4 Ways to Make the Most of a Critique Group

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Today's guest post is from writer Susan Cushman, a monthly regular here at NO RULES. Read
her personal blog, learn about the 2011
Memphis Creative Nonfiction Workshop, and follow her on Facebook or Twitter. Cartoon
used with permission from Debbie Ridpath Ohi at Inkygirl.com.




--



"It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain
a thought without accepting it." (Aristotle)

"I was confused by your use of third person, omniscient. Wouldn't it
work better in first person?"




"Why did you write this in present tense? I think past tense is a safer way to
go."




"This piece really starts on page fifteen. I would ditch the first fourteen pages."

If these comments sound familiar, you're probably part of a critique group, or participated
in at least one workshop. It can feel a bit like childbirth, with a room full of people
watching and giving advice while you push.




Or, if you know how to hold onto yourself (it's your baby, after all), you can take
the advice that works for you and leave the rest, like they say in 12-step meetings.
(One reason advocates of AA and Al-Anon say it works is because "there are no rules.")



My first manuscript critique workshop was in 2008, at the Yoknapatawpha Summer Writers
Workshop in Oxford, Mississippi. The MFA faculty-led critique process was an eye-opener.
The critique leader gave each of the 16 participants an opportunity to "set up" his
writing sample for the group—explaining if it was a complete short story or essay,
or part of a larger work, for example—and then he would let the other students give
feedback first.




After about fifteen minutes, he would give his own advice. During this time, the person
whose work was being critiqued would remain silent and take notes on the comments
being offered. At the end, the writer would respond, asking questions for clarity,
but trying not to defend the work. After all, the purpose wasn't to prove that his
writing was perfect, but to learn from the feedback. This process is called workshopping.



Five of us at that workshop decided to form a writing critique group, using the methods
we had learned. That group remained active for about three years, and while we don't
meet regularly now, we stay in touch and continue to encourage one another. Three
years and six workshops later, I remain a fan of the workshop process, but I've also
learned a few important lessons along the way.



1. Sometimes it's hard to hold onto yourself in the face
of greatness.


One summer I participated in the late, great Barry Hannah's "Wednesday Workshops on
the Square" in Oxford. I have a great deal of respect for Barry's work, and for him
as a person. But our writing styles are very different, and there were times when
I had to work hard to remember that it's OK to disagree with someone who is famous
and successful. Of course I gleaned much benefit from his feedback, and I'll always
hold onto my writing samples that have his red-inked comments on them, but at the
end of the day, it's my work.



A well-known author who led a creative nonfiction workshop a couple years ago felt
strongly that the main character in my essay wasn't believable. "She's just too good.
People aren't like this. You need to show her human side." A couple of the other students
in the workshop agreed with him.




I spent the next year considering those words and revising the essay, before I finally
realized that the essay was true to its main character—a dear friend whom I nursed
during her dying days—and I wasn't going to change that. I began sending it out for
publication. After three or four rejections, I wasn't discouraged. Last month the
essay was published in a new literary journal, with my friend's character intact.
All it took was for the right editor to embrace the work.



2. Be discerning.


This self-awareness is especially helpful when other students at workshops are offering
their (sometimes) less informed advice.

"Have you thought about killing off Uncle Jack instead of Aunt Sally?"

Keep in mind the source of each comment during the workshop and weigh
the feedback accordingly. When critiquers have work that is already published, I always
listen more attentively to the criticism.




But don't sell your fellow students short, because even beginning writers are sometimes
the best first readers of your work. Remember that everyone at the workshop is also
trying to improve his own writing. It takes discernment and selective hearing to take
the best and leave the rest.



3. Learn to handle conflicting advice.


Another difficult situation arises when two faculty members offer opposite advice,
which happened to me at a workshop last year. I was trying to achieve a stream-of-consciousness
style, using parentheses to set apart interior monologue throughout my novel-in-progress,
an approach Michael Cunningham used successfully in The Hours. One of the faculty
members for the workshop liked the approach, and encouraged me to use the parenthetical
phrases more selectively, and to make each one really exceptional—the way a writer
might treat metaphors in his work. The other leader didn't like my use of the parentheses
at all, saying that they distracted the reader from the story. The students in the
workshop were split in their opinions on this issue. So I returned home, read over
all my notes, re-read samples of published works that I consider models for my work,
and decided which advice to hold onto and which to leave behind.



Students were also conflicted over how graphic I should be in scenes where I describe
sexual abuse that happens to the protagonist when she's a young girl.

"We need more specifics in this scene—show us what happened, don't
just tell us."




"No, we get it from the implications. Leave something for the reader's imagination."

Both of those are good comments. Again, it was up to me to take the
best and leave the rest.



4. Cultivate humility.


My next bit of advice might sound contradictory to my encouragement to hold onto yourself,
but I think it's also important to cultivate a degree of humility when your work is
being critiqued. There's no need to defend or explain. At almost every workshop I
attend, there's at least one person who reacts strongly to his fellow participants
or faculty's criticism. Sometimes it goes like this:

"I was confused about the plot line here, on page 8. What's the time
frame? Is this action happening in the past or the present?"




"Oh, you'll understand that later. It all becomes clear in chapter six."

So, is it okay for the reader to be confused for six chapters? I don't
think so. The writer could have benefited from the reader's questions if he hadn't
been so concerned about explaining himself. It's hard not to be defensive, but humility
is helpful in this setting.



If you're nervous about attending your first manuscript critique workshop, or cautious
about joining a writing group, I hope these thoughts are helpful. I'd love to hear
about your experiences in critique workshops or groups—please leave a comment and
join the conversation!



There are lots of great workshops and conferences around the country, but I'll close
by mentioning two:

The Yoknapatawpha
Summer Writers Workshop, June 10-12, Oxford, Mississippi (which might be full,
but sometimes people drop out)




The 2011 Memphis Creative Nonfiction
Workshop, September 23-25, Memphis, Tennessee (registration is open, with 10 of
20 spaces still available.)

[image error]Looking
for more help with critique groups? Check out WD's own Writing
& Critique Group Survival Guide.

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