critique

You Gotta Represent

If you’re like me, you probably didn’t learn much about data and statistics when you were in school. There were bits and pieces sprinkled throughout my math textbooks, usually at the end of a chapter, and usually sections that teachers deemed skippable.

Not so anymore. Since just before my teaching career began, data and statistics have been getting a lot more attention in math curricula. One of the last courses I took for my bachelors degree was a stats class where I learned about box-and-whisker plots for the first time. When I started my internship a few months later, I discovered kids were learning about those plots in Pre-Algebra.

It makes sense when you think about it. We have data flying at us every day in the form of survey results, charts, and infographics. It’s important to be able to interpret all that information with a critical eye.

Something getting particular emphasis is the idea of sampling methods and using a representative sample. Say you’re doing a survey on career goals among the student body at your school. You’re not just going to ask the kids in the advanced art class and call it good. Likewise, if you want to know the average height of teenagers, you’re not just going to measure the basketball team.

I got to thinking about this in reference to writing. Specifically, getting critique and feedback. It kind of follows the examples above, plus the reverse. You want to be a little bit narrow (if you’re looking for information relating to teenagers, including grandparents in your sample doesn’t make sense), but also not too narrow.

What determines “narrowness” in this case? There are certain things any reader can point out for you—typos, grammatical errors, things that truly don’t make sense. But for the more subjective “Does this work or not?” questions, you probably don’t want to seek the opinion of someone who doesn’t read or even like your genre. If such a person comes along and gives their opinion anyway, you should see if anything’s valid, but don’t get too carried away with it.

At the same time, you don’t necessarily want all your feedback to come from people who only read exactly the kind of thing you write, who may even write very similarly to you. Like I’ve said before, my critique partners are great because even though we all write YA, their strengths and preferences vary enough from mine to push me out of my comfort zone and make me stretch.

Have you had a representative sample in your beta readers and critique partners? How did you get that perfect selection?

Speak up:

4 comments

A Vow to Be Discriminate

Okay, I realize that title doesn’t sound like a positive thing (especially if you overlook the “be”), so let me explain. If I am not discriminate, I am by definition indiscriminate. And that is something I do not wish to be.

I enjoy supporting fellow writers. Exchanging feedback on query letters, discussing the ins and outs of the business, offering chocolate when the rejections come in, swapping manuscripts for critique … all high on my agenda. I’m happy to support with more than my time, too. I’ve bought several books (some hard copy, some eBook, and some both) over the past couple of years by writers I know. Often these are in genres I don’t normally read a lot of, but in these cases I know the writer personally, and I know that the quality of writing is up to snuff, so I put my money behind them. These have been both traditionally published and self-published books.

But I will not support only because the “I know the writer” half of the equation is met. For one thing, I know too many, and half of them are self-publishing these days. Even at 99 cents or $3, that can add up.

More importantly, that “writing is up to snuff” part is critical. Reviewing books publicly can be super-sticky for a writer, especially one who’s still seeking the ever-elusive agent and publishing deal. My even-handed criticisms might be based more on my decades of experience as a reader, but it just looks bad to have even a hint of “bashing” others.

So the only vote of support I might have for some books comes in the form of currency and/or downloads. If I don’t believe a book is worthy, for whatever reason, I think it’s okay for me to withhold that vote. Certainly, I don’t think I do myself, my fellow writers, and most importantly readers any favors if I contribute to artificially inflating the rankings/visibility of a book I don’t believe in.

The brunt of this falls on the self-published works, it seems, because there are so many among my acquaintances, and because the self-publishing process has an inherent reduction in quality control. I am not anti-self-publishing. I’m still actively considering it for myself. But I’ve always been picky and demanding when it comes to books. Super-picky, some might say. (Mindy McGinnis has her own way of putting it, as those of you who know her can guess.) That pickiness isn’t going to change (and shouldn’t, in my opinion) just because I’ve talked to the author.

