How to Be a Good Beta--and How to Receive a Beta Read

One of the comments from yesterday touched on a raw nerve. I don't have too many of those. Oh, who am I kidding. I do. But really? As a writer, it's my biggest one. But I'll get to that later.

See . . . if you ask for a beta read, I think your main obligation is to be open. Do NOT bother to ask me to beta read if you have already made up your mind about your scene or book. Why are you asking for my time? To collect praise? To be able to say, "Well, I asked five OTHER people and they all liked it." So . . . um . . . what? You needed SIX people to say it was good? If you want a beta read, I hope it's not so I can point out your typos. There are wonderful people who do that. They are called proofreaders. And actually, my mother is one of the best professional proofreaders I know--trained at Simon & Schuster . . . been proofreading since 1985. You want typos caught and grammar clarified? Call her.

So why DO you want a beta read? I would presume to get a feel for larger issues. Be open . . . and again, if you already think you are Salinger, then please . . . go find someone else. I have three dogs, one cat, a parrot, four children, a blind father, enough laundry for a Naval fleet, and a very demanding career. I'm busy. Approach a beta reader respectfully and with a clear purpose.

So, that's out of the way . . . now . . . how to BE a good beta reader? Here's my list--feel free to add.

--DO NOT REWRITE ANOTHER WRITER'S WORK!!!!!!!!!!! That about sums up 90% of my advice. Do not say, "Here's how I would have written it." Look, Sherlock, if YOU wrote it, then it would be YOUR book.

--Do not micro-nitpick. Going along with that, highlighting every other word . . . substituting adjectives, etc. Nope. Look, suppose you are beta reading for someone who is a newbie writer and they don't quite "get" yet how to use good action verbs. You can comment, OVERALL, "I think this needs more action verbs. Go through and look for words like walk, and then see if there's a different verb, like stride, that fits better. Look where you used an adverb, and see if a better verb would eliminate its need." Point out ONE example and leave it at that. You are not a middle school English teacher, much as I think some people truly want to be. You are beta reading for a PEER, and that should suffice. If the writer doesn't "get" it yet, they will. Someday. Or they won't. Either way, don't pontificate.

--Do offer a macro-read. What works? What doesn't?

--What doesn't work? Try to leave your OWN attitudes at the door. You like macho fireman heroes and the hero is a software geek? Tough. You would BUY another book. But you are beta reading, not buying and so lamenting your personal preferences? Um . . . that's not the point of a beta read. In THIS book, the one you're reading, what are some of the problems. Not what YOU would like to see. The problems in the book you are READING. That one right there.

--Accepting that the characters you are reading about are the characters the writer wants, NOW look at how they are developed.

--Look for spots of telling, not showing.

--Be conscious of how the chapter is paced.

--Where do you want MORE. More scene-setting, more dialogue, a dash more backstory peeking in.


All right gang . . . you can add to either section. Happy Thursday!

My Beta

The wonderful and brilliant Lurker Monkey is in my critique group.

There are four of us. Invite-only. "Trial period" to see if you fit the vibe. I have no idea what they think I bring to the table, but I know he brings a ruthless eye for pacing, another of us can spot a cliche from a mile off, as well as having an incredible visual mind for action/fight scenes and making sure your characters' actions are working for the scene, and the other of us is a real wordsmith, I think.

Separate from them, I "cheat" on them with a beta, whom I am seeing today. He brings a totally different vibe and sensibility to the process. Between those four readers, I turn in something pretty close to what gets published, so we must be doing something right.

But in a GROUP, we have each developed strengths. I barely even take the TIME to notice a cliche 'cause I know it's going to get called out in group. And I know who's going to do it, too. LOL!

But a one-on-one beta is different. It's more of a "generalist" reading role. So I thought about what makes a good beta relationship, and here's what I came up with (and for the record, my beta ROCKS.)

