I’ve never really done a lot of critiquing, outside the stuff you do in school. Its the flabby muscle in my writer education, if you will.
I’m not a very critical thinker. I can work through a thought if someone gives me the starting point, but generally speaking I’ll take it all at face value. I’m probably not going to catch the implications of every decision made in a book; I’ll miss parallels even when they’re painfully obvious. (And when they are obvious, I’ll generally disappointed by the lack of surprise.)
So, we’ll say — I critique poorly. I ask questions, and let the writer figure out what I’m trying to say.
Did I like it? I’ll always like it. But there may be some things you want to take a look at. Here, I’ll tell you…
One of the best parts of being a writer is getting to read another writer’s work before it goes out to the public. It’s one of the most stressful times for any writer, too. Getting any kind of report back on one’s abilities to tell a story can be nerve-wracking. No one wants to hear “you suck” or “sorry, I just didn’t like it.”
So I try not to do that.
When I’m reading someone’s work I’m always going to make a note of what I liked. Always. “That’s a nice phrase” or “that made me chuckle” or “ROFLMAO” are nice to see in any notes.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me reset just a second.
Okay.
First, I like critiquing – actually prefer – by using PDFs rather than Word docs. There’s nothing wrong with Word, we use if for notes in the Actionopolis books I write, and just about everyone has it. It’s an industry standard. But what it does is line up all the comments on the right side of the page with arrows pointing into the text. When there are four people commenting on a piece, it can get more than a little hectic.
Acrobat Reader. I can’t recommend this enough for anyone who sees a lot of PDFs. When I’m adding a note to a text I can move the call out box right into the paragraph and it points to exactly the point that caused me to want to make that comment. (I’m not sure if this is available in the basic free version you have to download in order to read PDFs from the web. I invested in Creative Suite and that’s the version I use. Your mileage may vary.) I’ve gotten feedback from one writer who says that it’s a lot nicer to scroll through and see those little boxes in the text than a rainbow bar of comments and changes on the right side.
That’s the visual stuff.
As for how I read for critique, generally the questions I ask of the author start with “Have you thought about…?” because I’ve found that really, really helps me. I live comment the first pass through, then delete things as I think are necessary. I’ll tell the author what I’m thinking as I read. “Did he really say that?” “I bet this is going to suck.” “Oh, yeah, now I hate you for what you just did.” I think this is so helpful because we don’t get that kind of feedback from ‘regular’ readers. It speaks to pacing and foreshadowing and all the little things we do to draw the reader in.
Finally, I offer an overall opinion and suggestions for improvements. Everything I offer is up to the author to take or leave. I make no judgement because I don’t know enough to be snooty about someone not taking my advice. I think it’s important that when I’m saying “you might rethink this passage” that I at least offer something that sparks an idea for the author to pursue. It probably isn’t what I would do (else I’d be writing the story) but that’s the process.
By the way this is what I want from people who are critiquing my work.
Look, I’m not a line editor nor a strict grammarian. You’re not going to get that from me. What you get are thoughts and alternate solutions. I think that’s way more helpful than pointing out misspellings and the common errors in usage. That stuff is for later drafts and the author will catch it as she’s editing herself.
Usually when somebody wants me to go over a piece of their writing, they have a question about grammar, or they just want me to quickly “fix” it so that it’s readable. They are far less interested in learning how to improve the artistry of their writing than they are in getting it done, ideally as painlessly as possible.
I always come at a piece of writing with the reader in mind. What do they need to know? What are they likely to know already? Do they have the technical background to understand the scientific gobbledegook, or does it need to be simplified for clarity? Is there a story? How can we tell the story so that it is interesting? If we need to illustrate a concept or process, can we find a story that’s relevant to tell? Are there any photographs? Are there any interesting photographs? Are there any photographs of something other than the same technician standing next to the same very expensive piece of equipment that is in all the other photographs from all the other projects?
I have rarely critiqued fiction, at least for another person. I do keep a journal of most of the books I have read, and what I thought about them (only some of these reviews end up on Goodreads). There are some books to which I wrote love letters. There are some to which I wrote hate mail. And there are some that I only finished reading because mocking all their flaws was so much fun [0].
A witty remark makes for good television, but criticism like this is far from constructive.
Criticism, whether giving it or taking it, is tricky business.
I used to be an English instructor in college, so I’ve given my fair share of criticism. Freshman composition students are notorious for not caring about feedback, but it’s an important part of teaching.
The best advice I ever received was from a veteran professor who told me to focus on one problem at a time. “If you mark everything that is wrong in a paper,” she advised, “the student won’t learn anything.”
I’ve taken this same approach when critiquing in writers groups.