So I’ll continue to check samples and listen to the opinions of those I trust. If I believe in the work, you can bet I’ll put everything possible behind it. I’ve already pre-ordered the eBook for Sophie Perinot’s debut in less than two weeks, and I also plan to hit a brick-and-mortar store release day to buy a hard copy … maybe two. (Who has a birthday coming up and likes historical fiction?) I’m already earmarking money for several copies of Mindy McGinnis’s debut novel (which I was privileged to read and critique pre-querying), and that doesn’t come out until Fall 2013.

Am I too picky? Am I missing the boat of Authorial Solidarity? Have you ever found yourself stuck between a writer-friend who wants your support and your integrity that says, “This really wasn’t ready to go out into the world?” How do you handle it?

Speak up:

2 comments

Telling Teenagers that Revising Rocks

On Monday, I had the opportunity to talk to a writing class in my school about the feedback/revising process. I’d been talking to the English teacher at department meeting last week about some revisions I was about to get started on, and she said, “Oh, please, can you come to my Composition classes and talk about how that works for you?” (I’m talking to the second class this afternoon.)

Turns out some of the kids get very reticent, uptight, and defensive when it comes to criticism and making changes in their work. Some feel like it’s not theirs anymore if they make the changes suggested by their teacher. Some say straight-up, “But I want it to sound this way, not that way.”

It’s always fun to get out of my classroom and say, “Hey, look at me pretending I’m NOT a math teacher!” So I threw together an entertaining little PowerPoint and headed over. (It helped that with my teeny-tiny school, there were only five kids in the class—not so nervous-making.)

The kids were good and engaged, and honest about their feelings. Through the presentation and ensuing discussion, we came to two key points.

I told them about one of my critique partners (Mindy McGinnis, yo), and noted that just because she suggests something doesn’t mean I have to make that exact change. Or any change. And if I choose not to, it doesn’t mean she’s going to scream at me and stomp her feet and never ever EVER talk to me again.

Same goes for the teenagers and their English teacher. We discussed that some feedback is the Just Fix It kind—errors in spelling, grammar, punctuation, or facts. But the really valuable feedback is the Ponder and Figure It Out kind—when passages are boring, awkward, confusing, or annoying. Suggestions on how to fix those issues are just that—suggestions.

And that leads us to the second point:

This was just part of a little scenario I put together. Mindy notes something doesn’t work and offers suggestions X, Y, and Z for fixing it. I go ahead with X, work in Z-with-a-twist, and come up with Q all on my own. When I run it by Mindy, she knows I didn’t use Y, but that’s okay—she says, “Yeah, Q totally works.”

Surprisingly, the group kind of latched onto that concept (teasing me about bringing mathematical variables to English class). Some of the students had been stuck in a mindset that the teacher’s word was law, so her suggestions had to be followed to the letter. Thus their feeling that the writing wasn’t theirs anymore.

Through the discussion, we kept coming back to, “And there’s that situation where you need to find your Q—find a way to modify it to address the problem the teacher pointed out, but that still stays true to your voice and characters and story.”

These reactions and mindsets aren’t unique to teenagers, or to those who write only because they have to for school. Those of us who want to (or do) write professionally go through cycles of the same thing, I think.

I don’t care who you are—finding out something you thought was great doesn’t work can sting. I think a key part of my presentation was when I admitted to the students that I’ve gotten feedback where my initial feelings were all, “I suck! The story sucks. There’s no way I change that in a way that will work. I’m too stupid.”

Feeling that isn’t a problem—as long as we take the next step, which is rolling up our sleeves and getting to work.

Like I told them, you don’t wipe some mud off a car and call it polished. Polishing takes time and effort.

And like Mindy added, exercise doesn’t necessarily feel good (or look glamorous) while you’re doing it, but the results feel great.

Speak up:

4 comments

Guest Post: The Critecta

In the spirit of critique group collaboration, today’s post is by my crit partner Caroline (Skyval on AQC).

Finding the special someone(s) who can complete your writing life is a lot like finding the special someone in your love life—damn hard. Where can you find these excellent people? How do you know when it’s a good fit? What should you look for in a critique buddy? And what do you have to offer?