--TRUST. You cannot expect to ever get consistent quality critiques if you do not invest in a week to week, month to month relationship. It takes developing trust to fall into a groove of honesty, and also to be able to truly assess what you have in that beta. I could post here on the blog, "Hey, anybody want to beta-read the first chapter of my proposal"--and I would likely get volunteers (and in fact, I have asked Genius to read for me in the past). But finding random readers won't get me the kind of trusted critique I need and want. I have no idea what that beta reader brings to the table. My current beta and I have been reading for each other, off and on, for about two years, I think.

--A MACRO VIEWPOINT. At this point in my career, I would hope my beta is not finding too many wordsmithing problems or cliches or what have you. Trust me, he'll find them (see next point). But I want to know how he feels about the macro sense of my project. Get into the MEAT of who the characters are and their motivations.

--A MICRO VIEWPOINT. That said, dude, I want to know when I have a weak verb. I DO NOT WANT YOU TO REWRITE MY STUFF! But I want to know the weak spots. I want you to pick up my sloppy "overlooks." (Case in point, recently he noticed I had a character with a savings passbook. Um, none of us have them anymore--or most of us don't. It's all online now.)

--RESPECT. Don't rewrite my stuff. That's just rude. Enough said.

--HONESTY. I don't want you patting me on the back. Let me know what's not working. Last meeting he sat down and said, "This book has rocked" (well, that's my word, but I'm paraphrasing here) "and these two chapters just SIT THERE." Hmm. He was totally right.

--LIKEABILITY. Call it beta chemistry. You don't have to be best friends, but do I really want to meet someone for coffee every other week if we simply don't mesh? Life is too short. I want to invest in a beta that doesn't annoy me, who is professional, who's not a (excuse the Yiddish) schmuck. Get in a writers' group with five or six good people and ONE jacka** and you'll see what I mean. Trying out your beta for "fit" isn't a bad idea.

So there you go. My beta rocks. I will come back, I hope, with some idea on what I am doing with this Proposal That's Gonna Kill Me. And hyped up on a LOT of coffee.

Thoughts?

Intent

Intent.

I didn't intend to start posting about critiques, but . . . what I blog about is what I happen to be thinking about each morning. And this week two interesting things happened pertaining to critiques.

I heard from a friend of a friend asking me about publishing, and because of the dearness of the person who passed along my name . . . I offered to read and help if I could. My intentions were very good, because really . . . I love the person who mentioned me to this writer. I read the material with interest, putting other things aside to help. This person can craft a sentence and clearly knows his subject matter. There are some publishing things that . . . he could develop, and I tried to be as helpful as possible. We chatted a bit about writing--the whys more than anything. And I hope to eventually meet him and his wife for supper as they live not too far out west from me. In every email this person was a class act, and I tried to be the same. I consider it a budding writer friendship.

Intent. On both sides.

On the flip side, I was asked to read something. And the very long story is the writer has been labeled "difficult." I read the submission, which this writer feels is ready to be published tomorrow. And I got mad.

What was her intent?

In fact, my response was as rude as I tend to be. Which I suppose these days is not very. (Darn you, Buddhism!) But . . . yeah. In fact, I stopped reading on page 10 and threw my hands up and got downright angry. Then I skimmed to see if it got any better. Then I fired off a b*tchy email. Because here's the thing . . . if you have not read any new fiction. If you have clearly NO idea of what is being bought or even the most very basic (!!) elements of craft . . . why would you waste busy people's time? Ahh . . . wait . . . that's one more aspect of this. You see, I have had brand-spankin' new to fiction people be invited to join my writers' group. So that's not it. It's not that I have been at this a while and writer B is new. It's intent.

Approach every critique, every beta read as if YOU have something to LEARN (no matter your level of experience) not as if YOU are about to wow someone. If the latter happens, great. But the second read was for someone who feels she has nothing to learn. Her intent is to be rubber stamped to the top of an editor's reading list.

Intent.

If I spend my time critiquing only to have someone say, "Hmm. Well, I guess it's just not your kind of book"--why did you ask me to read? Most of you on this blog know me, and a healthy percentage have asked me to beta read. I have never turned anyone down. I read for people outside my genre. I may not know the latest in spy thrillers, say. But if I said, "This section here seems completely out of character and unsupported by anything you've laid groundwork for . . . " that has nothing to do with whether or not that's "my" kind of book.

