they begin to say the same thing over and over again.  If, however, the list of complaints is so varied, then it is just their ownopinions.And we know what that smells like.

Yesterday I was fortunate enough to be invited on a friend’s yacht. I was talking about my book to an acquaintance. We were talking about one of the most basic elements of a good story.

Disasters.

I told her that disasters occur at the end of most scenes. And if a scene did end on a positive note, a win for our hero, a disaster would quickly follow.

She was taken aback. And she’s well read. “Pollyanna is boring,” she said.

Now, I was surprised she didn’t know this. Because I took this basic story element for granted. All good writers know this, however.

So why am I posting this? Because I spend so much time hiding writing techniques, making sure different story elements work undercover like a secret agent.

When you watch an Olympic ice skater perform, you don’t see every single technique, the thousands of hours of practice, and the relentless coaching. What you see is greatness.

Not that I want to neglect the practice of making my writing seamless, effortless. But people are totally more concerned with a story being good. Whether they can see the technique used, doesn’t matter. Does your story have passion? Heart?

I read an interview of top editors from different major publishing houses. They said one of the worst things they faced were stories that were technically written well, but lacked heart. At that point they couldn’t tell the writer what to do.

Ask yourself. What is the purpose of your story? What is the message you’re trying to convey?

Take Matrix. The message is simple. Anything is possible if you believe in yourself.