On the Craft: beta readers are essential

the silent army behind a writer's best work

Beta readers are an essential part of my storytelling; they’re the oxygen of my editing process. I’ve had my team for almost a decade—only adding an additional member when the stars align—and they never fail to take my manuscript to the next level.

Before I discuss how I work with them, the result of years of trial and error, let’s back up and discuss the basics.

What is a beta reader and why are they not called alpha readers?

The term was stolen from the software world, referring to the first outside users to test software before public release, a way to catch any last-minute bugs. Alpha testers would be the developers themselves, or in my case, the author. In the book world, beta readers are a team that reads your manuscript pre-publication to make sure nothing slips through the cracks and to search for any last ways to elevate the manuscript. This team is separate from your publisher’s band of developmental editors, copy editors, and proofreaders.

How do you build your team as a budding author?

This is the hardest part. And the answer is always: your partner. Or your mom or dad or aunt. Perhaps your favorite English teacher. Your closest friends. Anyone who is willing to suffer through an early draft and offer some notes (without crushing your spirit—more on that later). They don't need experience, but it’s good if they’re big readers, even more so if they read in your genre. You can also seek out beta readers via social media by posting your search on your feed and in various book-lover groups. If you’re old school, post on the community board or even go find a local book club. Readers love to be a part of an art project.

Once you catch some momentum and find your voice, beta readers will come to you. They’re the folks who most resonate with you and your work, the ones who send you a note to tell you how much your latest effort meant to them, the ones who leave you the grandest reviews. I’m always looking for people like that, as they’re my people, the ones who vibrate at the same frequency, and I’ll start up a conversation, gauging their interest.

I want readers with a positive mindset, who read A LOT, and have the necessary time available, as it’s a ton of work, especially when they join me under deadline, which is always the case these days. I vet them, then give them a test run with a novel. If they’re on time and contribute in a meaningful way, then they’re part of the team till they get tired of me.

Each beta reader is so different, and that’s the beauty of them.

Every person on my team has a different way to contribute. It still amazes me how readers see stories so differently, each of them providing unique observations. Once you get to know them on an individual basis, you can figure out how to use them best. I have eagle-eye readers who love to find typos. Others are wonderful at catching inconsistencies. For example, my protagonist might stand from the couch earlier in the scene, but then I accidentally reference her still sitting a page later. Or perhaps the couch was blue in the first chapter and somehow turned orange by the end.

Other beta readers are prose wizards and will point out paragraphs or sentences that cause issues. I have the historians and fact checkers who won’t let me look like an idiot. The big-picture people might send me fewer notes, but they’re equally as crucial. They’ll point out which characters grate on their nerves, perhaps how and why and when. They’ll point out timeline issues, plot holes, or overall concerns about a character’s questionable choice.

It’s all essential and removes some of the burden from my publishing team, who can focus on other issues.

How do you know what to listen to?

Once you open the door to beta readers, the biggest challenge is knowing who to trust. If you’re using a developmental editor, you kind of have to trust them. They’re like the producer of a record. Your vision needs to line up with theirs if you’re to make magic. But beta readers aren’t being paid; nor are they trained professionals. They’re avid readers excited to see how the process works under the hood and to be a part of a project with an author they admire.

I have two ways to decide when to go with a particular suggestion. Firstly, I follow my gut instincts. Typically, if a beta reader offers advice that’s on the more subjective side of the spectrum, I’ll ask myself if it resonates. I often know the moment I read their comment that they’re right, because they’re confirming something I’d already considered.

The other way is by democracy. I have over twenty readers right now. If more than half of them tell me the ending with the food fight isn’t working, then that’s strong evidence. If only two people have a problem with it, then killing the scene is not such a slam dunk. Democracy rules!

Notes on getting your feelings hurt.

I can take criticism personally. It’s hard not to. That’s why I haven’t read reader reviews in years. But most of us attempting to publish must rely on outside help, likely your agent, your publishing team, and your beta readers, and they’re going to hurt your feelings from time to time.

I often feel like a cow up for auction when I get my comments back from my professional team. They poke and prod and say, “A bit fat in the belly. One ear’s bigger than the other. What happened to the tail? He’s not the smartest bull in the pasture. A bit overpriced.” Or more accurately: “It gets off to a slow start. I don’t even care whether your protagonist reaches their goal, they’re so unlikeable right now. You’re really overdoing the interiority; delete fifteen-thousand words immediately. The ending isn’t working.”