Receiving criticism well starts with intent.

WHY do you want someone to beta read for you? It's time to get really honest with yourself. WHAT do you expect to hear? Genius offered me some criticism on my opening chapters of a thriller. He didn't quibble with the writing but where I chose to open it. He gave me TONS of food for thought. Go with a prologue (his vote), don't (my vote--or at least it was until he made a suggestion). In fact, I am STILL undecided, and I think GOOD criticism and the reception of it in the spirit of its intent helps you grow. I still don't know what the heck I'm going to open with, but I sure am not closed to the idea of doing something different.

If you respond to criticism by reacting, I think you went into it with the wrong intent. As I often say "BE" with the edits and critique for a bit.

Intent.

If your response is to say, "Well, five other people loved it . . . " WHY on earth are you still gathering beta readers? To garner more praise? So you can say TEN people loved it? You have just denigrated your reader, as if to say, "I had no intention of listening to your opinion unless you concurred with the peanut gallery.

Intent.

Is this to say that once in a while, a crackpot won't read your book? No. Sometimes, quite simply, someone else will have an outlier opinion. But it comes down to one word.

Intent.

What is YOUR intention?

Thoughts?

The Abilities of a Good Critiquer

The other day in the comments, Lurker Monkey said something about good critiques and the quality of your critiquers or beta readers. He mentioned secreting them away or some such, under lock and key. And generally, I have four critique partners, three in Florida I conference call into, and one here. I would kidnap any one of them and lock them away without much provocation. That's what makes me scary. ;-)

So I started thinking about what makes a good critique--a critique that works for ME (may not be what YOU are looking for). And it is about the abilities of a critiquer. This is what I came up with:

• An ability to find those obnoxious little errors and "catches" that you have missed DESPITE having read your own chapter fifty times. And ability to spot continuity issues and bits of dialogue that have lost the pattern you originally gave to your characters' patter. BUT . . . they do not cross out your adjectives and insert their own. They might offer a suggestion here or there, but they know it is your work. Suggesting replaements for your words is hubris. (A few words, maybe, whole paragraph . . . no.)
• An ability to spot when you have inserted yourself into your story. This is subtle, but good crtiquers can spot when you have been so absolutely CLEVER that you cannot part with a certain phrase because damn, it is a work of art. The only problem is the character's point of view. That person would NEVER come up with such a clever phrase. Nope. That's YOU. Author. They force you to remove it. You know they are right.
• An ability to tell you whole chapters and scenes can be cut. (Yes, Lurker Monkey, I GET IT NOW.) This is born from an ability to look at the chapter at hand, and the larger scope of the book's pacing as a whole.
• An ability to look at each character and ask "What function does this secondary SERVE?" Characters are not clever little marionettes to move in and out of set pieces. They have to serve a function more than making the author look clever or to spout screenplay dialogue. If you have that issue, go write something like Pulp Fiction, which is predicated on clever dialogue.
• An ability to see the macro world. The theme. And yet not lose sight of it when analyzing the micro.
• An ability to do all this and verbalize it in a way that is not rude, unsupportive, or hopelessly about showcasing the cleverness of the critiquer.
• An ability to ask piercing and open-ended questions. Most of them begin with WHY?
• And finally, an ability to be ever aware that the book and work is the author's own. Telling someone "I would have written it this way . . ." is to me about the rudest thing one writer can say to another. It's about doing all this in a suggestive sense, but not a rewrite sense.

Thoughts?

Defenseless

LurkerMonkey and I each read the first chapter of a published book online a couple of months ago. Both of us were suitably unimpressed. I personally know the author (and have to say I do not like her . . . so in the interest of being honest, there you go), and I read it and wondered, "Is the fact that I know her to be a flagrant liar coloring my reading of this . . . or is this really that bad?" So I pulled in LurkerMonkey for a consult. And he agreed. Bad. And he emailed me something along the lines of, "Our writers' group would NEVER let us get away with all that telling . . . all that OBVIOUSNESS . . . with none of it."

