With those changes that come along in life, I’m doing less editing these days and more writing. This week, especially, I was sending out samples for a possible freelance gig, doing revisions on the NF kids’ book, and submitting the draft of a grant application for review.
Which meant that this week was about me receiving a lot of feedback.
Only, outside of the critique-group environment, that “feedback” is actually called something more like “make-these-changes-now-please” notes. The please is because I work with nice people!
There are different types of review comments, most of which you’re probably familiar with. Some of the ones I’ve been seeing are:
Do we need this comma? (Yes, I tend to be comma-happy!)
This seems awkward. (Okay, I was writing fast!)
Can you give me some more information about this? (Sure, let me just put on my research hat.)
How about re-wording it like this? (Depending on my mood and the suggestion, this either prompts an “Oh, hey, yeah, that is better!” or a “WTH? Who said you could edit me?” The latter one usually means I need to have some coffee and then take a second look. At which point, I typically end up at least alittle closer to the first response. Or I find a compromise. And then apply the Executive-Decision power of the writer and make a change I can live with.)
Honestly, and happily, this week was also filled with many “nice jobs” and “thank yous.” And doing revision work is such a different mind-set from getting those original words on the page; it feels good to clean things up and get projects finished or at least moved on to the next stage.
But there’s a difference between reviewers for whom, essentially, you work and those critiquers with whom you are working. With employers, you get a little less choice on how to handle the comments. (Sometimes, a lot less choice.) With critiquers, you have the freedom to say, “Well, no, I don’t think so.” In practice, when you’re the author and you’re sifting through the feedback, you can say that as often as you like. Yep. You have the final power.
Of course…the critiquers are your audience. They’re your first readers (and sometimes second, third, fourth…). Which brings us back to that old question, who are you writing for? Yourself? Or the people you want to fall in love with your book. Both, obviously.
But sometimes maybe it’s a good idea to put on the employee hat, just to push yourself a little harder. You can remind yourself that, yes, there are people who can (and should) “edit” your work, who should at least give you their honest, intelligent ideas about how to make it better. And there are plenty of times when you should listen, when it’s important to take yourself off that author pedestal and listen to the readers.
When I spoke at the Tri-Valley chapter of the California Writer’s Club, I heard about this great base critique group the club had, one that helped the club’s writers get started with critiquing, and then went even further–to help them form their own, smaller break-out groups. I loved this idea then, and I still do. So when Lani Longshore offered to guest-post about the club and her history with its critique groups, I jumped at the idea.
Read Lani’s bio and post below, and don’t forget to enter a comment. I’m doing another giveaway with this post: one commenter will win a copy of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide. I’ll draw a name sometime late Sunday and will post the winner on Monday, April 23rd. If your log-in doesn’t link to an email, make sure to leave that email in the comment, so I can find you!
Here’s Lani!
Lani Longshore is a charter member of the California Writers Club Tri-Valley Branch. She and her friend Ann Anastasio created a new literary genre – quilting science fiction – with their novella Death By Chenille (available on Smashwords.com). As well as writing the sequel (When Chenille is Not Enough), she teaches quilting and makes art quilts. Her weekly blog follows her adventures in the sewing room.
The Tri-Valley Writers’ Way to Critique
I am pathetic without a deadline. Writing may be in my blood, but the stories collect like plaque on the arteries unless I have a date circled on the calendar. Years ago I joined a writing circle – a critique group by any other name – but it disbanded when two of the women got full-time jobs and one went back to school.
Eventually, I joined the California Writers Club Tri-Valley Branch. One of the first things the Tri-Valley Branch did was start a critique group. Hector Timourian volunteered to run it. He arranged for us to meet monthly at a Barnes and Noble. The group started with five regulars and a few drop-ins.
Then the group grew. In one year, membership went from five to fifteen. It was becoming unwieldy to discuss so many pages on one night. We posted our work ahead of time, so that the entire meeting could be devoted to commentary rather than reading, but there were still too many people in the group.
As sad as it was to split, we decided that was the only solution. This turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to critiquing at our branch. The first group to spin off was comprised of those of us working on novels.
