You Asked for It: When It’s Time for Critique
By Guest | January 30, 2021 |
Please welcome guest Kristin Owens to Writer Unboxed today! Kristin grew up in Buffalo, NY and moved immediately after the Bill’s fourth Super Bowl loss for better odds. After a two-decade stint in higher education, she’s now a full-time writer in Colorado and a contributor for many magazines and blog posts. Topics range from wine to cruise ships to kvetching. She provides high-energy classes motivating new writers to stick with it. She’s represented by Madelyn Burt at Stonesong Literary. Check out her published articles, essays, and videos on her website, and follow her on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram!
You Asked for It
Ahhh… feedback. It’s inevitable.
After scribbling incoherent thoughts to paper, massaging into shape, and polishing for maximum gleam, my writing demands outside validation. My own self-critique is never enough. I need a small trophy. A little love. Or at least a kick in the shins. But asking for constructive criticism is fraught with multiple emotional layers, all anxiety-producing. And I need less rather than more to fret about. You too? So why do we ask outsiders to read our work? There must be good reasons.
Self-Sabotage or Self-Delusion
Basically, we either enjoy masochistic levels of apprehension or want to improve our writing craft. Possibly both. Personally, after completing a novel, I celebrate: Whoopee! Then after the last drop of prosecco is drunk, my ego immediately requires confirmation of one of the following:
- This book is terrible. I know something is wrong… or many somethings. Because, if I really nailed it, I’d sleep like a baby pumped full of Nyquil. But writers are an unconfident lot, myself included, and I need to know if it’s a pile of hyperbolic crap. Because if it is, then I can quit writing. Forever. Really.
- It’s okay. I’ve revised so many times, I can’t tell if the main theme resonates, let alone exists on the pages anymore. And I’m tired. Tired of the bitchy characters and the plot holes so large I fall face-first into their obscurity. My give-a-shit-factor left with my last reem of copy paper. Just get it off my desk.
- This is the most fantastic thing I’ve ever written. Or yet, after months of writing, redrafting, and finalizing, I deem it WONDERFUL just to stop reading it. With all this fussing, it must be good, right? RIGHT? I’ll just send it to my mom and wait for a hand-drawn smiley face to come back on it, validating my efforts.
Gird Your Loins
Recently, I developed a seven-step drafting process for my novels. It covers everything from inserting backstory appropriately to deleting crutch words. It takes about a year from beginning to end, yet it isn’t foolproof. So besides running chapters through my weekly critique group (who know all my quirks), I enlist the help of beta readers (who don’t spell my name correctly).
Beta readers. They should be spelled Betta after the Siamese Fighting Fish.
Let’s take a pause here. For as many reasons you send out work, a cataclysmic span of responses will be returned because beta readers can run the gamut from helpful to hurtful. I’m sure you’ve experienced the same.
For instance, betas can point out glaringly awful inconsistencies – which is terrific! After a long-term relationship with this book, I can’t remember if a minor character’s eyes are blue or brown and really don’t care anymore. Beta readers make me care.
Others take their work so seriously; I ponder if they’re really professional Big 5 editors undercover. Apparently, because it’s incredibly difficult to squeeze all the comments into the margins, they take it upon themselves to staple in additional pages. Yikes.
Some readers love it. Love everything I write. I want to send them an obscene amount of flowers.
And then, the haters. I’m not sure why they feel the need to torture us so. They volunteered to read but dislike everything: the plot, the setting… even my 1” margins. These heartbreakers force me to stay up all night sobbing into my pillow, rethinking the cost of newly hung wallpaper in my office, until a week later when I say screw it while ripping open another box of wine.
So, when asking for feedback, from either beta readers or a critique group, I advise being very specific: Did you enjoy the narrator’s voice? What about the character resonated with you? Who would enjoy this book? Because if I don’t, it can be a gluttony of ill-conceived commentary, which helps no one. Especially my husband.
Judgement Day
Last month, I shipped out printed versions of my latest manuscript with spanky new red pens to five beta readers I’ve never met before. They don’t know about my big hair, winning personality, or staggering boxed-wine collection. Basically, I can’t sway them to like me or my work. Their feedback would be based on my writing alone. Which is exactly what I wanted: an honest opinion of my storytelling. As I lay prone underneath the dining room table, whining and waiting, I decided any outcome would make me a stronger writer. A tougher broad.
The moment I forgot about them and took up jigsaw puzzles, the manuscripts came rolling back. I got what I asked for: Feedback. Everything from, “I love it,” to, “I can’t stand the main character,” and worse, “I would’ve stopped reading except I promised you I would.” Ouch.
But. They are readers. Readers who read books. Like yours. If they don’t like it, an agent, or publisher probably won’t either. Who cares if they didn’t get the existential reference to Goethe on page 46? They liked the bit about the dog who farted and wanted more.