Never let us get away with it. THAT'S when you know you have a rock solid group. They call you on your own bad writing.

When I moved here from Florida, my best friend helped me pack my closet. She INSISTED I toss out anything with shoulder pads. "When?" she held up my very Prince-like black velvet, backless funky jacket, "Are you EVER going to wear this again?" And truthfully, the damn thing hadn't seen the light of day for two husbands. See . . . friends call you on bad wardrobe and bad writing. And bad husbands, frankly. They call you on bad DECADES of fashion. And hair.

So yesterday, I met with another friend for some one-on-one writing/critiquing. He lets me get away with nothing. Not one WORD that's weak. Not one extra adjective that is unnecessary. I don't need "wildly erratic." Erratic will suffice.

And I realized that my progression as a writer soared when I was open to it. This friend is the most OPEN person to critiquing I have ever met. AND he's good at giving critiques. For every writer who feels the need to defend, defend, defend their precious words and their precious darlings . . . I have to say be defenseless. That humility and openness will serve you well. When you are able to sift through the criticism with mouth shut and mind open . . . you can STILL take what is useful and discard what it is not, but it's arriving at the place where it's all laid bare . . . that you find the strongest place of growth.

Watch your inner cues when you work is criticized. If you feel anger or irritation . . . if your first instinct is to be dismissive . . . I say you, Sir or Madam, have an ego issue. Now the opposite can be true . . . self-loathing is not the friend of any writer. Sure, you have to believe in your work. But now I see I embody the words: When the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear.

Thoughts?

Not Ready To Hear It

I was recently asked for some advice . . . and I inadvertently gave too much advice. And the response was "she's not ready to hear that yet." And that was likely true and my fault because I didn't gage the circumstances correctly. Sometimes you can have a depth of knowledge--on any subject--and just go on and on without really ascertaining if that's how much information the person you are talking to wants. A good sign that it's too much--the eyes glaze over.

Of course, the best humorous example is the apocryphal joke. A mother has been worrying for some time about the day her child asks about the birds and the bees. She studies books about precisely how to handle this. Yet still she worries. Finally, the little child is 5 and asks, "Where did I come from?" Mom whips out charts and pictures and diagrams and uses all the anatomically correct words. And the little kindergartener walks away, shaking his head and muttering, "But Billy's from California . . ."

As a writer, and as an editor, I get asked ALL the time to give critiques. I usually do my homework first and check out from the referral if the person is really ready to be critiqued. I don't want to waste my time (or in some cases, THEIR money) creating a critique only to have the person not even ackowledge what I've said, with a "I guess it wasn't your thing," or "I know my character so it has to be that way." And that's it. You've paid for a 10-page comprehensive critique and THAT is all you have to say? Or you've sought me out through cyber connections asking for a favor and "I guess you don't get my writing" is all you have to say?

You know that idea that the recipient's eyes glaze over when you tell them too much? That's a sign youve spoken to much. But not being ready to be published also has signs.

If your FIRST inclination is to defend every aspect of your work . . . you are simply and 100% "not ready" for the big show. Period. Get real with yourself. Real honest. Think about this. If your FIRST inclination is to explain to people why they are wrong, you aren't ready. Not for real publication. If your face says one thing when you hear criticism, but your stomach knots with a small flash of anger or you tense up . . . you're not ready. It means you didn't ask for criticism with any openness, ready to accept some insight. And that's the first sign of someone not ready.

I am not talking about criticism delivered with snarky nastiness, or criticism tossed out by a contest judge with a superiority complex. I am talking about SEEKING out criticism from trusted sources and then somehow by process of elimination only retaining your fans.

Trust me. When you GET a professional editor, they will put you through the writing paces. So it's all practice for the big show. My editors, by virtue of PAYING ME to write and having me on their list, are my biggest professional fans. They also make me work harder than anyone else.

