Tag: Critiquing

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Looking for Guest Bloggers…and Giveaway Winners

Posted on by beckylevine

So, if you read my theme post earlier this month, you’ll know I’m getting back to my fiction writing in 2012. This doesn’t mean, though, that I am forgetting about critique groups or the book I DO have out, The Writing & Critique Group Survival Group: How to Give and Receive Feedback, Self Edit, and Make Revisions.

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!

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Monday Morning Brainstorming: In Which I Take My Own Advice

Posted on by beckylevine

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.

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Critique Groups: Good Reasons to Keep Quiet

Posted on by beckylevine

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.

And, meanwhile, pass around the duct tape.

Posted in Critiquing, Skype

Would You Want to Skype a Critique?

Posted on by beckylevine

Today’s blog is sort of a mini-survey. Along with my own writing, I’m still doing plenty of critiques for other writers these days. What with the nature of the world, I do a lot of my work online, via email and with much neater feedback in Word than I could ever do with my own handwriting. 🙂 I typically make plenty of comments in the manuscript margins, and I type up the overall critique in a separate file.

Pretty much like I talk about in The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide.

But I’ve been wondering. I know there are plenty of writers who critique together online. I’ve started doing that myself, on top of my in-person critique group, and it works well for me. I only miss the coffeehouse atmosphere a little. On the other hand, I think there are still writers who are most comfortable face-to-face, actually hearing their critique delivered out loud, even if it’s the same one they take home on paper to look at later, during revision. I think they feel more happy with the chance to ask immediate questions, get things clarified, and do a bit of brainstorming about specific problems that have been worrying them.

So then I thought…Skype.

I hear wonderful things about Skype school visits. I’m getting close to hiring Laura Purdie Salas and Lisa Bullard at Mentors for Rent, to help me pull together some samples I want to send out. That consulting session will be via Skype, and I’m looking forward to it. Both Lisa and Laura are “there” at the conference, and I think it’ll be much easier to have a three-way conversation when I can sort of see who’s talking when. Easier, more relaxed, and–I’m guessing–very helpful. Skype mentoring.

And maybe Skype critiquing.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Let’s make it all hypothetical. If you were going to hire a freelance editor to critique part or all of your book, would you like the idea of being able to talk to them in person, as well as get their written feedback? Would you, if you were already paying a page-rate for the critique, think it worthwhile to pay for an additional hour of time, to get that face-to-face delivery of the critique? Or would you just feel like it was more technology you  had to figure out and equip yourself for?

Please do leave a comment with your thoughts. All opinions welcome!

Posted in Critique Groups, Critiquing

Friday Five Critiquing: Ways to Deliver the “Bad” News

Posted on by beckylevine

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.

Hugs and chocolate can also be provided.  🙂

Posted in Critique Groups, Critiquing

The Possibilities of Critiquing

Posted on by beckylevine

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.

Posted in Critique Groups, Critiquing

Remembering: The Feeling of a First Critique

Posted on by beckylevine

I’ve been doing this critique thing a long time. I met one of my current critique partners before my son was born, before he was even much more than a possibility in my future. I’m pretty used to the ups and downs that go with submitting my work, having my critique partners chew it into tiny pieces read it, and listening to what they have to say. Like all good critique groups, most days are great; a few are tough.

Monday was different. It was the first time I’d submitted a picture book, not to mention the first picture book I’ve ever written.

I had a mini visceral flashback as I was driving to the meeting. My stomach was churning, just a bit, with that balanced mix of nervousness and excitement that, to be honest, I’d almost forgotten existed. Nervous: What if they can’t stand it? (Translation: What if I realize I should never have started this picture book, let alone thought about writing anymore?) Excitement: What if they absolutely love it? (Translation: What if it becomes obviously clear that all I have to do is come home and start emailing queries and this book will be on the shelf in six months?)

Yes, both extremes, both equally unlikely. What happened, of course, was that they were all very excited about what I’ve gotten on the page, loved specific pieces of it, and had some wonderfully brilliant suggestions about what isn’t working yet and what to do about it.

All good.

But the feeling in the car made me think back to when I was just starting out with critique groups, looking for one that was a good fit, mailing around copies of my work to people I’d never met, so they could read my writing for the first time. And I thought, this is what everybody goes through when they make the leap–when they jump into their first group.

