From the Universe, with Love — or —  Critique Partners

From the Universe, with Love
— or —
Critique Partners

by Leah Rex McCracken and Carla Vergot

This is a true story, told from two opposing perspectives, in which the authors explore the mysterious relationship of critique partners.

The First Take

Carla:

I’m not sure how often it happens—the universe placing in your path a person you are meant to know. I suspect it happens more frequently than we realize, but being the sad little ol’ human beings we are, we don’t recognize the gift the universe has given us. Or (and this is equally likely) we recognize it’s a gift but don’t unwrap it because doing so would conflict with all the other projects on which we are currently toiling.

I try to listen to the universe. I know I’ve heard it whisper, and I know I’ve sometimes ignored the whispers. But this story is about the time I did not ignore the whisper.

I met Leah Rex McCracken at the American Library Association conference in DC. And by “met,” I mean we were close enough to say hey while I signed copies of my first book and she supported me as a representative of my distributor.

I enjoyed her, thought it would be great to know her, but left the conference without any real contact information or (guilty shrug) intent to follow up.

The universe, clearly disappointed with my poor performance, placed Leah in my path again a year or so later at the Public Library Association conference in Nashville. This time, almost as if the universe was sarcastically commenting on my earlier failure, I was given multiple opportunities to connect.

By the end of that conference, I nodded to the universe and whispered, “I get it.” I knew then that Leah was rare, and I needed to discover why the universe insisted she be in my life.

Leah:

I have spent my entire career in books, first in retail, a brief stint in sales, and today I work with a major book distributor. Although each role I’ve held was a little different, the common denominator has always been the trade show.

In this environment, there’s a bit of character acting required while shooting the same scene over and over—smile, handshake, a few minutes of business chat, repeat with a new costar. The result of this performance art on a loop is that you rarely remember who you talked to come the end of the fast-paced trade show day.

I remembered Carla, though. I kind of think anyone would. She’s bold and warm and entirely original. I saw her again later that evening at a social event with a posse of equally fabulous writers, and I remember thinking, I’d love to be a member of that club. I eventually shook it off as nothing more than the whimsy which sets in at the end of a long day.

The Overture

Carla:
I was traveling for a short stretch after the Tennessee conference, so no attempts to reach out, real or imagined, were made. The universe gave me a thump when I was back in place, and my first overture was probably an email.

I think Leah mentioned her blog, because I wouldn’t have found it otherwise. I’m generally too lazy to investigate people by poking around online. The first entry I read was her recollection of a trip she made to the Wal-Mart to find a certain, specific product for her husband. In short order I was cry-laughing as I realized what the universe had in mind: I was meant to escort this writer from her blog to a published novel.

Leah had a voice. It was a snarky, sweet, edgy, fluid voice that communicated fresh ideas. She was a better writer than me, and the universe wanted me to see to it that people heard her voice, read her writing.

I felt fairly well equipped for this assignment. My first book was released in 2018, and the second book in the series was slated to be released in March of 2020, about a month after my second encounter with Leah.

In that span, I had gone from special education teacher in the public school system to writer to author. During the process, I staggered through the obstacle course new authors encounter—throwing darts to decide between self publishing or going the traditional route, establishing platforms, building a community, promoting the first book while writing the second.

With those experiences freshly tattooed on my psyche, I decided I could definitely do that. I could coach Leah from blog to book.

There was one tiny problem, though. Leah wasn’t interested.

Leah:

After the Nashville public library show, I returned to my imperfect but familiar life of work, navigating the chaos of living with our adult children, and writing the occasional blog post.

Carla had signed a copy of her second novel for me, and while I generally carry gifted books home but never read them, I did read Lily Barlow 2: The Mystery in the Mangroves. I was entranced. Carla’s characters are so unique and fully formed, you emerge from her books a little dazed and surprised that Lily and Jack are not real.

I believe we all have a gift we’re meant to use, a talent we’re called to share. I’m the person to whom people say, “Have you ever thought about writing?” This question both pleased and terrified me. Recognition is nice, but beyond a 250 word blog post, I didn’t think I had much to say.

Carla and I became Facebook friends.

The Pact

Carla:

My proposal was direct—Whenever you’re ready to write the book you’re supposed to write, can I please be your critique partner? It took a lot of bridge building, cajoling and double-dog daring to get Leah to bite, though.

Critique partners are the overlooked and under utilized heroes of this career path. I’d never even heard of these support people while I was pilfering away the 25 years between deciding to write a book and actually sitting down to do it. It wasn’t until I bought a new computer and took a sabbatical from teaching that an author friend inserted herself as my critique partner.

She introduced me to accountability and the practice of bouncing ideas off someone who knew my story. While she could not cleave the first person point of view from my death grip, she single handedly prevented me from writing the series in present tense, a gesture for which I am eternally grateful. From my personal experience with this kind of partnership, I knew the value, and I knew I could bring that to Leah.

However, at that point, Leah wasn’t in a place where she could even utter the phrase critique partner. She flat out rejected my initial invitations to collaborate this way. Lots of virtual coffee chats later, she dipped a toe and eventually mustered the courage to do the thing that terrifies a writer in the marrow of our bones—she let a stranger read her words.

Leah:

Almost immediately, Carla started offering to be my critique partner. I responded each time with a polite but firm no. She did not give up, nudging me just often enough to let me know she was serious, but not so much as to put me off.