Last night, I had a talk with a friend of mine (you know who you are). It was actually a continuation of an email I'd sent him yesterday. The short version is I had submitted a proposal to one of my favorite editors. She liked it but said, "If you REALLY want this to be the kind of book that gets people talking, that is a book club book, there has to be more depth--it can't ONLY be about a cold case and ONLY be about feminist history." I heard her. But for a year now, the book has sat at page 167. And unfinished life. I had walked around that book backwards and forwards, dreamt about it, did a rewrite and STILL . . . I couldn't fathom how or where I was going to go deeper. Last week, I had pretty much made up my mind to change the main character to a less passive person. But I also know while that may have been necessary, that wasn't anywhere NEAR what the editor meant. And then yesterday . . . I got an idea. I got one of those ideas that is a viper's nest. That you KNOW is precisely the depth required (and I am talking huge) . . . and will mean, basically, a total 100% deconstuction of every single scene and word. It will mean the hard work, the really hard, why am I taking this on, kind of work. And yet, the change for my story to one with elements of lesbian history in the U.S. will add a depth and a complexity and then the change to a commune and a different kind of crime will add a darkness to the cold case. It will change everything. I know it's the fix. It is the atomic bomb of fixes.

And I never would have, a year later, even salvaged what I feel is the best book of my career, had I not been open. And had I also not lived with the knowledge and owned it for a year. My response to my editor was an internal "she may be right." I never tensed. It didn't pain me. I didn't feel defensive. I was ready to hear it, even if I didn't have the fix.

In the course of my writing life, I meet so many open and wonderful writers. I adore them! And amongst the ones I am closest to, it almost becomes this knowing nod, or this exchanged glance, and for a few of you, it's been an exchange of emails between us, that moment, of "yeah, he really isn't ready" or "she really is SO defensive, I should have warned you." And you can know in these glances what is unsaid. They're not ready.

Thoughts?

Sword of Ruthlessness

I have been toying--ever so slightly--with getting a Kindle. I don't have the money for one right now. And I don't want to mention it to my Significant Other because he would make SURE I got one, and he can afford it even less than I can. So other than my blog, I am keeping my mouth shut (he never reads my blog except when I tell some story about how his mother refuses to see my children--her only grandkids--then he gets a phone call from someone in his family demanding I never write about them and proclaiming I am the b-word, so sometimes I include those tales just to see if those people are paying attention.)

So a couple of days ago, someone mentioned a self-pubbed book available in print and on Kindle. (Note: the writer of this book is not anyone I have ever heard of, who has ever visited this blog that I know of . . . it was a follow-the-link thing.) The cover looked cool--but it was slightly weird enough that I couldn't quite tell what it was supposed to be, so curiosity led me and I clicked over to Amazon. I read a small excerpt, and I was stunned at how poorly written it was.

Now, I am NOT one of those writers who labels books that "aren't my thing" as poorly written. That's patently unfair. I also know there is commercial fiction with stilted writing. This wasn't about that. I was stunned by the most basic of elements--cliches, and backstory dumping, and an abundance of passive language, and just . . . almost a parody of a family saga. Sentences that made no sense! Things that my critique group would never let me get away with.

While emailing a writer pal about the Kindle and this book I stumbled on, I mentioned to her that I was too ruthless about my own writing. And my group was too ruthless. Now, I'm an editor. So obviously, I am going to edit out most of that stuff from my own writing. I am on my zillionth pass of Freudian Slip and can now go 25 pages at a clip without changing a word. But it sure took me long enough to get here.

But if I wasn't an editor, I have somehow surrounded myself with three writers who will dance on the edge of that ruthless sword with me and make sure that the not-up-to-par writing is sliced out.

In writing this post, I looked up the word "ruthless." It means merciless and without compassion. Without pity. And actually I don't believe that is for a moment true about me or my group. So I am not sure how we manage to do it. Dance on the edge of that sword. Be firm and without pity, in a sense, for what must be said aloud to each other to improve our writing. And yet compassionate to the struggle all writers face.