Our little trio met when we serendipitously crossed paths over at AgentQuery Connect, and we quickly discovered that ours was the kind of chemical balance you only find in a room full of professionals wearing white coats. We may all three end up in a room very much like that one day, but that’s besides the point. Together, we’re going to triple-team the concept of our Critecta—you can see RC’s post at Writer, Writer, Pants on Fire, and Mindy’s at From the Write Angle.

I started writing in September of 2009—much later than Mindy and at about the same time as Rachel. After completing my first draft in thirty days, declaring myself a genius, and receiving the usual “This is amazing”’s from my friends and family, I screwed up my courage and showed my MS to a brilliant writer friend. After three nail-biting days, her verdict. “You’ve got something here, but this needs A LOT OF WORK.”

So while I rewrote under my mentor’s watchful eye, I googled around, found AgentQuery, and started my new career as a lurking wannabe writer spying on the grown-up table. I’ve made many friends at AQ, but was drawn to BBC (Mindy) right off by her sense of humor, spot-on posts, and general devotion to her own craft as well as the time she spends helping others.

It’s been a long time since I had a first date. Okay, okay, a VERY LONG TIME, but finding my perfect Critecta followed that same heart-thumping, palm-sweating course. The from-afar admiring. A judgement call on compatibility. The dance of who will make the first move. The simultaneous reading hoping she doesn’t think I suck and wondering how she got into this. Then, “Does she LIKE me?” “Is she just being nice?” “How honest can I be here?” “Will she hate me if I point out this inconsistency?” “Can I really be myself?” I discovered that Mindy is refreshingly honest, down to earth, and her crit comments are like having a conversation while being doused with cold water and bleach over a cup of my favorite cappuccino. With chocolate.

Rachel came next. We both had entered the WEbook Page2Fame contest and although we had exchanged a few PM’s on AQ, we hadn’t talked about critiquing each other because our sub-genres were so different. Then in the course of the WEbook contest, we each had to rate the other’s first fifty, liked what we read, and decided to give each other a whirl around the dance floor. And what a compatibility it was! I told Mindy about Rachel and our Critecta was born.

Rachel’s technical skills are unparalleled. Mindy’s overall story-telling ability and superior voice and dialog skills are priceless. And me? I’m not sure what I contribute besides being a willing cold reader. We use Buzzword (a great tool by Adobe that allows highlighting and notes) and sometimes when reading Mindy’s work, I leave an occasional comment just to let her know I’m still reading but have been too engrossed to comment. We all contribute to the teen-speak—Mindy and Rachel both work with teens every day while I’ve actually SURVIVED raising two of ’em.

I do recall one bit of commentary of which I’m proud. In Rachel’s FINGERPRINTS, her MC is a brilliant science/techno geek (Hah! Much like Rachel herself…) and in one scene, Lareina and her equally brilliant boyfriend are working on a problem that flew over my head. But I understood it well enough to get that the characters understood it which is exactly the way it should have come off. A genius piece of writing on Rachel’s part and a scene I will never forget.

The other thing that makes our Critecta special is that we drop everything when the others need something read RIGHT NOW. When my girls ring me on email, I’m there. Mindy’s latest was so good and she was pumped late one night to get her query out. Sometimes you are just feeling it RIGHT THEN, ya know? Rachel and I critiqued her query for hours, Mindy sent it out that night, and voila, she got an agent. If I had any small part in making that happen for her, that’s all I need. I can’t speak enough about how much I’ve learned from my beloved crit partners, and although we’ve never heard each other’s voices in reality, we know each other’s voices through our writing. Priceless.

Do have your own Critecta? (Or duo, or quartet, or whatever…) How did you find them? What’s your process, and why does it work for you?

Speak up:

4 comments

Why Writers Should Be Masochists

Want to be a writer?  Prepare for pain.  The pain of sleep-deprivation, the pain of rejection, the pain of carpal tunnel syndrome, the pain of a good face-keyboard smack when things just aren’t working … all of this and more is likely in your future.