Such critiques can feel like attacks to your soul if you’re not ready for them. My ego might think, When am I finally going to get, “That was perfection, Boo. I wouldn’t touch a thing”? Let’s get clear on that right now: they’ll never say that.

My professional team (agent and publisher) is often past the point of offering praise. And that’s fine! They’re not there to boost your ego (well, maybe a little), but the whole reason they’re working with you is they like you and your writing—those are givens—so their harsh or stern comments aren’t because you suck. They’re simply in project mode trying to do the job you’ve given them: seek out ways to improve the project.

I have a different expectation from my beta readers. Yes, I want criticism, but the positive kind. Early on, I had a few make harmful comments that would sting. “This book doesn’t touch the last one.” Or, “Ugh, this one isn’t for me. What happened to your writing?” Another loved to say, “One day, you’ll write the book you’re meant to write. This isn’t it.” I don’t need to hear that from my beta readers, because all it does is inject doubt into my head and slow down my process.

I started sending out a note to the team each year, something like: Though I want honesty and criticism, please refrain from overarching negative comments that don’t come with solutions. I’m great with you suggesting that characters or plot points aren’t working, but do it in a kind way. And absolutely provide a solution. Avoid stating that the book isn’t working, that you don’t see how I’m the same writer who wrote Red Mountain, etc. We are creating a circle of trust where we build each other up. We are making art together, and in doing so, let’s be gentle on one another.

I might sound sensitive, but I know my process. Anything that gets in the way of the connection with the muse is off limits. I used to write songs in Nashville with a guy named Scott Simontacchi, and it was a similar situation. We never knocked each other down. If one of us didn’t like something, we’d kindly disagree and offer another path forward.

How do you pay them back?

I couldn’t possibly pay back my beta readers what they rightly deserve, but I always try to take care of them. Naturally, I put them in the acknowledgments and send them a signed book once it’s published.

More importantly, I respect how much time they’ve devoted to the story. I read and consider every word they send over with my whole heart. When we correspond, I take the time to be present and soak in the gratitude I feel for them.

Sometimes, I’m deep into a deadline and catch myself replying too quickly. I’ll back up and feel into this amazingly generous gift they’ve given me, then respond from that place. They are superheroes to me, selfless wonderhumans who give me giant chunks of their time. And hopefully, they find a lot of joy knowing that they’re part of the process, especially when they read the book a year later and see how they’ve contributed.

How do I collect their efforts?

From a technical perspective, I ask beta readers to return feedback in one of two ways. They can use Track Changes in Microsoft Word or Apple Pages and return a marked-up document. Or they can send one email after they’ve finished (please, for the love of my inbox, not after every chapter). It might include answers to my questions, some overall thoughts, and then references to particular passages. If the latter, I let them know that page numbers change daily during the drafting process, so don’t say, “On page fifty-three, there’s an issue in the first paragraph.” I need a few sequential words, so that I can search for that particular spot.

How do I organize it all?

When I open up a beta reader email, I always have my main Word manuscript open alongside a Scrivener document I call The Brain (not to be confused with my main Excel sheet, also called The Brain), which is where I keep my elaborate to-do list for the novel. If the suggestions are small and easy, I’ll go ahead and make the change in the manuscript. If it’s a bigger change that I don’t want to do in the moment, or that I’m on the fence about, I might make a comment in the margins of the manuscript, but I’ll definitely insert it as a task item in The Brain, under such sections as: on the fence, large edits, fixes, lingering questions, or details to add. Once a particular team’s feedback is in, I make final decisions and move forward with the bigger changes.

How do I use my team?

This process has developed over time, and one of the lessons I learned early on was that sending to everyone at once caused issues. The first beta reader to submit would point out a few obvious mistakes, and I’d wish that I’d caught them before sending to everyone.

I know who my first line of defense is, the speed demons who can knock out a read in a day or two and provide an amazing critique. I’ll send an updated manuscript to these two or three people first, so that when I send to my larger team, we will have knocked out any obvious issues that might be distracting.

Breaking up the crew into several teams is the way. I can collect notes, polish the work, send to a new team, polish again, send to yet another new team, and so on. Makes way more sense than sending to everyone at once, right?

I’m in the dev-edits stage of my WIP (work-in-progress) set in Bologna, Italy, tidying things up. For this one, my beta team is broken into fours: the first line of defense, then three larger teams named after characters: Team George, Team Bianca, and Team Sandy.