I don't know how we do it. But thank God we do. This writer clearly spent money bringing his/her book to print (again, I don't want to single this person out). What blind spots exist there. I have great compassion. But then . . . there's a small part of me that says, you know, you need to learn to be ruthless--without pity for the words.

Thoughts? Do you dance on the sword of ruthlessness? And who dances on the edge with you? And Melody, JVZ, and Pammie . . . you guys rock.

Give It To Me Straight

Three times in my life I have worked as the personal editor or ghostwriter for men of fairly unimagineable wealth or fame. Personal fortunes measured in the tens of millions, which is more dough than I can REALLY imagine, though I like to envision how I might spent it (a horse farm, horses, running a camp for disadvantaged kids).

Each of these men paid me to be honest. Brutally honest.

Almost verbatim--though none of them knew each other--they said over a meal, a cocktail, or the phone, "Every person in my life works for me. They're all yes-men. I tell them to be honest with me, but I know they aren't. I understand the dynamic, I don't blame them, but I need YOU to tell me if this is a good idea, if I can write this book."

Imagine that you had to PAY for one of your friends to give it to you straight, no bullshit. As an outsider, I really could. I wasn't on the payroll long-term. I was honest. In my own way. I don't "do" snark in critiques. I don't demoralize. I tell the truth, but it is always gracious (at least I think so.)

Someone said to me recently (you know who you are), "Why didn't any of my critique partners tell me this before? Don't WAIT until I pile up the rejections. Tell me NOW."

A good critique partner is worth their weight in gold. They will tell you what you don't see. Forest . . . meet trees. When someone emails me a pitch, I can usually see in under 2 minutes what the pitfalls are. Forest . . . meet trees. That there's no solid hook. Hello, trees? That the dialogue is clunky or the real story starts on page 7. Hello?

And the next time you feel like whining about what your beta reader says . . . imagine if the only person honest in your life was one you had to PAY to be. And imagine . . . the next time you give a critique . . . that you ARE being paid by a multi-millionaire to give it to him straight, no bullshit. And he means it.

Thoughts?

The Penitent Man

Someone I adore wrote to me recently about the fear of sharing his work. It holds us back sometimes, the fear of putting our stuff out there. Rejection is a sure thing on the way to an agent or a sale. Once we're published, it's reviews--good and bad. Criticism.

Sometimes we delete whole works with the press of a button. I ripped up many a short story. I shred the sheets of looseleaf (ahh, those days before computers), tears in my eyes. I suck. I really do. I berated myself mercilessly.

We tell ourselves that. I know, for me, I have published many books . . . but there's always the book that's a reach, that I am not sure I am writer enough to pull off. I'm not smart enough, talented enough. I don't have enough coffee!!!!

I told my friend, we need to be like Indiana Jones. My favorite scene in all the movies was the one where Indiana took the leap of faith.

The penitent man will pass.

That's what he whispered. Hand on his heart. Short of breath. Heart racing. Put his foot out over that chasm. And there the bridge appeared.

In my real life, I like to think I am a penitent woman. Too many coincidences have occurred in my life that I take as a sign of the divine. I am blessed a thousandfold. I pray--unceasingly most days. My candles flicker for friends in pain or struggling. For ME when I am struggling. They flicker in a sign of solidarity. Of faith. Of compassion. I pray for Tibet. For peace. For my children.

As writers, the penitent also pass. We have faith in our work. We have faith in the friend who offers to read our work and help us. That we are entrusting our work to someone who cares. Someone who wants us to succeed, not bring us down.

Take a leap today. With me. Put your stuff out there. Write a query. Share a chapter with someone you trust.

The penitent will pass. A chalice awaits.

Thoughts?

And to my friend . . . you know who you are. Have faith.

Aunt Gertrude

My agent has this pet peeve. A big one. He hates when he gets a query in which the writer says, "My friends/critique partners/writing class have read the book and love it." He says that's akin to saying your Great Aunt Gertrude read it. Your friends are SUPPOSED to tell you they like it. And even if critique partners like it, no agent, unless you have a "name" author or MFA professor in your group, can necessarily trust that. Nope. The proof is when it starts making the rounds to professionals.