Duh. Well, of course, I know this. It’s why I wrote my book. But still, this was a strong, physical reminder of what that feels like.

It’s a risk. Stepping into a group, whether it’s your first time or yet another round of trying to find your place, puts you and your writing on the line–emotionally. Even if you know, logically, that the critiquers’ responses to your writing will stay out of those extreme reactions, you still hope for totally positive feedback and fear the bad stuff. You will have butterflies in your stomach on the way to your first meeting, or as you submit your first chapter to an online group, and those butterflies won’t disappear after Day 1.

They will, however, go away eventually–making themselves available for another writer ready to take the leap. Your stomach will calm, your hands will relax their grip on the coffee cup at meetings. You’ll start to see the pattern of good and bad in the feedback you receive, and that mix will strengthen your writing and your confidence in your own abilities.

So, if you’re standing by the river, wondering, take off your shoes and dip a toe or three into the water. Start your hunt. Scary? Yeah. And worth it.

Posted in Critique Groups, Critiquing

I Can’t Believe I Read the Whole Thing: Supporting Each Other with Full-Manuscript Critiques

Posted on by beckylevine

A while ago, when I was asking for post ideas on Facebook, Kristin O”Donnell Tubb suggested I write about full-manuscript critiques. I was sure I’d talked about that somewhere, but I have hunted around on my blog and it’s not showing up. Maybe it was on the old blog?

Anyway, it’s definitely a topic worth discussing, I think, especially because I’m often surprised to talk to writers whose groups don’t do full reads, or who think they can’t even ask their group to do one for their project.

I think full-manuscript reads are critical.

Yes, they take time–don’t try to read a whole book in the usual two weeks you give to a chapter or three, and try to arrange things so you’re not getting hit with a ton of other submissions at the same time.  But the trade-off, the one that every member of the group will benefit from–is completely worth the juggling and the scheduling.

When you read an author’s full manuscript, you are giving them the gift of reading for continuity.  You’re watching  tension build (or not build) across the whole story and finding the specific places where that tension drops off. You will catch the moments when the hero or other character behave, well…out of character. You will be able to make suggestions for places the author can cut and trim, where the pacing slows down or rushes.

Yes, we can do all these things when we’re reading chapter by chapter, scene by scene. I don’t think, though, that we can do it as well. Obviously, you’re not going to sit down with the whole manuscript, when it’s handed to you, and not leave the couch until you’ve penned your notes on the last page. You will, however, read the book much more quickly than you can when you’re getting it piecemeal every couple of weeks. You will hold the story and the characters and the details closer to the surface of your brain, and–even when you’re not reading–you’ll be mulling and musing and coming up with ideas.

Does this mean that, when the author has finished the first draft, this is the time for her to hand the whole thing over and ask for the full-read. Nope. Not yet. I really think the full-read comes when the group has read through several drafts, in chunks, and the author has revised and revised (and revised…). When the author and the group feel like the book is getting close, really close, to that magical “done” that we can’t ever really define. That’s when the full-read happens.

Stock up on the right tea or coffee. Build up your stash of chocolate and buy a few more of your favorite pens. Get out the notepad. Then take the time and the thought to read through those 2-300 pages of story, with thought and care.

You’ll get it all back, when the pendulum swings back to your side of the critique table.

Posted in Critique Groups

Critique Groups: Keeping the Spark Present

Posted on by beckylevine

So I didn’t work on my WIP all last week. I had deadline for an article, and I was focused on pulling it together into something more interesting than just a bunch of data points and dry information. Because, really, who’d want to read that?

Anyway, so I took a week off from writing the YA, and then yesterday headed off to critique group to share my feedback about my crit partner’s work and hear their comments about the one scene I’d managed to send off to them before the break.

Lots of stuff was said, good and not-so-good, as per usual. They liked stuff I hoped they would and caught problems I hadn’t even thought about, which is why I love them. And they asked questions, one of which was…did my hero like a particular young man. As in, you know…like like.

And my basic answer, at the time, was lots of groans and a bit of head-pounding against the table.

