by Judy Bridges
Is Membership Limited So Everyone Gets Feedback?
I think the ideal number of members is six to twelve. Fewer than six and the energy drops off. More than twelve and it’s hard to get enough time for critique. You can have more members if they tend to write shorter pieces or attend some meetings without bringing work.
Are Writers in the Group Successful?
“Successful” means accomplishing what a writer wants to accomplish. Success may be writing for New York publishers or for grandchildren. The point is that successful writers actually work on their projects and complete them. If you happen upon a group of whiners, get out. The last thing you need when you are trying to make something of yourself is a cadre of people who say it can’t be done.
Is There Enough Expertise in the Group to Challenge You?
Being in a group that’s just a half-step ahead of you is a good idea. You don’t want to feel like a tag-along, nor do you want to be so far ahead of the others that they don’t challenge you. I like the energy in mixed groups—with writers who are more experienced and just beginning, skilled in one area and not so skilled in others.
Some groups require that you submit a manuscript for approval before you are allowed to join. I’ve never seen that work well, because it’s the nature of writers to write well one day and not the next. One manuscript tells you very little. College prerequisites are just about as iffy. Nothing annoys me more than the MFA grad who knows all there is to know about writing but very little about getting along with others. On the other hand, when writers in my roundtables noticed that members who took the Shut Up & Write! course not only improved quickly but were more fun to have around, they suggested making the course a prerequisite, even for very experienced writers. For us, that was a good plan because new members came into the groups speaking the same language and had a stronger understanding of the craft and the process. The level of competence in the roundtables—and the number of publications—increased almost instantly.
Is the Critique Process Fair and Supportive?
The leader sets the tone and manages the conversation so members can stay focused on the craft. Time is balanced so that members receive fairly equal attention. Appropriate questions for the leader to ask other members include: Does the writing engage you? Did you get lost anywhere? What do you see that you absolutely love? Do you see any places where the writer has an opportunity to make this even better?
People in the fairest, most supportive groups occasionally make comments that sting. There’s no way around an accident, but deliberate meanness is never warranted. Truthfully, I rarely see a writer get mean in my groups. And I never see them do it twice.
Do You Feel Comfortable?
It might take a few meetings for you to decide whether or not you feel comfortable. You may always be nervous when presenting your work, but in a good group, people critique one another with respect, and that will eventually ease your mind. If, overall, you get useful feedback and feel at home, then you found the right place.
How to Get and Give Useful Feedback
There are two sides of the coin in a writers’ group: you get and you give. You get feedback when you share your work with the other members, and you give feedback when they share with you. Each side of the coin is rewarding. You learn as much about writing when you try to help others as you do when they are helping you. It’s worth your while to attend meetings whether or not you have work to share.
The “Get” Side of the Critique Coin
Feedback protocol varies from place to place. The procedures that I use in feedback sessions will serve as a good baseline for what you might expect (see Figure 25).
Guidelines for Participating in Critique Sessions
To Get Feedback on Your Writing
When it’s your turn, tell the type of work: first chapter of a novel, short story, personal essay, article, poem for a collection, play, or meditation/reflection.
Don’t explain. Don’t apologize. Just start reading.
When you’re finished, take a deep breath while others make a few notes.
Let the leader guide the feedback session. This is your time to sit back and listen.
Wait until later to decide which suggestions you will use and which you will ignore.
To Give Feedback to Other Writers
When others read, notice what you think worked well.
Also notice what you think might be better.
Focus on the craft rather than the subject matter.
Make as many notes for the writer as you can. Phrase comments in the first person, as “I think” or “I didn’t understand” or as a question, rather than “You should. . . .”
Join in the discussion when you want to. Say what you think, but don’t insist. When there is disagreement about a certain point, the leader might ask for a show of hands so the writer can get the reaction of the whole group and can factor that into his decision.
Remember that no one is expected to do as you say, only to consider your suggestions.
Figure 25. Guidelines for Participating in Critique Sessions
You may be asked to bring a copy of your manuscript for each member of the group. Follow the group’s guidelines regarding the maximum number of pages. (For a manuscript format, see Appendix A.) If you do not have enough copies, the readers can share, but you will receive less written feedback.
When you arrive, put your name on the readers’ list, and note the number of pages you wish to read. If you want to use your time to discuss a writing problem, write “talk” instead of a page count. When it’s your turn, distribute copies of your manuscript and tell—in just a few words—the type of work. For instance:
First chapter of a novel
Short story
Personal essay
Article
Poem for a collection
Play
Meditation/reflection
If you are midway in a book, you can attach or give a short synopsis—no more than a paragraph. Keep it brief so you don’t use up your time explaining details.