That’s not entirely why I think a touch of masochism is a prerequisite, though.  Those things all come with the package, and we have to find ways to deal with them–like power naps and ergonomic office furniture.  The masochism comes in with the pain we (should) intentionally seek: the sting of constructive criticism.

Personally, I love getting feedback specifying certain aspects that aren’t working for the reader, but that sting still pricks me now and then.  Still, I’d rather endure that minor pain than get a inbox-full of, “This is amazing and should be published right now!”  While the latter is nice for the ego, it doesn’t actually help me improve, and even if I got a publishing contract tomorrow, I would always have room to grow.

A parallel:  In my day-job, an administrator observes my class a couple of times a year for evaluation.  I’ve yet to have an administrator with a math teaching background, so the fact I can teach calculus already impresses them.  More often than not, the feedback is something like, “You’re doing great–keep it up!”  Once in a while they remark on a small item they can tell was more because they were in the room than anything else.  (My fingerspelling skill takes a nosedive when other adults are in the room … definitely gotta work on that.)

I know I’m a good math teacher, but I also know I’m not perfect.  I can identify certain areas for improvement on my own, but for others, I could really use an outside observer to tell me if something works or not, or if I’m doing things I’m not aware of.

Same thing with writing.  If a reader isn’t feeling my MC’s emotion in a certain scene, I need to know.  If a particular section is boring, I need to know.  When those are areas I’ve worked on and think are great, finding out they might not work that well can hurt.  The biggest hurt is when someone clearly doesn’t understand my intention.  Those are the moments I doubt myself, wondering if I have any idea what I’m doing, assuming my own failings led the reader to misconstrue the concept.  But I will still seek out those opinions, weigh them against each other and against my own instincts, and try to incorporate what I learn into making my writing better.

Turning it around, then, writers should not be sadists.  When we’re offering critique, it’s important to be honest–as noted above, glossing things over won’t help anyone–but not intentionally cruel or derogatory.  Telling someone, “This sucks–you’re never going to make it,” is no more helpful than gushing why-isn’t-this-published-yet praise.

Most importantly, we have to make sure we aren’t such masochists that we lock ourselves into the editing/revising phase for eternity.  At some point, you have to decide that it’s good enough to get out there and submit … and ready yourself for those darts of rejection.

  

Speak up:

Comments Off on Why Writers Should Be Masochists

That Aristotle Guy

Oops, kind of a long stretch since the last post.  At first, there wasn’t much to say.  Then there was, but it was more of the same (four fulls and a partial out at one point = more waiting).  Finally, it was getting back to the day job, where almost everyone on campus had to relocate due to renovations.

The inspiration for today’s post comes from the day job, in fact.  We had a professional development day yesterday, most of which wouldn’t interest any of you.  During a presentation on critical thinking skills, though, came a moment of epiphany … and it wasn’t while my colleagues and I were trying to build a tower out of marshmallows and toothpicks.

Our presenter includes some quotations on a few of her slides, and one particularly caught my attention:

In addition to the implications for educating my little rabblerousers, it struck me as a nice summation of my philosophy on accepting critique.  You have to be able to entertain a thought, even unpleasant ones, without (necessarily) accepting it.  Once you entertain it, you can make that decision whether it has merit you should act on or not.

This is especially applicable to me recently, as three of my four fulls came back with rejections.  One was a form rejection, so there’s nothing for me to take from it.  Another was a detailed message that felt like the agent just didn’t get it–we all view things through our own lens, and hers seems to be polarized at a right angle to mine.  The third was a brief but personal message that raised an interesting question.

It’s that last one that has me thinking the most.  Perhaps I’ll expound on it in another post.  My book doesn’t follow a certain part of the YA sci-fi/fantasy formula.  I know that, and in many ways it was my whole point.  So I’m trying to entertain the thought planted by that agent without accepting it, at the same time looking for what I can take from it.

Meanwhile, I’m forging ahead–working on Book Three, receiving good news on another front (see if you can spot it in my Twitter feed, post forthcoming), and wondering if I’m ever going to hear back from Agent #1.

Oh, and keeping up with the day job.

  

Speak up:

Comments Off on That Aristotle Guy