
One of the scariest and most necessary moments in the writing process is handing your work to another human and saying, “Here, read this.” I still feel a little flutter in my chest every time I do this, no matter how many books I’ve written.
Whether it’s a friend, a writing partner, or a spouse, the decision to share your manuscript is a leap of faith and it brings up a whole host of questions. Are they the right reader? Should I revise first? What if they hate it? What if they love it and I still feel unsure?
That last one is sneaky, and it comes up more often than we like to admit.
If you’re navigating this stage of your process, here’s what I often tell the writers I coach: trusting your beta readers is important, but it’s equally important to trust yourself.
Those two things have to grow together.
First, Who Makes a Good Beta Reader?
It’s a common question. Generally speaking, familiarity with the genre and a love of books matters more than intelligence or goodwill.
Beta readers don’t have to be writers themselves (though it can help), but they should be familiar with the kind of story you’re telling. If they don’t read fiction and you’re writing a novel, take their feedback with a grain of salt. They may not know the rhythms or conventions of story arcs, character development, or pacing in the same way a regular fiction reader would. That doesn’t make them wrong. It just means their feedback lives at a different altitude.
When my dad and I were both working on our first books, we swapped manuscripts to give each other feedback, but he was writing a memoir about his time as a helicopter pilot in the Marines and I was writing literary fiction. I gave him a bunch of notes on character development (that he flat-out ignored) and he suggested I add side-bars to my story explaining how ostriches procreate (similarly ignored). We both went into it with the best of intentions, but it’s hard to give useful feedback if you’re not familiar with the genre.
Don’t Build Your Book Around One Opinion
It’s a common experience: receiving great notes from a reader, then after you make the edits, wanting to go back to them and check. Did I fix it? Did I solve it?
The desire for reassurance is real. And understandable. Writing asks us to make hundreds of small, invisible decisions, and it’s natural to want someone else to confirm we’re doing it “right.”
But if we constantly seek approval before moving forward, we risk getting stuck in a cycle of rewriting the same chapter over and over again. At a certain point, the question becomes: Does it work for you?
If it feels right, if you’ve addressed the issue in a way that strengthens the story, then it may be time to let it stand. Let your next round of readers weigh in. Patterns matter more than single opinions.
Beta readers are there to help reveal your blind spots, but they can’t tell you what your story should be. That’s your job. And it’s a responsibility worth growing into.
Be Clear About What You Need
One of the smartest things you can do when trusting your beta readers is to give them guidance. Don’t just hand them the whole draft and say, “Tell me what you think.” Vague requests tend to produce vague (and sometimes overwhelming) feedback.
Instead, try something like:
“Does this opening feel like the right place to start?”
“Were there any scenes where you lost interest?”
“Did anything feel unclear or confusing?”
“Are the characters consistent throughout?”
This gives your readers something specific to pay attention to and gives you more actionable feedback to work with. It also protects you from taking in more than you’re ready for.
Another helpful approach is to ask readers to mark the exact point where they stopped reading every time they put it down. This can offer valuable insight into which scenes may be dragging. Energy dips are often more revealing than explicit criticism.
When (and How) to Let Go of Feedback
Not all feedback is created equal. And not all feedback is useful. Learning to tell the difference is a skill, and it develops over time.
If something feels off to you after a revision, trust that feeling. And if something works and you’re only questioning it because someone else didn’t get it, that may simply be a sign they’re not your reader.
And that’s okay. Not every book is for every reader.
At some point, it can be freeing to move on from early feedback. A first reader may offer excellent notes and play an important role, but that role won’t last forever. Sometimes it’s simply time to take the next step. Forward motion is a form of trust.
It’s a helpful reminder that beta readers are part of your process, not your entire process. They walk with you for a stretch, not the whole road.
Learning to Trust Yourself
Ultimately, the hardest part of trusting your beta readers is knowing when to stop seeking validation and start trusting your own instincts. That moment is rarely announced. You feel it quietly.
If you’ve made changes that feel meaningful… If your revisions align with your story’s purpose… If your characters feel sharper, your pacing tighter, your structure more sound…
Then it might be time to move on, even if no one else has given you the green light. You don’t need unanimous approval (or aunty approval, for that matter) to proceed.
You are the steward of your story. It’s okay to get help, but it’s also okay to say: “This works for me. I’m ready to keep going.”
That sentence is a turning point for many writers.
Want more info on working with beta readers? Check out 7 Tips for Working with Beta Readers and Do You Write for Yourself or for Your Readers?.
The most useful feedback I got was from a member of my writing group that admitted it wasn’t his genre. He pointed out places where I wasn’t conveying what I though I was conveying and where things were taking too long. He also said he’d taken away a few things I was doing for his own writing.
The least useful feedback was from a contest (where I paid extra for a judge’s critique) that claimed I was using names and pronouns too often in dialogs between same-gender characters and gave me a list of sites–none of which addressed her issue with overuse of character’s names to keep things straight. She, like many who have read my book, also wanted to know more about the guy in my prologue who existed mainly to introduce my master villain and thought I should use more than four pages to talk about something that happened 50-70 years before my story proper started.
Yes, exactly. A reader does not have to be your ideal audience to notice where something is unclear or dragging. And that second example is such a good reminder that not all feedback needs to be taken on board. Learning to tell the difference is such an important part of the process. Thanks for sharing this. Drop me an email if you’d like to talk more about it: hello@aprildavila.com