One day in August of 2020, I said yes. I would love to report it was an epiphany, a burning bush moment. It was quieter than that, though, my heart winning the battle over my brain.

In our very first meeting as critique partners – held over FaceTime – I announced to Carla that I was a flight risk because this, whatever this was, the mysterious notion of a critique partner, was likely to freak me out. Carla was nonplussed.

I still do not know whether it was fate, God, or Carla’s unfailing confidence in me. No matter how I flailed and complained and whined, she patiently ignored each hissy fit and eventually the relationship, and my writing, took root.

The Paydirt

Carla:

The universe was not f’ing with me. I had not been wrong about her. Leah was the real deal. The first pages of her story were funny, quirky, solid, smooth. She had a strong idea, well defined characters, plot twists, way too many commas, and the annoying habit of starting a sentence with a number conveyed as an Arabic numeral instead of spelled as a word. Okay. Okay. I could work with that.

We threw ourselves into weekly meetings, ending each one by setting a goal for the next week. In this way, Leah has moved her story forward, and I emerge once a week covered in the brilliantly messy paint splatters of a new writer’s development.

Leah:

I’ve learned that a lot of writing is craft, not magic, a concept I find reassuring because while sparkle is elusive, I can grind with the best of them. The formula is straightforward: meet weekly, sometimes to review writing I’ve submitted, other times to talk me through a block. The weekly cadence of our meetings makes it easier to kill (but never delete) my darlings (always, always, save them somewhere), letting them go before I’ve become irrationally attached to them.

As infomercial-esque as this may sound, having a critique partner transformed my life. Friends and family comment on how happy I seem, how pleased they are that I’ve claimed my identity as a writer.

The Joy

Carla:
The joy? Well that’s easy. There is great satisfaction in figuring out what the universe wanted you to do. Even greater satisfaction in doing it.

Leah and I have an hour-long FaceTime call every week that usually lasts longer than an hour. It fills me up. We spend the first minutes checking in on the person who has become an important part in each of our lives. Then we spend some time on the mechanics of being an author today and what that means in this competitive landscape. Then we work on a scene, or address issues with a character, or take the sandpaper to a bit of dialogue.

She drives. I observe and offer insight. She is absolutely free to accept or reject any suggestion. It’s her book. I’m only here to represent her intended audience, shake the pom poms and deliver an honest opinion.

Sometimes my observations are almost inconsequential—pointing out a phrase that made me stumble. Sometimes I shine a light on a problem that would present itself a chapter or two down the road at this current trajectory. Sometimes I tell her to get on her horse and wrangle a scene that has gotten away from her. All of it is delivered with love and respect. At least that’s my intention.

One day, Leah Rex McCracken will be the summer read of every book club on the block, and I’ll whisper, “I’m not at all surprised,” as I glance skyward and give the universe a knowing wink.

Leah:

One of the things that kept me from writing for decades was the fear of failure, of releasing a book that no one wanted to publish. Working with Carla taught me that joy is in the journey.

For real, it’s all joy, even the bad days when the words won’t come, or when Carla insists on pesky details like punctuation. It’s impossible to do something that scares you and not come out the other side forever changed for the better.

I read differently now, looking under the hood of the story for the method, why it works or doesn’t. I review books through a new lens, with the understanding that whether I like the book or not, the story before me represents someone’s dream, is worth respect for the very act of seeing it through.

I hold my head a little higher since starting this journey. My manuscript is still in progress, but there was a time I didn’t own the words my manuscript. And my new definition of success is getting the opportunity to be a critique partner for a writer like I was, equal parts hopeful and terrified.

Beyond the writing or progress, the immense joy is my friendship with Carla. There’s an intimacy that comes from one person extending a hand and the other taking it.

The Second Act

Carla:

Leah doesn’t know about this yet, but I have big plans for us. We’ll be touring community centers and college campuses as a team of two funny-ass authors who hold writing workshops and give seminars.

The Third Act will obviously be the launch of a dating-like app where a wanna-be writer can connect with the perfect critique partner. I’m still working on the name, but Critique-a-Palooza has a nice ring to it.

Leah:

Y’all hush! I just said Leah doesn’t know about this yet.

—

Carla Vergot has authored two books in her Lily Barlow series and watched them both go out of print when the first publisher closed under the weight of the pandemic. Her search for new representation was a grind, complete with all the near misses and spectacular failures many authors experience. Eventually, Morgan James Publishing took a chance. Lily Barlow Book One: The Mystery of Jane Dough is scheduled for re-release on November 7th, and this time the book boasts an endorsement from Janet Evanovich. Lily Barlow Book Two: The Mystery in the Mangroves comes out in the spring. Carla has finished Book Three and is starting that phase of the writing process where an author picks up a manuscript after a long absence and wonders why in the name of the Big Dipper did she ever use that word in that sentence.

FB — Carla Vergot’s Back Porch
Insta @carla_vergot
www.CarlaVergot.com

Leah Rex

Leah has spent her career in the book industry and knows all the backroads from sales to distribution. Writing her own book will be a crowning glory on a diverse career path which she juggles daily. It takes a lot to write a book while working full time, and she is committed to cobbling together patches of time to write. Leah has the support of husband, dogs, adult children, and many other friends and family members. She looks forward to dedicating her book to her amazing mama and then helping another new writer get started.

FB — Leah Rex’s Bonus Room
Insta @leah228

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing