I returned to my home last Saturday after spending the better part of a week at the Midwest Writers Workshop in Muncie, Indiana, where I was part of the faculty. MWW is one of my favorite “working” conferences–that is, a conference dedicated specifically to writing technique, as opposed to other confabs that are weighted heavily toward social interaction. When you sign on to teach at MWW, you’re signing on to work. This was my fourth or fifth tour with the conference, and I’m anxious to go back when invited.
As part of my duties, I agreed to review ten, 5-page writing samples and discuss them with their authors, which I hammered out back-to-back in half-hour increments. I mentioned here last week that I’d noticed an overall decline in quality from my previous experience with MWW. None of the samples I reviewed were truly awful or beyond redemption, but none of them jumped out as sparkling with potential.
The experience did, however, provide me with the topic for this week’s TKZ missive: How to make the most (or trigger the worst) out of manuscript reviews. Presented in no particular order . . .
My opinion of your writing is merely my opinion. It’s the opinion you paid to hear, and the one that I am obliged to give. You are free to dismiss any bit of guidance that I provide. The opinions from your friends, family and beta readers, while in opposition to my own may very well be definitive. Go with them–with my blessing–but know that the fact that your Aunt Betty was an English teacher and says your characters are vivid and exciting will not cause me to change my assessment that they are neither.
If you listen to anything I say, listen to everything I say. The positive things I note about your work are every bit as honest as the negative things. I understand that we don’t know each other very well, but those who do know me will assure you that I am not a blower of unearned sunshine. Give yourself a break.
“The first five pages” actually means the first five pages. Of the ten manuscripts I reviewed, three of them were hunks of story excised from the middle of the novel, in each case chosen because the author thought those pages represented their “best writing.” Yeah, let that settle. None of the good writing happens before page 48 (and presented to me either as unnumbered pages or as “page one” of the sample). Let’s save that rant for later. Assessing a manuscript is more than just copy editing. In fact, copy editing is the last thing this kind of assessment is. If I’m going to evaluate your story, the elements of plot, setting and character all have to make sense. I’ve thought about this a lot, and I cannot think of a simpler, more understandable way to issue the instruction to “submit the first five pages of your work.”
Quit worrying about someone trying to steal your idea. If you want my help, you’re going to have to share critical elements of your story. In many years of doing this, I’ve never once heard a premise that was truly unique. I’ve seen a thousand different squints on romances and mysteries and murder weapons, but never a plot point that was unicorn-unique. When you demand that I sign a non-disclosure agreement before you allow me to dedicate my time to your writing, you double-dog guarantee that I won’t look at a word, and won’t lift a finger. Well, maybe I’ll lift one finger.
Okay, Killzone family, what’s your experience with giving or receiving critiques. Did you enjoy the experience? Hate it? Have any more tips to add?
❖ What’s your experience with giving or receiving critiques?
❦ I’ve attended monthly workshops since 1979, and weekly since 2005. Outside the workshop, I’ve done full m/s reads, sometimes including page-by-page assessment of emotional impact. I’ve also received many critiques.
❖ Did you enjoy the experience? Hate it?
❦ It’s invaluable. I love it. I try not to miss a single meeting and only reluctantly fail to read at a meeting. These are opportunities that don’t recur. Workshops are a good way to find beta readers, editors, cover designers, and self-publishing help. One workshop formed a co-op blog.
❖ Have any more tips to add?
❦ Here are our guidelines from today’s workshop:
General: No cell phones or politics or religion. Avoid digressions.
For presenters: 1200 words max. Introduce your piece, and provide character lists, etc. No defending your work. No repeat reads. The better the material, the better the critique. Avoid first drafts. Express gratitude.
For critiquers: Be gentle but honest. Be specific; avoid generalities like “needs tightening.”
I’ve been on both ends of the manuscript evaluation. Sometimes I struggle with having something positive to say about a truly awful submission. My mentor told me once to learn to accept the hard and sometimes harsh feedback as a learning experience.
I was fortunate to have some of my newbie work critiqued at a conference by reputable authors (that’s you, Kris!) and their help was invaluable in showing me what I was doing right, and what I needed to learn. Given that I’d never taken any writing classes other than a semester of creative writing in high school (class of 64), I needed to learn a LOT.
I can’t understand what’s so difficult about following directions, or why people think they don’t apply to them.
I judged manuscripts for contests, usually related to RWA chapters, and most of those contests included the dreaded ‘score sheets’ where you were required to comment on specific aspects of the manuscript, and then assign numeric scores. I’d been on the receiving end of many of these as well, and learned early on that five people reading the same pages could have totally different opinions. That helped teach me that I was never going to please everybody with my writing, although there were enough times where I pleased enough of these judges to win or final, encouraging me to continue with the writing gig.
When I give someone my work to critique, I want an honest assessment. And when I read someone else’s work I do the same. The worst thing you can get is a critiquer who doesn’t want to hurt your feelings so they gloss over or ignore issues. Not helpful and a waste of my time (and theirs).
Fortunately, while I have heard some nightmare stories about critiques I haven’t experienced them. And I would venture to say that the majority of feedback I’ve received I have also implemented, though occasionally there are points of feedback that I have rejected with good reason.
As a critiquer, the tough part is what Jane mentions in the comment above–every once in a while you read a piece that leaves you struggling to find any positive. But we manage to find a way to deliver an honest critique and still be encouraging.
At the height of my own time presenting as faculty at writers’ conferences, I hit 18 in one year from Toronto to Biloxi, San Diego to North Carolina, and several in the middle (KC, OKC, Tulsa, St. Louis, Houston, Dallas, etc.). I still managed to write, but sometimes I had trouble remembering where I was when I first woke up.