Sometimes I wish for the days when beta readers gave you lessons in grammar. I could always take it or leave it, chalking it up to having creative sentence structure. But now? Everyone has an opinion. Especially when you ask for it and provide pre-paid priority envelopes. But asking for critique and wading through feedback is an important step forward in your writing career. Even though it may feel like you’re wearing roller skates with a wad of gum on the wheel. You’re taking your work seriously. Bravo.
When It Gets Personal
I admit, I get weepy when betas don’t like my main character. Her whims, her attitude, her choice of shoes… they can’t get behind her. And that hurts, because more often than not the main character overwhelmingly shares characteristics with me. Yes, moi.
This particular manuscript I recently sent out was a memoir-turned-novel, because I needed more freedom to ignite plot points into raging infernos. But the main character is predominantly me. When a critique partner said early on, “I can’t stand her,” I kinda took it personally. Instead, I wrote bigger, and voicier. The result? Now the betas hate her. Despise her.
Yes, it may be fiction. But let’s face it, everything is personal. It’s you. Me. On the page. Where do readers think this stuff comes from? It doesn’t magically filter down from the cosmos and fall into our computer hard drives like fairy dust. We lean on events and incidents from our own lives to concoct stories. In the end it’s really about you and your ideas. But you are a sum of many parts, just like your complex characters. Maybe try bumping up some traits and ratcheting down others. Pivot a bit.
Why Bother?
Collecting all this well-intended feedback is one thing, applying it is another. It’s a lot to wade through. In my case, three-hundred pages times five. But the more I write, the more seasoned I become in determining what comments ring true. How? You know. Like when you know a good melon (a gratuitous steal from When Harry Met Sally).
Also, reading and processing feedback gets easier. You stop crying when you see big envelopes in the mailbox, knowing what’s inside can influence the rest of your week. Just like the bathroom scale, criticism has tremendous power over your mental health and can take you down like that cheesecake last night. But over time you gain the ability to determine what’s constructive and what’s downright mean. Of the five betas who read my manuscript, two liked it, one loved it and one hated it. I know that adds up to only four.
This is where experience finally wins. The more you send out work to readers, contests, agents, editors, you’ll be able to sort through the constructiveness of it all. Maybe your subplots really do need some fine-tuning? And you’ll acknowledge it by digging deeper into the text. The farting dog? Of course, he stays. In the end, I always add beta readers to my acknowledgement list, without passive-aggressively spelling their names wrong.
But… it turns out I have more work to do. I keep thinking about my main character. Because in the end, my betas are right. She really is a bitch. I’ll revise to make her a little nicer. Engaging. Who returns Tupperware. And I’ll probably send the next draft to my mom. Because I prefer smiley faces.
When do you reach out for feedback? What do you guard against? What do you welcome? How do you respect that line? Have a critique story you’d like to share? The floor is yours.
Many thanks to today’s guest.
You can read more WU guest posts by visiting this link.
Kristin, you had me at “…masochistic levels of apprehension.” The only difference between me waiting for feedback now and me ten years ago is that I learned to ask for the specific things you mentioned. At least until I forgot. A couple of weeks ago, I traded ten pages with a writer who writes in my genre. I got back an evisceration. Dialogue re-written, attributions added, descriptions deleted and replaced with juicy adverbs, and a demand for all story questions answered then and there. I freaked, but for days rather than months. This had happened before, though. In a long-ago critique group, a writer turned my ill-tempered pixie into a cute-but-neurotic leprechaun, complete with brogue. But I’ve also had amazing Beta readers who have helped me become a better writer. The key for me is asking those questions -do you like the characters? The setting? Did you want to stop reading, and if so, when? Then, to be willing to listen to the answers and learn. It’s never easy but it’s part of the jam. Still, I revel in commiserating. Thank you so much for this!!
Oh, you’re so welcome! Thanks for your terrific feedback. It sounds like you have the feedback wheel completely managed. Good for you. It takes forever, right?
I learned to not talk about my writing, after a wedding. Yes, I told this woman who was drinking lots of wine, that I was a writer. I even crossed the line and gave a short summary of the current effort. She begged me to send it to her and I did. What a mistake. Never again. Maybe I’ll take a page out of another friend’s book (excuse the pun) who at those annoying office parties where the spouse disappears and you are wandering among strangers and eventually someone asks you what you DID, she began to answer she was a ballerina, and unless the questioner was equipped with that vocabulary, she had the upper hand. Good luck with your work, and thanks for you post.
Ga!!! Weddings and wine? How could you?
I hate telling people I’m a writer because, inevitably during the conversation, they tell me how they always want to write a book… how they’re too busy… and that’s when I excuse myself and get more wine. I’m definitely using the ballerina next time.
Question: Are those beta readers who take their work so seriously really helpful? ‘Cause I might be guilty of that kind, especially when I beta read outside my genre.
Story: Once, years ago, I had a beta reader tell me I needed to take lessons in grammar. That really hurt, because my character had a learning disability and the story was from his POV.
But when the beta reader found out that the character had a learning disability, suddenly the sentences were too intelligent!