Some teachers recommend telling the group what type of feedback you want, such as: “Do the characters seem real?” or “Is the story interesting?” I think directions like this often get in the way of good critique because readers will focus on the question, possibly missing another insight that would have been extremely helpful to you.
In my groups, participants read their work aloud while the others follow along (and make notes) on their copies. Giving the readers two modes of input—auditory and visual—increases their level of attentiveness, which in turn increases the quality of feedback. You might find it uncomfortable to read your work aloud, but it does get easier with time and the benefits are well worth it.
Sometimes, just before they read, the most accomplished, competent writers get an urge to apologize for their work. With their permission, I posted a list of excuses on the Redbird website.
“This is the beginning of something longer.”
“This is a possible first draft.”
“This is just a continuation of something I started.”
“I had to bring something ’cuz I wanted to come.”
“This is the first draft of the possible start, or it could appear in the middle.”
“I hope this measures up to my usual standard of mediocrity.”
The last one, about the writer’s “mediocrity,” is from an award-winning novelist with four published books under his belt.
When publisher Philip Martin saw the list, he asked to include it in an anthology for writers. And thus, the Redbird list of snappy introductions became a chapter in The New Writer’s Handbook: A Practical Anthology of Best Advice for Your Craft and Career.
The moral of the story: If you get the urge to apologize, don’t. Pull out all of your teenage drama skills and fake it—pretend you are supremely confident. Sit up straight, speak clearly, and read as if everyone in the room is dying to hear what you wrote.
When you are
finished reading, take a deep breath and wait for your heartbeat to slow down while the others make notes on your manuscript. After what seems like a century, the leader will open the conversation. Resist the urge to join the conversation, even if someone asks you a question. Every minute you speak is a minute during which you can’t listen. It’s a missed opportunity. You can hear what you have to say any time; you can’t hear what these good readers have to say maybe ever again.
Some comments will please you; some will annoy. Some may make you want to start swinging. Be cool. You do not need to do anything right now, and you don’t have to take any of the suggestions. You are the writer. You own the writing. You don’t need to defend or argue. Take the manuscripts home with you, read the written suggestions, and think them over.
Often the suggestion that sounds brilliant at first sounds awful later, and the one that sounds awful turns out to be brilliant. Ask any accomplished writer and she will tell you a story of a time she wanted to choke a reviewer and had to admit, eventually, that the reviewer was right. My nemesis was a professor who said one of my stories was just like “the drivel written by every other divorcée in America.” He deserved to die for the way he said it, but the truth is, he was right. It took me months to realize that. It would have taken me less time had I not wasted so much energy planning his demise. He eventually apologized and made up for it by coaching me through the writing of an award-winning article.
Whether you are a pro or a beginner, becoming a member of a critique group is likely to mark a turning point in your writing life. Carol S., a member of one of my workshops, phrased it this way: “For years, I wrote in a safe and non-threatening room of my own, but with no outlet, I wasn’t going anywhere. I took a chance on Redbird Studio. Although it was scary to ‘get naked’ in front of a room full of strangers, it was the best move I made. It’s sheer luxury to have a coterie of able readers who show up regularly to give me feedback on my writing. Redbird has become a word synonymous with support and encouragement in my life. I feel very lucky to have discovered it.”
Judy Bridges reviews comments made by members of her critique group.
The “Give” Side of the Critique Coin
This is a case in which you’d think it would be easier to give than to get, but the truth is that writers often find it difficult to give feedback about another writer’s work. When you critique a manuscript, you need to notice what you like and what you think might be improved, and you need to find a way to say so without making the writer want to deck you.
The good news is that the process is an immense learning opportunity for you as well as the person whose work you are critiquing.
As for how to say things, there is no substitute for an encouraging note written in the margin. “I love this” or “You really got me curious” can give a writer enough energy to make it through three more rewrites. When I’m short on time, I use my own shorthand to make notes on a manuscript. A single underline means “I like this.” A double underline means “I love this.” A scribbled, wavy underline means “I wonder about this.”
Appropriate comments begin with “I.” This signals that you are taking responsibility for your statement. Rather than saying, “Character is shallow,” say, “I think this character needs more development.” It takes but a second longer to add “I think” or “I wish,” but that small touch makes the writer less defensive, more able to take in the meaning of your words.
The “sandwich” style critique is frequently recommended, but it can be a bit cumbersome. In the sandwich critique, each participant is expected to mention: something good, something that may need attention, and then another something good.