At many of those I signed on to offer manuscript critiques, but I never much cared for it. You’re absolutely right. One opinion, no matter its origin, is still only one opinion, so I never offered a personal opinion on the quality of the story itself.
So instead, I limited my remarks to mechanics—specific techniques to ground the reader in the story, for example, or the interaction between cliffhangers and hooks (with examples of each)—as the writer’s eyes glazed over.
But every time, toward the end of the session, the writer gave me that hopeful look and asked, “But what do you really think of the story?”
Whereupon, every time, I offered a half-smile and said, “Nice.”
In one regrettably memorable workshop session, a writer read from their nicely illustrated children’s book in which all grammatical and syntactical rules had been hurled aside in order to force awkward rhymes throughout. From a pedagogical POV, it was schrecklich. One of the group’s grey eminences immediately gave them both barrels. It was painful to listen to. And totally accurate. I don’t remember the exact weasel words I used, but I presented an opposing opinion based on the allegedly subjective nature of the previous critique and the quality of the illos. (I did not mention that most children’s book publishers use their own artists.) The grey eminence whispered “Thank you” in my ear when I was done.
“Well, maybe I’ll lift one finger.”
This line triggered a true LOL. 🙂
Thanks for bringing up these thorny issues, John. I’ve been on both sides of the table–as critiquer and critiquee (is that a word?). It’s sometimes difficult to give meaningful feedback w/o discouraging a writer. With others, critique is impossible b/c all they want to hear is their work is on par with Hemingway and Faulkner (it never is).
But sign an NDA??? Seriously??? Definitely, lift one finger.
Critiquing someone else’s ms is the best training I know for improving your own writing. You have to analyze what works and doesn’t work plus offer alternatives and solutions to fix problems. That intense, detailed study can then be applied to what you’re writing.
I take ALL critique seriously, even when I don’t agree. If I don’t believe their comment is valid, they still may unknowingly point out an underlying problem I hadn’t recognized.
I love both giving and receiving. Sometimes it’s a tricky minefield but definitely worth it.
I’ve been in four critique groups over the years, though my last ended in 2012, and have also a critique of a story at a small science fiction convention back in the mid 1990s and a first pages critique at our local writer’s conference in 2009. I also facilitated our local Portland science fiction convention’s writers workshop for several years. I also took a critique class from SF author Nancy Kress in 2010 which helped a great deal, both in giving and receiving feedback, and in getting out of my own head when it came to rereading my fiction.
The critiques from groups really varied, depending upon the group and the individual giving (and receiving critiques). I always tried to find the positive and point out where I stumbled as a reader. It was only the last critique group I was in (and co-founded) that happened after I began seriously studying writing craft, including books by our own JSB. That really helped my ability to give concise, constructive feedback, as did Nancy’s class.
Both of my conference experiences were excellent. One was from my future friend and future editor, Mary Rosenblum, the other from another writing teacher of mine, Eric Witchey. Both were insightful, getting at the heart of what made the pages work and where they weren’t working.
My “job” facilitating the Orycon WW meant I got to read all the submissions and pair them with two authors, who would each given the writer feedback in one-on-one sessions. The feedback I received from participants was that the workshops were very helpful to them. It really comes down to not only the person providing feedback, but the recipient and their willingness to listen to feedback (as well as workshop instructions).
Thanks, John. Good subject to ponder.
I had an interesting experience at the last writers conference I attended.
I submitted my first 5 pages . . . yes, I followed the directions in case you’re wondering.
The professional I submitted to skimmed over the pages while I twisted my fingers into knots. When she finished, she handed my pages back to me and took a sip of water. (Cue Deb dying in her chair.)
She then asked me, “Why did you write this?”
I tried to answer her, but I wasn’t prepared for the question, and I’m not sure if I made any sense at all. Then she asked a couple of other questions that I can’t even remember. She offered no critique at all.
I walked away from that 15 minute appointment not understanding what’d just happened. But, later . . .
. . . I found out she was in the throes of a serious migraine and was trying to buck up and work. She ended up leaving the conference.
That experience taught me a valuable lesson. Editors, agents, and critiquers are just people like the rest of us.
Happy Wednesday!
I’ve critiqued many hundreds of MSs at conferences over the years. Maybe 5% had good to great opening pages. 10% were competent. 85% needed substantial work. For almost all those in the latter category I suggested a) starting at Ch. 2 instead of Ch. 1; or b) finding the first instance of dialogue and starting there. Worked wonders.
Swapping Chapter One with Chapter Two was something I once read in one of Lawrence Block’s writing books and it’s amazing how frequently this alone does the trick. Even in short stories, swapping scene/sequence 1 with 2 works.
For example, the big heist is in 1, then 2 shows the night before planning.
Once I paid for a Writer’s Digest critique of my short story. The magazine’s website contracted with “real, experienced writers” to give the critiques. What I got back was a Word file with two grammatical fixes (a changed tense here and a failure to use past perfect there) and a comment: “This is a good story. I wish it were longer.”
I think I paid $30 for this. There’s no chance my story was some masterpiece needing no revision. Never again.
I was in a critique group for a year or two. We all agreed on a form that we used to grade the writings on pace, dialogue, tension, etc. I enjoyed critiquing the others’ works, and I spent some time trying to point out the good and the not-so-good. However, the other folks in the group were not as thorough, and they didn’t offer many substantive comments. I found I wasn’t making any progress in my writing.
Although we’re all still friends, the group no longer meets to critique each other’s work.
I’v
About ten years ago I sent my first fifty pages to be critiqued and when I got it back, there was so much red I thought someone besides my victim had died. Once I calmed down and actually read through the comments, it turned out some comments were about what I’d done right (maybe 15%). The rest pointed out what I needed to learn. Best critique I ever received.