I joined that first novel group. We made very few changes to the system that had worked so well in the original group for the first few months. We already had a strong working relationship, so we felt confident we could adapt to changing circumstances. This is exactly what happened, and after two years we are still a productive, committed group.
The original critique group has also adapted. A year after the first spin-off, another novel group was established. The branch recognized the value of training new members to be good critiquers. Now anyone interested in joining a critique group starts with Hector’s. New groups spin off from it when they are ready. Members learn how to give constructive, useful comments under the guidance of experienced critiquers. More important, they learn to accept constructive, useful comments to become better writers.
I have an article out in February’s issue of Writer’s Digest magazine, “Critique Your Way to Better Writing,” and I’m always available here, or on Facebook, to talk about critiquing. Heck, I’ve even added a second critique group to my own life, one that I’m going to use to focus on my picture books.
And here’s the thing. I still have quite a small pile of author copies in my office. And they’re not doing me, or anyone else any good, just sitting here.
So it’s a year of giveaways! Well, almost a year, since I didn’t get it together enough to start this until February! What I’m going to do is ask for guest posters to come to my blog and talk about their critique experiences. I want to keep things positive, but that doesn’t mean you can’t share a not-so-great experience that taught you something, or a bad place you started from that led you to a better critique place. Basically, I’m open to anything, just not full-out slamming of any group or the critique process overall. Cause that’s not how I roll.
Each guest-blogger is going to get a copy of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide. AND, on top of that, I’m going to pick one commenter at each guest post to also send a book to. (I told you I have a pile!)
If this sounds fun to you–the guest-posting part–send me a quick note at beckylevine at ymail dot com, with the basic idea for your post. I’m hoping some of you will want to chime in with your thoughts and experiences.
And, hey, you’ll be helping me continue to clean up my office in 2012!
In The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide, I’ve got a chapter titled, “Brainstorming.” It’s not a long chapter, but I think it’s an important one, because I do think brainstorming is one of the biggest gifts critique partners can give to each other. I’ve talked to some beginning critiquers who haven’t realized that it’s an option for their group–and a great one. If they get stuck in a story, they struggle along by themselves trying to get past the block. And too often, this just puts them in a position in which they’re not writing, not submitting, and just feeling worse about how much they’re not getting done.
Meh.
This morning, my group’s having an all-brainstorming, all-kicking-ideas-around session. For various reasons–some of being in between projects, some of us dealing with end-of-the-summer business, some of us (who, me?!) in that stuck place I just talked about–there were no submissions this week. It only took a quick email around to find out that there were several of us who thought this was a great opportunity to raise a hand and say, “Over here! Ideas welcome!”
My personal goal: To stir up the mud that has been the one big, LAST story problem of the picture book. The one I stare at and stare at and say, “Huh” about, over and over and over. Maybe someone in my group will have THE brilliant idea (fingers crossed!). If not, though, I know I’ll come out of the session with thoughts I haven’t had on my own, ideas I didn’t know were out there. And that, my friends, is a step forward.
If you were to visit my critique group and ask, “Who’s the most guilty member of the group,when it comes to interrupting?,” they’d smile and say, “Oh, that’d be Becky.” And then you’d look at me, and I’d be nodding sheepishly.
Yeah. I get excited about the ideas going around, or I’m thinking along two tracks at once–what the critiquer is saying and what I “know” about my story, and I’m trying to put it all together, and I forget to do it quietly. Silently. In my head.
You’ve probably heard that, when you’re being critiqued, you don’t get to argue with the critiquer or defend what you’ve written. You may have heard threats about duct tape being used to keep a critiquee quiet. I’m pretty sure those are just urban legends. But there are good reasons for not interrupting while someone’s presenting their critique. And, if you’re in an online group, those reasons are just as good for not sending off a “But….!!!!” reply too fast, without giving yourself and the critique time for the feedback to settle in.
Thought I’d share a few today.
Not interrupting is partially just manners. But you can also throw off your critique partner by cutting off the flow of what they’re saying. Yes, hopefully, they’re reading the overall comments they’ve written up before the meeting, but they’re probably doing a lot of other stuff at the same time: listening to themselves to see if they’re actually making sense, watching your face to see how you’re reacting, and trying to catch the new ideas that are bubbling in their brain as they talk. I don’t know about you, but if I get interrupted while I’m trying to handle all that, I’m going to get confused and forget what I was trying to say. And, yes, this does get worse as I get older, thank you so much for asking.