And that's another point. Professionals.

Because one of the steps along the way is when you start to not "react" and defend your work from criticism. When you become a professional about your own work.

We should ALL believe in our story. We shouldn't be swayed every time we get a conflicting bit of advice. I have had writer friends ready to rewrite 350 pages from a SINGLE rejection. It's just one opinion. When you start accumulating them, all with the same general comment, THEN you worry.

So believe in our story, we must. But on the flip side? There are writers whose skin is so thin, they write lengthy soliloquies defending every aspect of their work from a critique. That's not the idea. A critique is an OPINION. But when you find a great editor, a great cirtique partner, that opinion is one honed by professionalism. So that's the time to take a deep breath. Don't react. BE with the critique or rejection for a bit. Discern what's of value.

Here's the thing. You want to play with the big boys? Really? You really think you're ready? Then Aunt Gertrude can't be the only one to read your work. At some point, it has to leave your circle. And that is just another step on your journey.

Thoughts? Have you moved beyond Great Aunt Gertrude yet?

Salons and Rewrites

Tomorrow, I am guest blogging over at Magical Musings. Those women have a fantastic writers' blog, with interviews, guest bloggers, and some really thoughtful posts. So come visit . . . I'll be blogging about critique groups. And to give you some food for thought, I decided to talk about critiques here, based on . . .

Law & Order. You see, I am a HUGE fan of the Bobby Goren/Eames partnership on Law & Order Criminal Intent. And while I think Chris Noth is easy on the eyes . . . I cannot stomach his redhead b*tch of a partner's bad acting, generally unpleasant character, etc. So . . . I only watch Law & Order in re-runs. Given the well-documented state of my personal life and Fun with Demon Baby, the chance of me even getting to watch an episode once a month is slim. But since Law & Order is on TV 24/7 in any given time zone, thanks to syndication, I got to watch one last night, while Demon Baby decided to alternate between curling up on my lap and telling me he loved me (perhaps the only man who truly does) and bite me on the upper lip while kissing me (a technique I call the Shark Kiss).

Last night's re-run, in case you've seen it, was about a "salon" (a snooty way of saying a writers' group) run by a character played by Peter Coyote, and rampant plagiarism, murder of an aspiring novelist, sexually aggressive literary agents, and finally . . . the utter destruction of salon members' work when they would read for the omipotent Peter Coyote (who got hauled off to jail in the end . . . bet he'll have fun in Riker's).

When I watched the critiques he offered, they were more character assassination. The entire point of his critique was to publicly decimate the young writers and keep them eating out his hand, as if HE had the key to their becoming better writers. And because his character had some literary credentials, like many talented people, he was given a "free pass" on decency.

I have seen groups where the sole purpose is that kind of back-stabbing bitter critiques . . . and somehow, the members in it seem to think that there's more "honesty" with viciousness. I disagree. I can say the same thing . . . but without resorting to snark. It's how I choose to interact with my group . . . and it's what works for me. Honest, tough, but . . . supportive.

The other part of the Law & Order episode focused on a writer's unique "voice"--how it is theirs alone. And I relate this to another part of a critique group . . . the idea of what your critique partner should do for your work or to your work. In my mind, nothing.

Now, that can sound kind of crazy . . . isn't that the POINT of a CP? But if I got back a critique in which my unique word choices were excised with a CP's word choices put in their stead, I would scream. If you take two pages to tell your back story, for instance, and your CP cuts it so much you have fifty words, then he or she has effectively REWRITTEN your work--which impinges on voice. To me, a CP should say "this works, this doesn't." They might suggest words changes. They might even rework an awkward sentence here or there. But they shouldn't wholesale rewrite to the way THEY would write it because what, then, would be the point? It's a critique, not a rewrite. YOUR voice should be preserved. I have had 25+ books edited by four or five different editors in my career, and 25+ copy editors, and no one has ever rewritten a sentence. Did they circle a sentence and say "not clear" or some other comment that told me the sentence didn't work? Yeah. But it's my voice, my words. My job to fix it.

