"A Second Cup of Coffee — and the Ruthless Critique"

Last week we discussed the value of the unsparing writing critique — one that's honest, incisive, direct — and comes from someone you trust. But what should you look for in a critique partner?
Small critique groups (or one on one) done face to face are like dating. Whom do you know with these qualities:

• Willing to put time and effort into evaluating and analyzing
• Is well-read in various genres
• Has some familiarity and experience in your genre
• Knows and pays attention to various aspects of a story (plot, tone, voice, characters)
• Addresses the critique as art and science
• Has writing and/or editing credits
• Is trustworthy with your work and has your best interest at heart

A list like this clearly eliminates many options upfront and may not be a peer review or partnership. You may opt to work with someone from whom you receive but don't receive feedback.

Another reason to join a critique group besides getting feedback is learning to give it, because you learn to see the same foibles in your writing that you find in others. Put into practice, this hones your writing skills. For mutual critique sessions and groups, consider these:

• Are group members generally open to your suggestions?
• Is there a balance between the members, with different strengths and weaknesses to learn from?
• Is the group moderated so as to maintain order?

Generally, critique groups, like toddlers, scamper away after a year or two. One way to tell whether your group or mentor is working for you is that your work is better for the effort.

For those wondering about cost — there doesn't have to be one. Some peer reviewers don't have as many writing credits, but still offer insights that improve your writing. As to groups, most are free, though mentoring relationships generally aren't. Still, these can be worth it. In choosing a mentor, ask the same questions you would when hiring an editor:

• How long have you been doing this?
• Whom have you worked with?
• What genres do you work in?
• What's your professional background, and where has your work been published?
• What's the fee structure?

A resume, bio and list of writing credits should provide this information.

Tip: Meet informally first, maybe with a sample of work to critique, and leave yourself room to opt out.

Resources:

• For more information on critique groups, visit Writing World.
• For novelists looking for the best source ever on critiques, visit Your First Page.

The Value of Instant Coffee — and a Ruthless Critique

Well, maybe instant coffee isn't worth much (what's with that aftertaste anyway), but an unsparing critique is invaluable.

First, let's define "ruthless." For our purposes, it means momentarily putting pity aside to be honest, incisive, direct. But since text without context is pretext, we should also define "critique." I like Merriam-Webster's slant on this one: "the art of evaluating or analyzing works of art or literature" and "the scientific investigation of literary documents" regarding aspects like "origin, text, composition or history."

What I love about that definition is it takes into account that critique is both art and science, involves analysis, which means it takes time, and encompasses various aspects of a work, meaning it's not superficial. So, for our purposes, "critique" is a knowledgeable, well thought out, accurate and articulate assessment of a writer's work (not the writer). And I'd add that the most valuable critiques have the writer's best long-range interests at heart. Some observations hurt in the short run but are the difference between stuck in endless loop and progress in the long run.

There's another crucial aspect of the truly beneficial critique — it's usually delivered directly, face to face. In this way, the personal critique is a world away from a critique group, where mass opinion and a herd mentality can quickly warp even the soundest observation. Besides, it's a lot harder to slog through a ream of comments (and more demoralizing), than to bite the bullet and have a couple of people you care about, and who are qualified, read and comment on your work.

So, go on, have that cup of criticism — a spoonful of sugar, or agave nectar, will help it go down.

Conversation: Not Just for Talking Anymore

I could drone on about tweets versus talk, chat versus conversation, but you probably already get the point. What may not be obvious, though, especially if we opt for the sound bite version of life, is how much writers get from real conversation. It may feel like wasted time — or maybe more of a luxury — but for writers it's essential.

Just think what real conversation yields, especially with people you love spending time with, especially if they're other writers. Story ideas, inspiration for projects, new ways to collaborate, information from people with new skills and expertise, new contacts. Whether we agree or disagree — and disagreement, when done well, usually yields more than agreement — on the things we discuss, we usually come away from real conversations enriched and energized.

So indulge. That's what it's about — conversations about creativity. Have some!

Learning to Think: A Study on Plot

It's amazing the thoughts that come while waiting for the commuter train before dawn. To keep awake and distracted from the chill, I pulled out The Vagrant Mood, essays by Somerset Maugham, the chapter on Kant, whose  goal was to "teach his students to think for themselves" and who didn't like it when "they busied themselves … to write down his every word." And then I thought about plot.

Rather than knowing all that will happen in a story from the get-go, it's more important to consider the story as you go along, to retain a balance between having a plan and knowing that plans change—most often and best because of what happens within and among the people in the story. This is the organic approach.

Road to Milano

As Peter Selgin notes in 179 Ways to Save a Novel, writers often wonder how far head to plot. The query is similar to when a writer states with great authority (and misguided control), "I have to get the character to do this, or that." Here, the control factor is likely too rigid, as Selgin notes, as if plot were "a separate process, an independent act of volition—a verb that we force into our stories, rather than a noun that grows out of the process of writing them." Usually, the real question is how much a writer needs to know about what happens next. The answer, as Selgin notes, is "not that much."