The no-arguing, no-defending rule actually makes a lot of sense. Your critique partners are letting you know their feedback about what they read, what you managed to get on the page. These are the words that, if you sent them out today for publication, would be read by the agent, the editor, your readers. None of those people are going to have contact with the very-possibly-different ideas in your brain. If you didn’t make it clear enough for your critique partners, you haven’t made it clear enough for your readers. That’s why you’re here, in this group.
Here’s another thing about your critique partners: They have feelings. Really. If you argue too often, or question what they’re saying, or just make it hard for them to give you their critique, guess what they may start doing. Giving you a less thorough critique. Not necessarily on purpose, but in unconscious reaction. When we face an obstacle too many times, what’s our likely response? To go around it. To avoid it. And, even if there are days when you might feel like this, you really don‘t want your critique partner backing off. You want all the help they can and will give you.
Sometimes you have to let critiques sit. Let me rephrase that: Often, you have to let critiques sit. Your initial reaction about what a critique partner is saying will very likely change after an hour, a day, by the time you get around to revising. While you’re listening, your brain is going very fast, trying to keep up with the feedback, trying to align it with what you know about your book, trying to visualize a hundred possible revision changes all at once. Honestly, sometimes, it’s just too hard to listen and think at the same time. So take notes, let the comments drop into your brain, and–yeah, keep quiet.
It’s not always when you’re being critiqued that you feel like jumping in. You can be listening to a critique partner give feedback on someone else’s book, and get a lightbulb moment that you just have to share. Now. Immediately. Your impulse is to just blurt it out.
Hello. Been there.
Resist the temptation. Keep a pen and piece of paper handy and take notes. Scribble down your idea or your question, and wait for your turn. One of the most important things a critique group can do is leave time after the critiques for discussion and brainstorming. Use that time.
I’m sure I’ve talked about this before, but my mind is pretty much swimming in critique group stuff these days, as I get ready to head out to Pittsburgh to talk about it all at the Pennwriters conference this week. I’ll be talking about how to grow a strong group, how to develop a truly helpful critique, and how to revise from critique feedback (without losing your mind!). What keeps coming to the surface, though, as I get the talks ready, is–once again–how important I think critique groups are.
Obviously. 🙂
I find myself, over and over, using the word “magic.” The magic of a critique group. That phrase keeps popping up in my workshops, out of my mouth, onto the keyboard.
So today, I thought I’d do a quick post on what I think that magic actually consists of:
The magic of a critique group is:
The comfort and trust that lets you be motivated to write more, simply because there are people at the other end waiting to read that more. This is, obviously, the flip side of being in a not-so-good group, where you’re actually hesitant or worried about sending those pages out. Build that trust–you’ll never regret it.
The joy of surrounding yourself (in-person or online) with people who get this writing thing, who–like you–live with and for words as many hours of the day that they can.
The spark of an idea as it jumps from one brain to another, as it literally bounces around the critique table, gathering momentum and depth and absolute right-itude, until it lands in the writer’s lap as a gift, all wrapped up in shiny paper and bright, curly ribbon.
The delight of reading the work of someone you care about and being completely wowed at their talent–that line that makes you laugh out loud, that character that pulls you into story, that scene that has you holding your breath. getting to be part of these authors’ writing world.
The explanations and examples, from several angles, that your critique partners give you about a problem in your manuscript. The feedback that lets you, at revision time, erase the worried frown on your face, snap your fingers, say, “Yes!” and start writing the new words. The better, stronger words.
The education you get in the writing craft, not just from what you hear about your own writing, but from what you tell the other writers in your group about their projects. Every time you push yourself to dig deep into someone else’s book, every time you resist the impulse to not address a problem, every time you get your explanation as absolutely clear as possible, you’re learning. How easy is it for us, in our own books, to skate over the stuff that isn’t good enough–out of fear that we don’t know how to fix it. When we commit to a critique group, we commit to not skating over anybody else’s writing–and as we work to help them, we teach ourselves. Oh, yeah.
