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Feedback
November 10, 2010
In the online world, everyone wants my feedback. Stores I buy stuff from want my feedback. Seminars I attend want my feedback. Dog trials I participate in and motels I stay at want my feedback. My favorite public radio station wants my feedback, especially around pledge-drive time. Some eBay sellers won't give you feedback till you give them feedback. Websites like Amazon.com even invite me to give feedback on other people's feedback. Even in the real world we've got "HOW'S MY DRIVING? CALL 800-555-1212."
After several years of this, I'm jaded. I don't believe most of these concerns care diddly-squat about what I think. They do want to create the appearance that they care about what I think, however. They also want to know if clients and customers are so dissatisfied they're likely to go elsewhere. So in most cases when someone solicits my feedback I consider it pro forma, like saying, "How do you do?" I only respond if it takes no time or I'm looking for an excuse to procrastinate.
Or if I'm really, really pissed off at whoever's soliciting the feedback. In those cases, the solicitor likely won't pay any attention to my "Extremely Dissatisfied" responses, or even to my time-consumingly constructive and tactful comments, if the form allows for them. In such cases giving feedback serves my own need to think things through (maybe I contributed to this mess?) and to blow off some adrenaline. Practice in translating fury into possibly palatable prose is never wasted. If "tactful" proves elusive, I can endeavor to get off an insult stylish enough to make Shakespeare or Samuel Johnson smile.
If I believe that the solicitor really cares about feedback, as with the dog-training seminar I went to on Sunday, I'll respond. It's a way to show my appreciation for a job very well done. As a writer, I find it demoralizing and ultimately depressing to work in a vacuum. Response, any kind of response, lets me know people are out there. Thoughtful responses, enthusiastic responses, responses that go off on interesting tangents -- one or two of these can keep me going for weeks. Their power comes in part from the fact that they're unsolicited.
In some cases, though, I find solicited feedback helpful. I read online reviews for products I'm thinking of buying, especially clothes and anything to do with computers. These reviews usually include ratings, e.g., one to five stars, but what matters most are the comments. They help me decide whether this product works well for people who have something in common with me: they're outdoorsy, they're computer-literate, they're around five-foot-five, and so on. These reviews are so useful to me that when a company I like, such as Duluth Trading or L. L. Bean, solicits my feedback, I'll often oblige.
Writers' groups, formal or informal, online or real-time, deal in solicited feedback. A good critiquer is a joy forever -- at least after you figure out how to fix the passage that she flagged as murky. When you find a writers' group whose members read carefully but differently and who aren't afraid to articulate their response to your work -- don't let it go!
Writers' groups aside, though, for me the most valuable feedback comes during the give-and-take of working together. Plenty of people won't tell you in so many words what they think (sometimes they aren't sure), but if you're paying attention you can figure it out by listening carefully and reading between the lines. When I'm in training mode with Travvy, I try to give him feedback as clearly as I can, using clicks and treats, body position and voice, but he's always watching me for the feedback I don't know I'm giving. If I could be that observant with friends and colleagues, I'd never piss anyone off.
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