A Tough Act to Follow

By Kim

I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since I was eight and have never wavered long from that dream. When my older daughter, then nine, discovered her own passion, I did what my parents did before me. I took her seriously and encouraged her to nurture and develop her natural talents.

My daughter at the barre. Photo by Deborah Downes

Over a year has passed since then and my aspiring ballerina is now enrolled at a school where she can get the serious training she craves. I have watched her transform into a poised and graceful young lady, confident in who she is and what she wants. She has also, unbeknownst to her, become my role model for how to pursue a dream, and she’s a tough act to follow. The lessons I’ve learned from her may seem basic common sense, but I’m sure I’m not the only one who needs reminding.

1) If you don’t actively chase a dream, it will forever remain a dream. It takes work to succeed. Learn to love work. Barre exercises are to a dancer what parking one’s rear end in a chair is to a writer. Both require focus and discipline. In this short video you will see a small group of dancers doing the same combination at the barre. Even an untrained eye can determine who wants to be there and who simply goes through the motions. (My daughter is directly in front of the camera – middle child along the barre at the back of the room–I wish I had her focus.)



2) Don’t be afraid of correction or feedback. It’s the only way to improve.

3) Find a teacher who will be honest about your weaknesses and guide you to overcome them, or at least not call attention to them.

4) You can’t join a company before learning how to dance en pointe. You can’t publish a novel if you never finish it.

5) If you dance, you are a dancer. If you write, you are a writer. It really is that simple.

6) If you don’t love it, do something else. If you do love it, don’t be satisfied doing anything else.

7) Dance (or write) because you can’t help yourself. Remember why you love what you do and don’t forget to have fun, as my children are in this video. (My kids are the shorter one in black and the little one in the blue and white dress .)



Do you struggle to live by any of these rules? We’d love to hear about it, especially if you have found a way to overcome them.

The other kind of critique

By Julie

“So, just to be clear, you liked it.”

“Yes. I really, really did.”

These were a few lines near the end of last night’s episode of Parenthood, one of my current TV favorites. Single mom Sarah Braverman (played by Lauren Graham) has devoted most of her adult life to cleaning up after her now ex-husband and making sure her kids are adjusted and happy in spite of the mess. She chokes up and tears glisten in her eyes as Mark Cyr (played dashingly by John Ritter’s son, Jason), her respected friend – and her daughter’s English teacher – praises her first attempt at story writing. Genuine, from-the-heart praise. Sarah is finally doing something for herself, and it’s working.

We spend a great deal of time talking about the value of critique here at What Women Write, about how much better it makes us as writers even when it hurts. Today, I want to talk about the other kind, because I believe it’s valuable, too. In fact, I’ll go out on a limb here. I believe at times, it may be more valuable.

The other kind I’m talking about, obviously, is praise.

To be sure, critique that draws our attention to the things we could do better, or to the things at which we fail, is useful and necessary.

Sarah expected that kind of critique from Mark. She went so far as to spout off about how she knew what he was going to say, giving her own modified definition of what we call the sandwich critique – two or three positive things followed by the things that need work followed by a final positive note. Then she proceeded to do what we’re always warned not to when facing critique – she couldn’t help interrupting when he tried to tell her his thoughts, already prepared with the excuses she thought would explain the shortcomings she assumed he’d list.

When Mark finally got a word in edgewise, Sarah was stunned. I don’t know about you, if you saw this episode, but me? I choked up right along with her. Tears threatened my eyes, too.

Because I remember those moments in time. I remember how – as Sarah felt validated by Mark’s praise – I felt validated by those who praised my writing early on.

And last week.

I mentioned in my interview with Barbara O’Neal that the words she gave me during an online class are some of the ones that have kept me going even when I felt like giving up.