Those are just a few of the things that I’ve been thinking about and sort of re-realizing all over again this last week. What about you? What’s the magic of your group? What’s the magic you hope to find in a group some day?
I talk a lot about figuring out your personal critiquing goals. If you’re just starting out on your hunt for the right group, I recommend spending a little time thinking about who you are, what kind of a writer you are, and what you want a group to do for you. If you’re in a group that isn’t working quite as well as you want it to, the same kind of self-assessment can help you pinpoint what you’d like to change.
BUT…once you’re in a group, it isn’t all about you. It’s often about how that group works, as a unit. How everybody helps everybody else and, because of that, how strong the group gets.
So…for today’s Friday Five, here a few of the benefits and strengths of a good group.
1. Increased productivity. Groups are the best motivator I know for getting everybody writing and revising.
2. Brainstorming. Yes, you can share ideas back & forth with one other person, but there is a magic that happens when several people are tossing ideas back and forth, and that magic is exponential, not incremental.
3. Commitment. If one or two of you show up at every critique session, that’s okay. But unless everybody puts the group at the same level on their priority list, the group is not going to have the same power. Knowing that everybody thinks this critiquing thing is as important as you do–that’s the foundation for a strong core.
4. Education. The more you critique, the more you learn about the writing craft. The longer you critique with a solid group, the more that group becomes a repository of knowledge and skill. That every single members shares in.
5. Confidence. Yes, we all have to grow our own writing, we all have to push our own limits & find our own path. And, when you first start out with a critique group, the critique process can definitely burst a few of your bubbles. In the long run, though, knowing that you have a group you trust lets you take risks, cross lines, and know they will give you an honest reality check on everything you write. I truly believe my critique partners help me to go further and to find out–always a delight–that I CAN make something work. A strong group is a great help to the backbone, to our sense of ourselves as making progress and getting better.
We’ve all been there. We’ve read a submission from a critique partner, and we’ve got a lot to say. A lot that isn’t maybe so great and that is not, we’re pretty sure, going to make the writer feel good. Maybe it’s a new member of the group, and you don’t know how they’ll take the feedback. Or maybe it’s a revision from someone you’ve critiqued with for a while, a revision they’re really excited about, and you think it’s just not that exciting. Yet. You’re looking at the manuscript and you’re looking at your notes, and you’re feeling just that little bit sick to the stomach about writing it up and delivering it to the author.
What do you do?
1. Don’t back off. I really believe that, if you avoid telling a critique partner what isn’t working in their manuscript, you’re doing them a disservice. Even if it’s one they might, at some level, thank you for. Implicit in the agreement to critique together is, I think, a request that we do our best, that we catch problems and let each other know about them. At the far end of the spectrum, if you hide your thoughts, you are setting your critique partner to find out about this when it’s too late–when the comments are coming from an agent, editor, or reader of their self-published book.
2. With number 1 said, this doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to gentle/cushion the news. Of course, you’re going to start and end your critique with something positive, but you can do more. First, try to get your mind out of that bad-news mindset. Remember, you’re trying to protect the writer from that perhaps unnecessary rejection down the line. You are giving them a chance to revise and make this book better. You are helping them to identify weaknesses in their writing, weaknesses they can–with learning & practice–get rid of. Yes, most of these methods are, in a way, mind-games we play with ourselves to justify what we’re going to say, but…and here’s the thing: If you can get yourself into that game, then your more positive feeling is going to make its way into your critique and weave hope into the feedback. If you’re a parent, you do this all the time. You see your kid stepping up to something they may or may not be ready for, and you worry. If you let that worry show, your kid gets it. They see your doubt and your stress, and it infects them. If, on the other hand, you’re skilled at tucking that worry away and you open yourself up to the idea that your kid may have found something right and good for them, they’re going to sense that–your belief and faith in their possibilities. Ditto for your critique partner.
