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!

Critique is ...

By Julie


Critique is fun.

Critique is hard.

Critique is flattering.

Critique is confusing.

Critique can be helpful.

Critique can hack you off.

Critique is thought provoking.

Critique can mess up a good scene.

Critique can really improve your writing.

I could put a stamp on this and mail it in right there, but I won’t, because that would be cheating a little on my scheduled blog post. It should be clear from those sentences alone, though, that critique can be a mixed bag.

Used correctly, it can really improve your writing. Used incorrectly, or if you end up in the wrong critique group, it can really mess things up, too.

It is not easy to find a great critique group or partner. Several of the six of us searched for years for the right group before What Women Write was formed through a providential series of events. We don’t take each other for granted and often wonder at the serendipity of it all.

During our annual retreats, we spend time several evenings reading scenes aloud and offering each other critique. In the past, we’ve offered the same service to each other over lunch. Frequently, we exchange work for feedback via email. Any way we slice it, it has been a great way for the six of us to grow our writing skills by leaps and bounds.

Instead of telling you how to form a critique group or what makes one work, I decided to use this post to paint a word picture of how ours works. (Your ideal group will likely look very different.)

First and possibly most importantly, during our retreat critique sessions, we almost always laugh.

Last year, we got the giggles as we started out whispering the love scenes we’d labored over all year and spontaneously decided to read for critique. Our landlords were unexpectedly on the premises, and we had no idea how well they could hear us through the walls of their private suite – right next to the dining room where we met. We figured they’d think we were up to no good if they could. But I’m pretty sure the whispers escalated as the wine and chocolate flowed, and eventually, we no longer gave a hoot if they thought we were reading bodice rippers out loud to amuse ourselves.

This year, we laughed so hard we cried as Elizabeth read a scene she’d composed that day using real life experience, though she apparently changed it up a bit to make it unbelievably hilarious. I suppose if any one of us hears the word sugarbugs in the future, we’ll be snorting out loud once again.

But we also gripe at Elizabeth to “SLOW IT DOWN, WOMAN!” because she reads out loud faster than the Roadrunner finds new trouble.

We holler at Joan to “SPEAK UP!” because we’re dying for her to reveal the compelling new scenes she’s created in the faraway lands she’s always writing about, but she reads so softly we can’t hear her at times!

We are baffled by Susan’s flushed face and neck, because she is really quite a confident woman and her writing is downright breathtaking.

We sigh with envy over Pamela’s soothing voice that seems to float out effortlessly as she reads from the emotionally spot-on women’s fiction she’s writing.

We marvel at Kim’s detailed research and dedication to telling her great-grandfather’s story as true as she possibly can.

And my tongue stumbles ridiculously over words, and I gag when what seemed so lovely in my head sounds like drivel when I speak it. But in the next moment, I’m overcome with emotion when my fellow writers tell me they really think I have a good thing going and forbid me from quitting.

Most of all, we trust each other.

We trust each other to take the hard stuff – no sugarcoating allowed – and not throw temper tantrums when we don’t like it.

We trust each other to take the changes we suggest and weigh them carefully to determine whether it’s just one person’s opinion or a real problem in the writing.

We trust each other to believe our words of praise; sometimes they are hard won.

We trust each other not to withhold praise or be overcritical when we are just the slightest bit jealous because one of us received a request for a full manuscript or another has written a scene so mesmerizing it makes the rest of us want to stick forks in our heads and give up.

Ultimately, we trust the group to help us little by little and bit by bit hone the rough material we’ve produced into a thing of beauty.

I’m no expert on how to form or find the perfect critique group, but I can attest that when you do find it, it’s a treasure you guard carefully.

(This picture is totally posed. You should see where we had to put the camera.)

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.

Feedback is Something You Must Eat

By Susan Poulos

All writers fear criticism. And here I thought it was just me.

When I started taking my writing seriously, the first step I knew I had to take was to seek feedback on my work. Of course, I think bourbon distilleries and monks and Kentucky history are fascinating, but would anyone else? I think my writing has potential. But is that enough to mass market?

My first writing group was kind...at the beginning. By my third reading, I was feeling confident. I read a scene between my French monk, Thomas Merton, and my fictional bootlegger, Tom Clayfield. And they ripped me to shreds.

"They sound the same. This piece has no voice," one well-meaning critic stated.

"You keep talking about the 'distillery'. Don't you mean the 'still'? It doesn't sound like you know what you're talking about," another piped in.

In critique group, you are not allowed to respond. I gritted my teeth instead.

"Not enough dialog; you are telling instead of showing," one said.

"Your bootlegger doesn't sound 'hick' enough." The criticism went on and on.

I left in a huff.

I drove home gripping the steering wheel, running through all my explanations and excuses in my head. They didn't know anything, I surmised. They don't even know what a Distillery IS. Stupid critics.

A month later, I read the piece again. And they were absolutely right.

I hadn't come close to adequately explaining what a distillery is. My bootlegger DID sound as eloquent as my Columbia-educated, world-travelling monk. And showing versus telling? There was basically no dialog in this critical scene that should have been all conversation.

I humbly rewrote the scene.

Feedback is something we must eat, as unsavory as it may taste. I have also learned that just because someone says something in critique group doesn't mean he is correct. Yet the morsel of reality is always there.

I have since critiqued other writers' works. First, I ask the writer what they want from my feedback. Grammatical and editorial assistance? Or to follow the story as a reader would? Should I look for holes in the plot, or focus on his or her style and voice?

From there, I do my very best to follow their wishes and give them assistance where they feel like they need it the most. I'll also make suggestions that perhaps they weren't looking for. Maybe I can help make it stronger.

I know my critique group made me stronger. I was able to find the balance of country-bumpkin and deep thinker in my bootlegger. I was able to make Thomas Merton, a very real person, come across that way in my fiction.

And I realized that I am not alone out here, in my solitary quest for the perfect manuscript. Don't fear the feedback. How well do you take criticism? Can you make appropriate changes, even when your feelings are hurt?

I hope so. It's the best way to improve your work.