Learning to think while writing is key, to bring a mindfulness to the process, because plot, especially in novel writing, isn't knowing all that will happen in a story from beginning to end, but knowing that things of consequence must happen to make a story a story and that even if nothing of apparent consequence happens, the piece must be written well enough, and usually better, to truly make it a story.

Word for Words — Literally

Last week my writing workshop examined one paragraph in the manuscript of a novel. After we took the paragraph apart, one person asked, "So that means every word counts?" I considered the question for maybe a second. The answer is, yes, every word counts, or should.

Many factors mitigate against this maxim—the plethora of writing venues, lack of time, lack of scrutiny before content is released for consumption, lack of knowledge of what makes for good writing, to name a few. But that last factor can make the biggest difference, not so much in the sense of good grammar and punctuation, though these are essential. But more in the sense of writing as art.

How can you tell when writing is art, and how can you elevate it to that level? One way is to slow down, take one section—a paragraph is a good place to start—and play with the words.

To literally see what I mean, select a paragraph—description is a great place to begin—and consider it word for word. Consider the answers to these questions:

• Does each word say what you mean; is it precise?
• What happens when you replace one word or phrase with another, or when you replace a phrase with one appropriately descriptive word?
• Is the order of words within sentences, and the order of sentences within a paragraph appropriate? Not just in the sense that a door should open (the paranormal aside) before someone can walk through it, but also in the sense of impact?
• What happens when you switch the order of the phrases in a sentence, or the order of sentences in a paragraph?

Taking the time to hear and see each word, phrase, sentence and paragraph is a great way to learn to write better, because you've slowed down long enough to listen to the words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, theme, motifs, characters, dialogue—and how they work together, or don't. And you're teaching yourself. That's a great way to always be learning (the price is right, too).

Collaborative, Multigenre Writing Is King (and Queen)

Lately, we've been hearing more and more that multigenre writing isn't the taboo it used to be, an approach that may work even better in collaboration. This week we have a guest post from Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick, authors of the May McGoldrick historical novels and Jan Coffey thrillers.

Here's their take on what makes collaboration and multigenre writing work.

AMA: So, who are May McGoldrick and Jan Coffey?

N&J: May McGoldrick, a historical romance writer, is a diligent and industrious professional. Jan Coffey is a bit neurotic, because she writes suspense thrillers. To be honest, May and Jan are really both the same people. We (Nikoo and Jim) have been collaborating as May McGoldrick on historicals and as Jan Coffey on thrillers.

AMA: Tell us a bit about what it's like to write in more than one genre, as more than one character and with more than one author—phew, that's a lot of hats!

N&J: First of all, we should tell you that we started setting our early stories in the 16th-century period because we had some academic background in the time period. Write what you know, they told us. But writing historical novels as May McGoldrick, we’ve always tried to create new stories, new characters, and new problems for our heroines and heroes to overcome. To do that, we’ve pushed ourselves to stretch into areas where we have needed to learn new things. We have to admit that if we only wrote about what we knew, we never would have written about murderous lairds, or covens of Highland women, or cross-dressing artists, or children with physical handicaps, or promiscuous English queens! Those things are just not a part of everyday life in the McGoldrick household.

AMA: So, what's your secret to having such a broad range?

N&J: The solution for us is research, imagination and mind-set. While in the mind-set of the historical writer we read Britain magazine. Research is a seductively pleasurable pastime that takes us, mind and soul, out of our daily life—and away from the writing we should be accomplishing for that day. It places us smack dab in the world that we are researching.

AMA: How does this work when you're May McGoldrick?

N&J: When we are May McGoldrick, writing a historical set (for example) in 1760’s England, we read things like James Boswell’s London Journal of 1762-1763. As May, we study about the wool industry of the 1500s and watch the History Channel (actually, though, it doesn’t have to be the History Channel. Any show with ruins will do.) In planning and plotting out our stories, we do about 20% of our planning upfront and 80% of it as we write. In May’s stories, the writing tries to capture some of the texture of the historical period. As a result, her scenes are sometimes longer than those of her contemporary counterpart, who finds that short scenes keep the pace of a story rocketing along.

AMA: What happens after the first draft, when you want to really ground the story?

N&J: In revision, we find that we need to shift our gears a little, too. As May McGoldrick, we live by the Webster’s Ninth Collegiate Dictionary and the Oxford English Dictionary and their references to the dates that words came into use. For example, are you able to say that a character was “mesmerized” by another character. F.A. Mesmer, the early hypnotist, was not alive until the 18th century; it just won’t do to use the term in the 1500s.

For more about May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey, and Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick visit Jan Coffey.

Time

The Marche region of Italy, a great place to take time

Time — there's no substitute for it. Especially for good writing. The kicker, though, is that you don't necessarily need copious amounts of it, but you do need the right type. For writing, especially the editing phase:

• Slow down to read and ponder each word — is this really what you want to say? If not, what's the best word to describe it?
• Take time away from a piece before returning to edit it.
• Take time in a different setting to read your work.
• Don't be afraid to let your mind wander to imagine the possibilities for your story. This frees up the imagination to embrace new paths.
• Great meals take a bit longer to prepare, but that just makes them more satisfying to savor.

Now, did that take too much time?

Have a great weekend!