3. Don’t worry about covering every problem in your feedback. If it overwhelms you, think about what it’s going to do to the writer. A critique group is about revision, about–I believe–as many revisions as needed. It’s only Super Writer who can make every change a manuscript needs in one draft. Pick two to four things–big things–that you think the writer needs to tackle, elements of the story they should figure out before moving on to the smaller pieces. Is their hero being active enough? Are they using dialogue as effectively as they could? Are they starting the story at the right spot? Talk about these problems as clearly and helpfully as you can–explain, give examples in the text, make suggestions for figuring out improvements. Let the rest wait.
4. Remember you’re not alone. (Unless you’re just working with one critique partner, and–honestly–this is one of the strong arguments for actually being in a group.) Odds are, you’re not the only person finding big problems in the submission. Your other critique partners may find, or focus on (see #3) different weaknesses than you do, but it’s highly unlikely that you’re going to walk into the next meeting with your not-so-happy-dance comments while everybody else is popping champagne corks and handing the writer lists of agents to query.
5. Lastly, and this is a biggie, do not carry the responsibility for this manuscript around on your shoulders. It’s too heavy a weight, and–honestly–it’s not yours to bear. Yes, you care about how the writer feels. Yes, you know you’re going to say some things that will be hard for the writer to hear, that may even hurt them. Yes, that’s hard. BUT…it’s their story. It’s their writing path. It’s part of their journey to learn to face the reality of their projects, their skills–to face that and to recommit to making it all better. As long as you have done your best to be kind and respectful (which includes digging deep and sharing what you unearth), as long as you have thought about the way you are phrasing your critique, you have done your part. At some point, you have to let the writer do theirs.
When I talk about the basics of developing a critique, I recommend that–in their critique feedback–readers offer writers an explanation, an example, and a suggestion. An explanation of what’s not working, an example (or two) of that not-working element from the manuscript, and a suggestion for what the author might do differently.
Here’s what a suggestion is not. It’s not an instruction. Not a command. Not a directive set in stone.
Here’s what a suggestion is. It’s a possibility.
I use a lot of possibility-speak when I critique. I might say something like, “What if George misses the shot at the tee and has to take a second swing. That might make the events of the scene seem less easy, less convenient.” Or I might write, “Could the eagle have a broken wing? Be one-legged? Then Mary has to figure out what to do with this wild animal, and she’s immediately got a big problem.”
Much of the time, my ideas come from the story I’m reading—something the writer has seeded themselves, either without realizing it or without having (yet) developed it strongly enough. Sometimes, I think of ideas the writer hasn’t played with, at least not in the text I’m reading. Either way, I think possibilities are an important part of a critique.
Here’s why:
Sometimes, a possibility hits the nail on the head. The writer hears your idea, snaps their fingers, gives you a huge hug, and runs home to weave the new thread into their story. Everybody’s happy.
Sometimes, a possibility gets close. It’s not quite right, doesn’t mesh with the writer’s own strong view of the character or the scene, but it opens up a door to a new direction, one they hadn’t realized was there. With a little time, a little more thinking, they will figure out the change that works for them.
Sometimes, a possibility is pretty off-target. The suggestion you make doesn’t fit at all, from the writer’s point of view; they see no way to work it into their story. BUT…what it might do is clarify the explanation you already gave them, make sense of why the examples you pointed to aren’t working. Just like a picture sometimes is worth a thousand words (just not one I’ve drawn), an example can be the piece of the critique that the writer gets.
Sometimes, a possibility does none of these. And sometimes, yes, there is a writer in a group who completely ignores, forever, every possibility offered by their critique partners. Overall, though, I think it’s worth it to make the attempt, to offer those suggestions as they come to you. You can’t always track a revision change directly back to a specific comment, and–if you hold back–you’re missing the chance to see that magic happen. You’re missing the chance to watch the sharing of a critique group transform a story.
True story: I’m in a yoga class years ago. I’m trying the poses, feeling the stretch, even though–at no point when they’re supposed to–do my fingers get anywhere near the floor; at many points when I’m supposed to be standing with balance, I’m tipping over & bumping into the wall. There is a woman a few mats away from me who can, pretty much without trying, touch her nose to her knees and twist so that–I swear–she’s all the way around facing the mirror at the front of the room again. Most of the rest of us are fighting back jealous; a few perhaps even plotting revenge.
