On Receiving Criticism

Last week I discussed the art of giving manuscript critiques, especially in workshops. I had two basic suggestions: first, always start off with a statement about what you like in the manuscript you are discussing, and second, present the issues you see, but don’t intrude on the author’s work by trying to fix them.

This week I’m going to talk about the art of receiving workshop criticism.

The first thing to remember when you walk into a workshop is that the piece you are bringing is yours. Don’t turn it over to the group for surgical repair. Listen to what they say. Take notes. Especially write down the positives. You’ll remember the negatives, I guarantee, but the positives will flow past you like a pleasant breeze, leaving no trace. Then go home to consider what you heard and let the dust settle.

When you know what comments you agree with, which ones feel useful, return to your piece. But return to it as your manuscript, not theirs. If you find yourself making changes to please Bob and Nancy, you have lost control. You are the author. You—your experience, your insights, your language—are what you have to bring to your manuscript. You can gain insights from others, but you cannot replace your vision without losing control of your piece.

Never defend when you are being critiqued. You don’t have to. It’s your manuscript and you don’t have to do a thing that you don’t want to do. Just listen. Ask questions if you don’t understand what someone is saying or why and make notes so you’ll remember. That’s all you need to do.

Part of benefitting from a writers’ workshop is simply finding the right workshop for you. And it isn’t difficult to know whether a workshop is right. Do you go away each time feeling good, pumped up, invincible, but with no insight about further work you might do? That’s fine if all you want is stroking, but if you want your writing to improve, find a group with higher expectations. It is equally bad if you go away feeling defeated or, even worse, disrespected. Such a gathering won’t help your work grow however “right” they may be, because confidence is part of growth.

Those writing for young people but participating in a mixed group where others are writing “grown-up” things need to be especially careful about the group’s attitude toward and impact on their work. I have too often seen writers whose primary audience is adults respond to juvenile work in a condescending way. They seem to assume that anything is good enough for kids. You and I know from within the field that the exact opposite is true. More is required of writers for the young, not less. And it will be difficult to produce that more if the folks responding to your work don’t understand what is required.

A workshop that is right for you will demand much, and it will support you the entire way. If you aren’t getting that balance of comments that invite you to stretch with those that reaffirm your commitment to your piece then you need to get your feedback elsewhere.

Finally, if you find yourself rejecting everything you hear, then first you need to reexamine your workshop. Are they that far off base when they comment on other writers’ work? Is there some tit-for-tat going on? (If you think you don’t like my character just wait until you hear what I have to say about yours!) Do others in the group simply not understand or like or respect your genre?

Or is the problem with you? Do you come to the workshop open to suggestions or do you come with your words chiseled in stone? Learning to respond to valid criticism is as important a skill for a writer as learning to write in the first place. Remember that the next step after getting your manuscript accepted by a publisher is revision. And that often means just what the word says . . . finding a new vision. Learning to respond to others’ insights in a workshop is the best training ground I know for preparing to work with an editor.

And that’s what I’m going to talk about next week, working with an editor.