The trouble is, that’s a lot of mentioning, especially if everyone in the group takes a turn. Most writers I know can handle, and indeed seek, deeper feedback than they can get with this method. I think the trick is to make sure that when you add up the comments made by all members of the group, the support is strong enough for this particular writer. Some people need more positive feedback; others want more critique. It doesn’t take long for people to sense which way to go. The leader keeps her finger on the pulse and shifts the conversation if needed.
The worst thing is to write something snotty in the margin of a manuscript. It is not necessary, ever, to write “Duh” or “This sucks.” Instead write “I wish I knew more about this” or “I wonder if a six-year-old would react this way” or “Did they have disposable diapers way back then?”
When you critique, it is essential that you focus on the craft rather than the philosophical content. In every group, there are people with varying political and religious opinions, and you are not going to agree with every one, all the time. It may not be easy to set your feelings aside, but you must. Some of my hardest days are when I help a person make a political point that annoys me. It’s my job, so I do it. Later, when it’s published, I wonder, did I really help with this?
In a critique situation, it is your job to consider whether or not the writing achieves the writer’s goal and if it does not, what might help. If, on occasion, you cannot do that, if you find the content unbearable, your options are to remain quiet or to take a walk to the bathroom.
On the lighter side, few groups bother checking grammar, spelling, or punctuation at this stage of development. If an error jumps out at you, you might circle it, but line editing is not the point of critique. If you happen to be good at it, you can help the writer later, after she has all the words in order. See Figure 26 for a list of things to consider when you critique.
Overall, the critique you offer springs from everything you ever learned about writing—in your life and in previous chapters—and is tempered by your insights and simple caring for the others in your group.
If there was ever a good time to remember the Golden Rule, this is it.
The Shut Up & Write! Critique List
Things to Consider When You Critique
Action. Is there enough of it to keep you interested? Is it presented vividly? Does any of it feel as if it was inserted to meet a quota of chase or bedroom scenes?
Author. Are there places where you can “hear” the author’s voice behind the words, explaining too much or promoting her agenda?
Characters. Can you identify the character’s desire? Is the narrative drive—the combination of desire and difficulties—sufficient to hold your interest? Does the character speak and act in character? Can you see a little bit of yourself or someone you know in each character?
Clarity. Can you understand “who’s on first” and what’s going on? Is the language clear, or did you get lost some of the time?
Clichés. Do you hear phrases that are too familiar? To spot clichés, look for phrases that fall out of your mouth automatically. “Her mind was spinning.” “His heart stopped.” “At this point in time.” “It goes without saying.”
Conflict. Are there enough difficulties to challenge the characters and the reader?
Dialogue. Does the dialogue sound real? Does each phrase move the story, or are there filler phrases that really don’t add anything, such as “Oh, really?” or “Is that right?”
Ending. Is the ending satisfactory? Does it make sense in light of the story?
Facts. Do the facts ring true? If fiction, is it believable? If nonfiction, are sources noted?
Interest. Does the piece hold your interest? Does it slow down anywhere, or move too quickly? Are the characters engaging? Is there enough tension? Mystery?
Lead. Is it effective? Does it set the scene and make you want to keep reading?
Logic. Does the action occur in a logical sequence? Are characters, settings, situations presented in an order the reader can follow: near to far, low to high, now to then?
Market. If the writer mentioned a target market, does the piece address that audience? Are the language, the story, and the tone appropriate?
Pacing. Does the story move at a pace that appeals to you? Did you feel rushed at times, or impatient?
Passive versus Active Voice. Is the active voice used most of the time? “The room was filled with fire” is passive. It “tells.” “Flames licked the ceiling” is active. It “shows.”
Plot. Does one thing lead logically to the next? Is there enough conflict to hold a reader’s interest? Do things happen that seem too convenient, too improbable?
Point of View. Does the point of view stay steady, or does it wobble? If the point of view changes, does it do so at appropriate places? Is the reader alerted to the change? Does the narrator dip into the minds of too many characters, too quickly?
Rhythm. Does the language have a beat that flows with the story? Do the words, phrases, and paragraphs create a rhythm that suits the action?
Scenes. Do they feel real and vivid? Do you feel the tension, the heat, the cold, the characters, and the action?
Sensory Detail. Is there enough sensory detail to make the characters and settings come alive? Can you see, hear, feel, taste, and smell the people and places?
Setting. Is each setting vivid enough for you to see, hear, feel, taste, and smell? When the characters are in that space, do you feel as if you are there with them?