The teacher gets the sense of what’s going on. And she takes time to explain that, even though we think this woman has it easy, in reality it’s harder for her to learn the poses, because–basically–her body flops over so loosely that she has to work harder to actually be in the pose, hold the pose, etc. And then the teacher–who I really do love–says, “On the other hand, Becky has an easier time/better chance of getting the stretch that the pose should give you.” Or something to that effect. I know my name was said, I know everybody turned to check me out, I know the teacher meant well, and I know that it all added up to the fact that I was the least flexible person in the class.
Well, you know, that wasn’t exactly news. 🙂
Not me.
Of course, there are also some people whom, if you asked, would theorize that I’m not always the most emotionally flexible person either. And I’m okay with that, too.
But…TRANSITION: I believe that being flexible in your critique group is a must. The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide is full of tips for building a group, for holding meetings, for developing critiques, but the thing is–the bottom line is that we need to run a critique group in a way that works for us. We need to run a critique group in a way that helps us put more writing on the page, helps us support each other with strong, deep feedback and as-needed hugs. We need to run a critique group so that every member wants to be there, wants to submit, and feels like–yes–they can revise this mess they’re making.
So, after that very long wind-up, here are five ways you can keep your group flexible.
1. Be flexible about reading submissions of varying length–from a two-page scene to a full manuscript. And if you’re the author with the full manuscript, be flexible about how fast you expect your critique partners to read that big pile!
2. Be flexible about who gets to submit. I know there are groups that assign specific dates to specific group members. If you miss your window, because you didn’t have a chapter ready, you have to wait till your next turn. If you have chapters ready for three meetings in a row, you might not be allowed to submit for all those meetings, because it’s not your time slot. I really believe that when a writer in our group is being productive, we should support them by basically standing with our arms open ready to catch all the pages they can throw at us. Yes, of course, if it’s more than people can really read–if members’ critiquing time starts cutting too much into their writing time, there might need to be a “discussion” about maximum pages, but I’d rather see the auto-pilot response be “Yes, sure,” instead of “No way.”
3. On the flip side of that coin, be flexible about the times when a group member isn’t submitting. I know writers who need to write a first draft without being critiqued, because feedback at that stage can just open the door to their nasty inner editor and, basically, stall out their writing. Sometimes, life just rears its ugly head and gets in the way of a writer’s progress. That’s not a happy time, but it’s also not a time when a critique group should make things harder for that writer. They’re still coming to the meetings; they’re still critiquing other people’s work; they’re still a big part of the group. Support everybody’s different processes.
4. Be flexible about when you critique. I’m a big advocate of submitting pages for critique before a meeting (for in-person groups), rather than reading and critiquing at the meeting. I actually think it’s a very important part of having time to really read deeply & think about a manuscript, to develop a strong, helpful set of feedback. BUT…if the members of your critique group really don’t have time to set up this kind of schedule, to take those extra hours out of the week, do not let this stop you from setting up your group or from going on with one you’re already in. Do your best to spend that concentrated time at the meeting reading carefully and thoughtfully and share your feedback clearly. Sometimes we can’t manage the ideal, so we manage the next best…as well as we can.
5. Be flexible about life’s changes. When I started with my first group, I wasn’t married & I wasn’t even thinking about motherhood. While I was in the group, all that changed. Those first months of mommyhood were not easy ones for me, and my group made it that much easier by totally supporting me in bringing my son with me to the group for a few sessions, until I worked out a babysitting situation I was happy with. It meant so much to me that I didn’t have to step out of the group or miss those sessions that were one of the huge highlights of my month. I talk a lot about commitment to your critique group, but membership is not a black-and-white, ground-in-stone rulebook. If your group members are worth critiquing with, they’re worth accommodating when that new baby comes, when a job schedule changes, when an elderly parent needs attention and assistance.
Yes, there good ways to run a critique group, and there are not-so-good ways. To grow a group that you trust, that makes you feel safe and motivated, that helps you move forward with your writing, we need to be flexible about those various ways.
It’s an important thing, and it’s one that gets results. Results that are more than worth any aches & pains that the extra stretching brings you.
Becky Levine 