I have never had the opportunity to critique a completed story outside of a classroom setting. Maybe if I did, I’d have a better opinion about my ability to critique, I don’t know. What I do know, is that my experiences with critiquing other people’s writing have been absolutely miserable.
I read, almost exclusively, genre fiction. Somehow, when you’re sitting in a classroom of twenty-nine other students you suddenly realize that not a single damn one of them write anything that I’d ever pick up for myself. Great. I could already tell that was going to be a great experience. Still, I was being graded based on my ability to give them honest feedback. So there goes nothing.
I’m assuming that problem I’m facing right there is precisely why editors will only accept certain genres. It’s difficult to give something a chance if the subject doesn’t inspire you. And in my undergraduate degree, I only ever read a couple of short stories that captivated me. (more…)
I have a confession to make: I am a terrible critique partner. In the last year, I’ve offered to read manuscripts for five of my writing group members. I’ve gotten through one and a half of them. I had one for so long that it went through two new drafts and was submitted to a publisher before I had gotten more than a few chapters in.
I’m slow. I take critiques pretty seriously, so I like to be meticulous and pay very close attention to what I’m reading. That makes critiquing very time-consuming for me, and time has been my enemy lately; I do not have enough of it. Or rather, I have the same amount of time, but too many other things I have to do with it, so reading the manuscripts of my friends has taken a back burner.
I also lack confidence in my ability to give good feedback. I am a voracious reader, and a decent writer, but those are the only qualifications I have to be a critique partner. I’m currently taking classes for a copyediting certificate, so I’m hoping my copyediting skills will be honed by the end of this year, but I’m still not sure that helps me with the fundamental edits. (more…)
My best friend Andy is rumored to have once said, “People always say, ‘I am my own worst critic.’ Well I’m not. August is my worst critic.”
I take no small pride in my critiquing skills. When it comes to words, I have an eye for detail. Shifting through pages and pages of small type looking for mistakes is something I find enjoyable. Finding errors in writing is like getting a shot of dopamine. It probably says something negative about me that I enjoy finding other people’s mistakes, but I’ll take my pleasures where I can get them.
When critiquing, it’s all too easy to be mean. There’s a certain satisfaction gained from being an asshole about other people’s mistakes. Often I find it necessary to reign that in. Not because I’m worried about hurt feelings, but because being a jerk isn’t the most effective way to edit. If the goal is improving the work, I find it best to be as neutral as possible. (more…)
I only know one way to critique a manuscript, and that’s with a nervous heart.
Critiquing is a serious, sometimes tricky, business and shouldn’t be taken lightly. If someone trusts you enough to show you their work, consider it a privilege. Give the task the same level of respect you afford your own writing, and embrace the idea that you might be unsure of the feedback you’re giving even as you give it.
The important thing to understand is that what an author really wants is an alternate perspective. They’ve probably spent a long time with this story in their head, and now they need to put it in someone else’s hands for a while. Respect their efforts, and do your best to give them an honest assessment of their work.
At the same, though, you need to remember that no two critiques are the same. Each should be tailored to the author of the work you’re reading, and you’ll have to consider both what the writer wants and what they are able to process.
There is nothing more necessary, or more dangerous, in writing than critiquing. You will learn more by critiquing other people’s work than by just writing. You are removed from the piece. You can see it with virgin eyes and see all the cracks in the surface. Then you start seeing them in your own writing. With a little luck, you’ll be able to patch the ones that would bring the whole thing crumbling down.
In addition, if you are a good critic, then people will want you to critique their work. That usually means that they will critique yours, as well. At the very least you will develop a support network of writers. While writers do compete with each other for work, there is always a market, anthology, or other project that someone might think is right for you. Small presses are generally run by writers. Anthologies are usually edited by writers. It’s always good to know people, in any business.
If you are a bad critic, no one will want to deal with you. They will avoid you, if humanly possible, curse your name when they see it in the slush pile, and kill you in their horror novel. It is very important that you don’t suck at this. (more…)
Writing is — as they say — re-writing. It’s a difficult process that begins with the author, but usually includes one or more outsiders who act as critique partners. A critique partner can offer valuable feedback, because he or she is removed from the written work and acts as a first audience for the author.
What worked? What didn’t? Were the motives of the characters clear or is there a gaping plot hole in the center of it all? As writers, we learn to accept certain amounts of criticism, but it inevitably falls on us to give it as well.
This week, we’re asking the writers to give us the inside scoop on critiquing a work. How do they approach a critique? What kind — and how much — feedback is most valuable? We know our contributors are at various stages of their writing lives, so the responses are likely to be varied and interesting.
We hope you enjoy reading their responses. And, as always, please leave us your feedback, too.