Though each beta reader knows what to do at this point, using the skills particular to them, I’ll accompany my manuscript with guidelines and questions, adding, As always, do what you do best. Not everyone needs to hunt down typos or grammar. If you’re a big-picture person, that’s HUGE. I need overarching thoughts now more than ever. There are no wrong answers—unless they’re mean.

Then I’ll hit them with suggestions and questions, such as:

• Where do you find yourself skimming? (The answer takes extra strength to endure.)

• Point out lazy writing.

• Do you notice any words or phrases that are overused?

• What sentences or paragraphs slowed you down, due to confusion or a lack of smoothness?

• What’s not working? What is? (Knowing what is working is as paramount as knowing what isn’t.)

• What’s bothering you? Where were you offended?

• What inconsistencies can you find?

• Give me any details that I might be missing. And point out any historical inaccuracies.

• Anything you can think of that makes the story more relatable, smoother, more enjoyable, smarter, etc.

I won’t give any spoilers in the email text, but I include another set of questions at the end of the manuscript, so that when they finish, they can help me dive deeper.

Here’s one of my favorite examples of beta-reading goodness:

Apropos my earlier comment about democracy, I was super excited how my team came through with helping me tease a big secret that’s slowly revealed in the WIP.

Two readers from Team George caught an early hint and suspected the secret on page one-hundred, but that’s okay. I don’t mind a few clever minds figuring out the truth ahead of schedule. But most everyone on the team figured out the truth 1/2 way through. A tiny clue made it too obvious. I tweaked it, then sent to Team Bianca. This time, most of them didn’t start suspecting until 2/3 of the way through. Then I wondered if giving the secret away earlier was a good move, so I polled everyone who’d read. I also sent the question to my dev editor.

Giving away the secret early would give the reader a reason to pull for this damaged character even more. And the reader would likely feel the tension caused by knowing a secret that the other characters weren’t yet privy to. On the other hand, holding back the secret till the last few pages would drop an M. Night Shyamalan sort of bomb.

Which way did I go? You’ll have to read The Only English Bookstore in Bologna to find out. Doing stuff like this, figuring out how to best deliver a story, is the most fun in the world. And it’s irrefutable proof that beta readers are gold.

A few more brief examples:

I had a joke where one of the characters lies and says she’s pregnant to a table of friends. I thought it was hilarious. And yet, my dev editor and more than half of my beta-reading team didn’t care for it. So it’s gone, never to evoke another laugh again. I test out a lot of jokes this way, often unfiltered ideas that push the boundaries and may or may not be funny. Running them by my team is like a comedian testing out his jokes in a small club before hitting the road for a stadium tour.

Even the tiniest catches can be huge. I have a couple of wine snobs who will challenge me on the history of a particular grape variety. I actually argued with one about the proper use of variety versus varietal. Another might notice that I used the phrase with all due respect five times in a chapter. Or twenty times in the book. Same for words like actually, just, and really. One wise reader suggested that I’d injected too much description of the bookstore in the opening chapter, that I hadn’t yet grabbed the reader with a hook. Ugh, I thought the description was so eloquent, but alas, he was right—I knew it in my bones. I needed to hold some of that description back for a later chapter. Another pointed out that I used the phrase “so good it will make you cry” twice. Can you imagine if I’d published that? Terrifying!

One reader simply injects comments into the Word document as she reads, such as: I’m making a guess but I think she’s pregnant. She was breathing heavily earlier. Or: In this scene, I’m suddenly feeling empathy for this character. I wasn’t the biggest fan before. How priceless is it to see in real time what’s working and what isn’t.

One of my characters used the expression Jesus H. Christ when she grew frustrated. A reader pointed out that Claire from Outlander often says Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. I had no idea, but it got me thinking. My character hates love and all things to do with it, including romance novels. She owns a bookstore and purposefully keeps the romance section miniscule. But what if she’s secretly reading Outlander? What better way to show she so desperately wants love? And how fun to have her get busted by colleagues when she lets Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ slip from her tongue. Gotta love beta readers for that sort of gem! These dazzling lightbulbs happen all the time when you have multiple minds diving into the same developing story.

In conclusion…

A beta-reading team can make you, the writer, seem smarter than you are; they can see things you’ve missed because you’re too deep into it; and they can point out a thousand opportunities to take your novel to the next level. In my case, they can also become dear friends.

Let’s raise a glass to beta readers everywhere, as the books on our shelves are far better because of them. Cheers, you literary angels, you; keep flapping those wings.

If you’re interested in beta reading for me, I’m happy to add you to the waitlist. Email me@boowalker.com.