At one of my first writers’ conferences, the La Jolla Writers Conference, I read some of my early manuscript materials during a group read-and-critique session with Linda Lael Miller, one of the most prolific romance writers around. And one of the most generous. Later, during a quiet moment at the book signing event, she wrote inside the cover of her novel and handed it back to me. She looked me in the eye and said, “And I don’t say that to just anybody.” She’d written, “Julie, you are very talented.” I floated on that for several days.

Right now, I’m waiting on feedback from a few first readers about my recently finished manuscript. A week or two ago, my heart beat a little faster when I opened a text message from one of them – something to this effect (because the message was deleted … sigh): “I think you have really got something this time.” And several more sentences where she gave me specific reasons why she was immersed in my story and characters.

When I sit in our infamous retreat sessions with my dear What Women Write friends and hear my voice shake a little while I read, knowing my fellow writers will be tough on me, I also become emotional and “filled up” again when they praise me.

It gave me immense pleasure last week, after reading the first half of Susan’s manuscript in a record four hours because I literally couldn’t put it down, to send her a short email describing how in awe I was of her novel so far and begging her to finish it soon so I can hear the rest of the story. Sure, there were nitpicky things I could have commented on, but the heart of the story is fabulous. Susan knows I’m not an easy critic, and I meant every word I said.

Of course there are times when praise really is just an empty compliment – someone just trying to be nice. After a few years of riding this pony, I think most of us can tell the difference. And sometimes, that difference is what gives us the fuel to keep on riding this road to publication.

Be wise with your criticism. Be generous with your praise. Be true with both.

These may be the words that give your friend, your daughter, your critique partner, or even a complete stranger a reason to carry on.

Do you have a story you’d like to share about the other kind of critique? We’d love to hear it. Leave it in a comment or write a post and direct us to it in the comment section!

Five reasons to find a writers' group: Joan, Julie, Kim, Susan and Elizabeth

By Pamela

During the school year, we at What Women Write regularly meet for lunch to recharge, reconnect and reestablish our writing goals. No one brings a spreadsheet of word count calculations or an outline of a project, but we talk for hours about writing, books, movies and whatever else six women find to chat about.


Over the summer, it’s a bit more difficult. Last year we met one afternoon at the botanical garden, kids in tow, for a picnic. This year has proved to be more sporadic. Susan and I managed a lunch last month. Joan and I met for tea last week. We email constantly and are in the early stages of planning our second annual fall writing retreat.

As a writer I find it imperative to have a support group outside my family. My mother, my sister, my spouse and especially my children see me in a role best suited to their needs. To my family I provide a listening ear, a sympathetic shoulder—emotional support and physical care. If I were to solely depend on those closest to me to provide enthusiastic feedback on my writing or encouragement when I receive yet another rejection letter, my writing would suffer. Family members can tell me how wonderful they think I am, or silently nod while inwardly thinking, Don’t get so worked up over a ‘hobby.’

But Joan, Julie, Kim, Susan and Elizabeth offer me a unique perspective. They know me in a way others do not. They’ve read early, early drafts and offered much-needed feedback. They aren’t afraid to tell me something I’ve written is horrible because they understand they’re doing me no favors by encouraging a project that has no market potential. When I get a rejection letter, at least one has probably queried the same agent with a similar response. Stuck for a way to phrase a sentence, I can email it out and within the hour have two or three unique twists on it. Without the support of these five women, I would not be the writer I am today. I doubt I would have ever attended a writing conference—let alone four. And I’m fairly certain I would have stopped writing fiction after my first manuscript had been rejected by dozens of agents.

Much of this is speculation, but one thing is certain: I am the writer I’ve become because of them. Thanks, all of you!

If you are a writer without a support system, I encourage you to find one soon. I met Joan and Kim at a local writers’ group, Elizabeth at a critique group and Susan at a conference. Check your local library or book store for writing groups or critique groups. Join a book discussion group to get a feel for what readers want. Do an online search. Don’t be afraid to talk to people. But one caveat: Make sure the environment is healthy, positive and honest. The last thing a fragile writer needs is negativity; we provide enough of that to ourselves.