The funny thing was, when I handed it to my son, whose voice I’d borrowed for the story, he said, “Yeah, mom, that totally sounds like how I would write.” Yes, my son has that learning disability.
I learned an important lesson about the perception of your audience that day. When writing characters I need to not only be authentic to the character, but also be aware of my reader’s perceptions about that character.
Interesting that your beta reader didn’t glom onto the fact that your MC had a learning disability early on. Did you give them the complete book or just some pages? I agree that authenticity is key, no matter what. Thanks for sharing!
I accept most feedback. If I think it’s helpful, I keep it, if not, discard it. Rejection is unpleasant on every level, and I’ve learned to embrace that nice little sensation with its inevitabilities. Plus, I’m asking for others to share their point of view. I’m not forcing them to see my point of view (persuasion maybe). Some will see what I see, others will not. All I need is their explanation. If they can’t give one, their review is worthless—and I’ll throw that shit ON THE GROUND.
Jealous! Sounds like you have your perimeters solidly in place and that’s tough since writing is so subjective. Confidence is key. Rock on.
I have a good beta team of readers and writers. I’ve taught them over the years to be 100% transparent, and they don’t hold back. I respect their opinions and they respect me, but if they hate something. They’ll tell me. They also point out what works for them. That said, I follow the “rule of three.” If three people independently give the same feedback, I change it, whatever IT is. The rest I filter and question whether the suggestion will strengthen the story. If yes, I do it. If it unwinds the story, I don’t. I’ve gotten really good at not taking negative feedback personally.
Good for you! I think you nailed it – the key is respect. And that only comes after you’ve grown relationships with other writers. It’s so easy for stranger to feel entitled to nail you for a misplaced comma. Thanks for your feedback.
I have three beta readers, all aspiring authors in genres vastly different from the ones I write in. (I definitely need more and more distant beta readers, but these three have so far kept me busy.) We’ve been together for almost 8 years as a writing group.
I hope we’ve all learned as I have “to be cruel only to be kind”, not to hold anything back but to critique constructively. I crave admiration, but only candor can help me grow. I send out the MS and a few days before we are scheduled to meet, I send out a list of questions, like at what point did you lose interest and disengage? What do you wish was less, more or different? What confused or irritated you? What, if anything, did you like? I want to know everything and anything they want to tell me as well as anything they wish they didn’t want to have to tell me, but just in case they didn’t think of it, I especially want to know what they think of the answers to these questions. I don’t send the questions first, because I don’t want them reading for something specific.
I can’t think of anything more helpful than candid, constructive feedback, no matter how much skin it takes off my back.
I suspect from your delightful post, that your wonderful sense of humor covers scars from similar wounds. Thank you for sharing your experience.
Thanks for the “Delightful” it made my day! And yes, humor can help in many ways.
You offered up some great questions for beta readers – very specific and to the point. Also, after eight years with the same team I’m sure their feedback is genuine and heartfelt. Congrats for finding such treasures!
I love your wisecracking post so much.
I cringe when I think of the betas I sent my first and only novel to years ago. Women who are wonderful writers and accomplished authors today. It ended up being trunked, but it was the experience I needed for the books that followed, so it wasn’t wasted. My wine MSS never went to anyone except my sister (a lawyer who writes legislative bills for the Australian government) who assured me they were “wonderful” but sent them back with red slashes and comments on every page. She definitely made the grammar better.
I have a lot riding on this one. It’s not “based on me”; it is me. A memoir that I’m seriously thinking of submitting under a non de plume in case it’s ever published and people read it.
I may be the most impatient person in the world, but I’ve found WRITING + TIME = BETTER WRITING. Bravo for sending your work out and still writing after a bumpy start. RE: memoir. Be proud of your writing. Put your name on it. Because when Hollywood comes a-callin’ they’ll be able to find you. Thanks for the comments.
I love this. Thank you, I can relate to every word. Particularly, the bits about the wine!
Thanks for your comment. Wine!
It’s impressive to consider all of that paper being tucked into envelopes and stamped. Maybe it makes a beta reader take their service to you more seriously. I love the strategy of the focused questions. The hardest part is setting aside some of the comments, indeed. Once you have trusted beta readers, if you’re lucky, they’re also authors. You’re on your way to a writing group.
I agree! I have both: unknown beta readers and a weekly critique group. Thanks for your comment.
Is there any such thing as cycling between your terrible/okay/fantastic stages within an hour? If so, that’s where I currently reside.
This will be my fourth novel, and I don’t recall being this emotional rollercoastery before. But then I’ve had high hopes for my current manuscript from the beginning and made the mistake of saying so in public, to several of my beta readers. Now the only place I can go from here is down. Or to the wine store. Thank you for that reminder.
We no longer have a dog in our household but our new kitten is a farter. If you’re willing to look the other way at my rampant plagiarism, I could work her into my WIP. Maybe that’s all it needs.
I’m on my third manuscript, and have been on sub with my first two for over a year. My poor agent. I’m wondering how old it too old for a debut?
When in doubt, a poofing kitten may actually work. Go for it!