Then, last night, I was reading through some more of my current research book, which did not have to do with love or crushes or romance or kindred spirits. And all of a sudden, I knew exactly how my hero feels about this boy at the start of the book, why she rejects him, what she discovers about him as the story progresses, and why she….

Oh, no, no, no. You’re not getting the rest of that sentence until this book is finished.

Anyway…my point is that after my critique partner (I can’t remember which one!) asked the question, it sat in the back of my brain, even though I hadn’t thought about my story in a week. It simmered and bubbled, and the minute I turned the focus back to the WIP, even toward a totally different part of it, the spark caught. The lightbulb glowed, and the answer pushed itself to the top of my brain and…out.

THIS is what a critique group does.

Posted in Critique Groups

Let’s Be Honest: Life Changes…and So Do Critique Groups

Posted on by beckylevine

So I was trolling for blogging ideas on Twitter and Facebook this morning, and Jane Friedman wrote:

 “Here’s a question: what if you have a long-standing member of a critique group who … just doesn’t fit anymore. Yet they don’t seem to understand this themselves. How can you gently get them to move on? (Maybe this is a psychology question rather than a writing question … !)”

Jane’s right–this is a psychology question, but so much of the critique process is about how people interact that I think it’s a good topic to discuss. It also happens to be a question I get asked a lot–what do you do when someone in the group is not working out. “Not working out” can mean anything from slamming others with harsh critiques, to not submitting any writing for months, to overloading the group with hundreds of pages while baring showing up with comments for everyone else’s work.

I know, shocking, but it happens. 🙂

Sometimes, the problem isn’t even a problem. As Jane says, it may just be that one writer “just doesn’t fit anymore.” You may never experience the kind of horror-story situation that is the stuff of critique-group urban legends. At some point, though, I can almost promise you–your critique group will come across a time when they have to make a change. Perhaps most of the writers have achieved publication, and the other–while close–feels left out or left behind, even intimidated. Or maybe half the group has time to spend six hours a day writing and critiquing, while the other half are still working full-time jobs and feel overloaded by the group’s demands. The shift in the group can be something as small as one writer moving an hour further away from the meeting place, to a writer shifting gears from heavily-graphic sci-fi novels to rhyming picture books. You name it; change happens.

What do you do?

Now, I have to tell you, here’s what happens most often when someone asks me about problems in their group. Everybody’s very nice; there’s rarely any whining, but the conversation goes a lot like this:

Writer: “There’s this person in my critique group, and they’re doing (or not doing) X.”

Me: “Have you tried talking to them about it?”

Writer: “Um….” [Sheepish Grin]

So, yes, the first thing is to try and talk things out. Whether someone’s causing a real problem, or–as Jane says–just not feeling like they mesh with the group anymore, they can’t know that you’re unhappy with their behavior or their “fit,” if you don’t tell them. Okay, sure, unless they’re psychic, but if that were the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? I don’t know if it’s human nature, or the training we get, but most of us will too often choose bury our heads in the sand and fuss silently, than move to directly confront a problem. Well, sand burns your eyes and silent fussing causes migraines.

Try talking about it.

Again, this conversation can range from simple and straightforward to a complete dissection of the way the group operates. If you’ve got someone new to critiquing who didn’t realize they were pushing a bit hard, or someone who’s still learning to dig for more than commas and spelling–a few pointers and reminders can get them headed in the right direction and bring peace and happiness back to the group. If someone has been slacking off, they may recommit to showing up and critiquing full-force; maybe they just needed the reminder.

On the other hand, it may be that different writers have wildly different goals and that–within the group–these goals can’t be reconciled. Sometimes the discussion itself is a way to point out to someone that they aren’t happy in the group anymore, that the group isn’t providing them what they need, and they will make the choice to leave. If not, one or more of you may have start your own break-away group, or you may have to ask another member to step out of the existing one.

Easy? Hah. This can be one of the hardest things you’ll ever do–as I said, most of us shy vehemently away from confrontation and conflict. Remember, though, that you are placing your writing (and your critiquing) up near the top of your priority list. Remember that you have had a core group with a wonderfully cohesive and productive dynamic. Remember that, if you do not take this step, the sore spot of the group will fester and damage that entire group, not just its individual members.

Be polite. Be respectful. And, if you need to, be firm.