The whole show last night was pretty riveting . . . and it definitely got me thinking.

Thoughts?

And don't forget to visit me tomorrow at Magical Musings.

Tough But Fair

In remembering the late Joel Siegel, film critic for ABC, Steven Spielberg said that Siegel was tough but fair. I think for a film critic or a book reviewer, there is probably not higher praise.

Thinking back on the teachers who had the most influence on my life--they were all tough but fair. I had two teachers, though, who were incredibly tough on me--but not necessarily fair. When I asked one, a writing teacher, why, he said it was because I was a much better writer than my classmates and thus he could demand more of me. I was writing "A" work--for them. But I could do better. That gnawed at me. Was it FAIR? I don't think so, though I suppose in some existential way, some higher level of philosophy in grading, it was. He certainly made me a better writer. I recall him fondly.

The other teacher, immortalized as evil forever in High School Bites, was tough--and utterly unfair. She was nasty and mean. I suppose, in some sense, since she was uniformly rude, that all students were on her level, hideous playing field. So maybe she WAS fair. But I do NOT recall her fondly.

Now that I write books for a living, I can recall two reviewers who were not "fair." Though I think that sounds like a playground term. One was a developmental editor for a nonfiction book I wrote. She objected to my sense of humor in the way I write and said I clearly wrote by the seat of my pants. Nothing could have been further from the truth. My co-author was and is completely anal-retentive, and thus we had spreadsheets and flowcharts and thousands of pages of research. We could just write "funny." What I object most was her INFERENCE that people who are funny don't take their writing seriously. She cast aspersions on my work ethic. That was unfair. And basically I was, from that point on, the classic "difficult" author because I felt she was impossible to work with. That she was unfair.

Another book reviewer had sort of the same inference. It is not fair, to me, for reviewers to somehow infer whether a writer skated, or was lazy in a book, or any other such personal attribute. The work stands. Review the work.

But fair reviewers? Even if they don't like what you write, they can give you cogent reasons. It is why I TREASURE my writers' group. I don't get lauded each time. They hold my feet to the fire. But they are fair. Last week, BOTH of my critique partners questioned something having to do with a cop and his behavior. They are right. It will be changed in rewrites this week. They said good things, too--and I value that even more because I earned it from two tough critics.

Thoughts?

Defining a Critique

My writers' group is so essential to my career that I take a two-hour conference call with them every two weeks, now that I don't live near the group anymore. In a crunch, we email each other things as we rewrite and before we send to our agent. I cannot tell you how valuable my critique partners are to me.

And one of the things about our group is we have our groove. We "get" each other. Like any relationship, we had to feel our way as we got to know one another . . . but we "get" what is involved--at least for us--in a solid, useful critique.

Not so easy to find--a match like that.

There is another author, a friend, who has critiqued my work. Can't stand the critiques. Not that this author isn't a good writer, or doesn't have valuable things to say. Not that I can't take it when someone shreds my work apart. I can.

Nope, this author doesn't critique MY work. He rewrites it so it is HIS. "I would write it this way . . . "

Um . . . the point is I would write it MY way.

Eight years ago, my group tried out a woman who has had 25 books published. She's a good writer. But we disinvited her. Same deal. Whether it's control, or a misunderstanding of what a CRITIQUE is, she didn't mesh. She rewrote whole chapters of people's work--choosing all new words, doing it HER way.

Here are two definitions of critique:

n 1: an essay or article that gives a critical evaluation (as of a book or play)
n 2: a serious examination and judgment of something; "constructive criticism is always appreciated" [syn: criticism]

Do either of these imply rewriting someone else's work?

So . . . that's at least my take. A critique partner should tell you where the action lags, where a cliche is in your writing. They can tell you their emotional reaction to a scene, or how they are perceiving your character. They can spot plot holes. They can let you know where your writing is too passive. They can even--on occasion--suggest a strong word or how to tighten a joke. But rewriting your sentences? Uh-uh.

Thoughts?