The truth is I have very little idea what I’m doing.
I came into NaNoWriMo a little bit of a cheat. I had a novel that I’d already spent a lot of time on, and I wanted to finish it, so I used NaNo to do so. Since then, I’ve been letting it cool. I am a big believer in the advice that after completing a manuscript you should get a little distance from it before you dive back into editing.
The idea is you’re trying to see your story with fresh eyes. If you’re like me, the time away also gives you the opportunity to stop hating your characters. By the end of my novel, I was barreling toward the finish line because I didn’t want to spend one more day with those people in my head. I loved them when I created them, but familiarity does indeed breed contempt, and the gang and I had spent far too much time together.
Since completing the manuscript, I’ve sent it out to some beta readers, and I’m just now beginning to get some notes. They’ve been mainly positive, but there are also a lot of good suggestions for improvement.
As I was thinking about this week’s topic, I was going to be all smug and smarmy and more-mature-than-thou about how much I love criticism and look at it as a chance to learn and improve my skills [0].
Then I got reminded that some critiques really are just petty, nit-picky, bullshit.
I try to come at critique with a humble mind aimed toward learning how to avoid mistakes in the future [1]. Is there a better approach for this audience? Is there another aspect of the issue that should be emphasized? Where was my writing unclear? How well did the structure work to guide and inform the reader? Are there any suggestions for improving my writing process? In that framework, the worst critique you can give me is, “I loved it! It’s super! You’re the best!” [2]
The best critiques, on the other hand, turn into conversations about process and document design and information management theory. Every document I write I’ve usually done some pretty deep thinking about how the information should be gathered, curated, and packaged, and I’m perfectly happy to explain and defend my choices.
Yeah. I sound like I’m polishing my halo a bit. But this is how professionals work. You put your ego away and get the job done, on time, within budget. That’s how to do a job well done, for which the reward is another (paid) job.
[0] I’m sorry.
[1] In real life, my reaction may involve going away for few minutes to curse the multiverse for putting such obvious idiots in my path. That out of my system, I can them come back and actually look for room for improvement.
[2] Often followed by, “Just one little thing….” Just give it to me straight.
Did I ask for your opinion? No? Then why the hell are you giving it to me?
I handle unwanted critiques very poorly. I take them as personal attacks on my person. It doesn’t matter what the critique is about, if I didn’t ask for your opinion, don’t share it with me. Unless you’re telling me that I’m awesome, then by all means, please continue.
“I’m sorry that you feel that way,” is my frequent response when somebody criticizes one of my creative endeavors, especially when it’s in the early phases and I didn’t ask for an opinion.
I’m a bit more gracious–with most people–when it comes to critiques that I’ve asked for. Usually with my writing if it is being critiqued it’s because I sent it to somebody and asked for their opinions. I want them to tell me what they liked. But even more importantly I want them to tell me what they didn’t like. But don’t tell me you didn’t like something if you’re not prepared to tell me why it didn’t work for you. Because otherwise it will go right back to feeling like an attack on my baby and therefore also on me. (more…)
Disclaimer: all of these statements are based on my own experience. Not everyone will experience all of these phases (although I’m guessing most people will or have experienced at least one or two of them!)
The Phases of Critique
Too shy to ask. You want desperately for people to read your work and praise it, but on the off chance it actually sucks, you keep it close to your chest and only share with people like your mom, who has to say she likes it even if she doesn’t. You can’t handle critique or rejection at this stage. (more…)
There’s no doubt that criticism is important. It’s how we improve ourselves. And while it sucks, dealing with rejection is something that everyone will have to deal with at some point. How I respond to these things depends on one very important thing: do I agree with what I’m being told?
No one is harder on me then myself. Chances are, any criticism someone has of me or my work has already been considered, gone over four times, and either accepted or rejected. When someone poses a criticism that I agree with, I will kindly listen and nod my head in assent. In my mind I have already acknowledged the criticism, and am working on ways to fix it. (more…)
Critique and rejection are two entirely different things, though one can sometimes accompany the other. If you’re broadcasting your work in any sort of way, you’ll inevitably encounter both. As you do, it’s important to consider both the message (the reason behind the critique or rejection) and the messenger (the person providing the feedback).
Not all critiques are created equal. Sometimes you will find yourself in a group with writers of varying skill levels, and there may be times when you are encouraged to swap pages with people whom you know you can flat out write circles around. That’s not arrogance. That’s honesty.
As I mentioned in a previous post, if you’re the one providing feedback, you should take into account the abilities of the author of the work you’re critiquing. Not everyone is ready for the same level of discourse.
The same goes when you’re the one receiving the critique. Sometimes an author who is early in his or her writing journey will not be very good at assessing another person’s work. Inevitably there are long discussions about word choice or the comma police have made your manuscript look like a crime scene. Sometimes the inexperienced author “just didn’t get” what you were trying to do or say and they will be inadvertently harsh in their criticisms, without any specific reasons for why they didn’t like it.
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.
