critiques...

So, it's really past time to talk about the critique process. Every time (or nearly) that I write a new short story I try to pass it through a critique group like OWW or one of my more private critique groups or partners. I want feedback because I am always too close to my own writing and other people will often pop me out of that bubble, allowing me to improve on what I have already done.

Critique, by its nature is a reciprocal process although many new writers don't seem to understand this. You receive some benefit by having people look at your work but by far the real benefit lies in how critiquing others hones your own ability to see into the work. From my perspective the ratio here is about 80 to 20 with the 80% favoring the work you do critiquing other people.

So, when I have a new piece I also practice my critique skills.

The writers I know who I consider really good are also hungry. They are never satisfied with the level of their craft. There is always that next bit to improve upon and they embrace that process, it drives them to remain open and seek out the mechanisms to create positive changes in their work.

So, writing a story is just a piece of the creation of a work. If you don't critique others you will never be able to see into your own work and, at best, you will plateau with maybe mediocre quality. If you approach critique really wanting an affirmation process then you will ignore the words of strangers and discard their advice. If you approach critique from a place of personal insecurity then you will take the wrong advice and muddle up your work. If, however, you approach critique as a tool, just like your computer, just like your research -- a tool to work across and through your thinking process and your revision process then you are likely to discover that critique pays serious rewards.

Often, as writers, we don't really know what informs our work. We don't know why we gravitate toward certain themes or certain types of characters. We think we pull them out of a hat all fresh and newly minted - but we don't. What rubs us from hidden places like a burr under the saddle are the issues and damage we have endured in our life -- our unresolved stuff. We select our stories as frames to work through our stuff, often from a very great and apparently safe distance. But this circuitous path to resolving our own issues means, from a critique standpoint, that we are often intentionally blind to flaws or weaknesses in the work. We hide certain things because it can hurt to sit with it. This means that all writers are blind to certain themes and characteristics in their work. This becomes important because if you read 'good' literature you fairly quickly discover that the work is good because it is relevant. To get close enough in your own work to 'find' the underlying themes and issues is to veer right along the edges of your pain. All of this complicates critique. If you know you need to KNOW what your story is about so that you can be more overt in delivering that to the page - then you must critique so that the skills of discovery become habitual until you no longer trigger off your own work and instead you can deploy these skills to reveal what is hidden.

It is my opinion that when you begin to reach this level of critique and revision that your work starts to be good, it starts to be relevant. But, between stories it is also good to remember that the mind runs away from those shadows and hard places - it wants to retreat and reblanket itself with oblivion. So, each time you birth the next story, you also have to dust off your critique skills and bring them back up to par - praying you will find the core story, the poignant power of the theme, the truth that the reader longs for.