Last Wednesday I returned to DFWWW. DFWWW has a great reputation in my local area as a workshop that helps aspiring writers achieve publication. They have a rather odd system of evaluating work for critique, in my opinion. They use a read and critique system, which a lot of people will poo-poo as a less efficient method than the standard system of handing in printed work ahead of time for prior evaluation [this is known as the Milford Method and is used in most workshops].
However, I’ve seen the read and critique method help quite a few writers discover their flaws. I personally think it just helps reading your work aloud. Something about reading in front of an audience makes those flaws really stick out. The system isn’t perfect, but then I’ve seen works critiqued to death using the Milford Method, to the point that you get a manuscript so marked up that it’s unusable.
There is a trick though to learning with this system. You have to build specific filters for those who critique your work. You start by listening carefully to the other writers’ works. Find their strengths and their weaknesses. Chances are good that they will critique based on their weaknesses. These are points they are generally working on as a writer, so they’re going to see these flaws in your work. Don’t worry that the person who couldn’t write description to save their life is hounding on your lack of believable atmosphere. They probably know what they’re talking about, despite the fact they haven’t managed to conquer that particular battle themselves—and hey, you’re probably helping them discover their own flaws. There will be writers though who are clueless. They might be the scifi geek who has never read a romance or mystery in their life, and they probably can’t tell you anything about your genre, but they can hone in on your lack of scene logic. You the writer must learn how to take what you need from a critique.
Ah, but there’s the catch. How do you know what to take from a critique when you’re brand new and just starting out? How do you know what to filter out and what to keep? Well, here’s a good beginner’s check list of things to look for in a read and critique workshop environment.
What to toss:
1) Mean and hateful things about your genre: If the listener begins by stating that they hate your particular genre, but they want to give you genre advice, just filter that out. Granted, a lot of people will preface with the fact that they don’t normally read your genre, but that’s categorically different from disliking your genre.
2) Mean and hateful things about you: if you’re in a workshop where other writers are attacking you as a writer, get out! No, seriously, this is a writing club and not a workshop and you aren’t the type of writer they want to grace their sacred halls. If you find your personal religious or political beliefs attacked, then the workshop isn’t about writing, it’s about fitting in. These are likely the kind of writers who just pat each other on the back anyway, so you won’t get anything from this sort of workshop.
3) The completely irrelevant critique. I’ve seen these. It’s like the person didn’t even hear what you wrote. Now, if you get one of these from more than one person you might have a real communication problem, but chances are there’s that one crackpot who is always a few critiques behind. You’re likely getting the critique for the story before yours or one from last week. It doesn’t matter, because you’re just going to ignore this one.
4) The one who hijacks your story and turns it into something completely different: you’re writing about an Italian family who moved to Oklahoma from New York during the 1930s and through a lot of pain and hardship learned to build a new life. The listener thinks you should set it on Mars in the far future and make the family robots. This person is hijacking your story. They are not helping you improve what you have. If the suggestion requires a major character change, a major plot change, or a major setting change, you can probably ignore it. Sometimes a story does need this. If it’s a short story and you think that setting it on Mars really would make it a better story, then go for it. However, for most longer works, it’s just not worth your time to rewrite the thing to make such a fundamental change. Every story is flawed. Every novel, every short story, every play, and every screenplay. You can go over it a million times with revisions and what you’ll end up with is one short story that’s been reworked a million times. It was probably just fine after the second or third draft—I would say it was probably fine after the first draft with a few word changes. Endless revisions are not your friend.
What to keep?
1) The grammar police officer is your friend. Every workshop has one, the person who can pick out weird sentence structure, misplaced modifiers, and weak verbs. Take notes when this person talks. If you can get a printed copy of your manuscript into this person’s hands, and they don’t mind the additional work, see if they can give you a line edit. If you like what they’ve suggested, use it. In fiction, grammar is a little more fluid than in most writing, especially when it comes to dialogue or capturing a particular character’s voice. Use what sounds right to you.
2) The published author is your friend (sometimes). Writing is an interesting profession. Writers are in competition with each other, but like many craftspeople, they are generally eager to help aspiring writers. If you have one of these kind souls in your workshop, I would suggest listening to them. When a published author isn’t your friend is when he’s looking for sycophantic little worshipers. I’ve seen authors fall into this trap. They follow some established author around eating the breadcrumbs of promises only to discover that the author hasn’t been much help to their writing. A good sign: the author is free with advice about your writing, but doesn’t expect anything in return but that you pay it forward to other writers. A bad sign: they want you over at their house with a bunch of other newbie writers listening as they read chapter after chapter of their next epic literary tomb called something pretentious like “Zeus Turned”.
3) The consensus can be your friend. If more than one person is telling you that they would like to see less description in the beginning and more dialogue over a particular plot point, it might be worth taking that advice. Again, this is subjective, but as a beginner you’re looking for signs of what you need to use for your revisions and multiple people agreeing that a story has a problems in a particular place is as good a sign as any.
4) It just feels right. Occasionally, a listener gets your story. This is rare, but you’ll know it when you hear the critique that just resonates. You’ll want to pack your stuff and head home to start the rewrite, because what they say is just so right you wonder how you ever missed the obvious. This is a person to mark down in your book of good listeners. This person will likely get your other stories. Try to get this person to hear your reads.
What really helps you as a beginner?
1) Listening and critiquing. Seriously, you’ll learn more from other people’s work than you will from your own.
2) Revising and sending your work out. This means that you revise once and then send the story out for publication. Don’t rewrite the thing a million times. If you’re a beginner, the best thing you can do is write new material. Write a lot of it. Write a short story a week. Do minimal revisions. Because you’ll get better at writing with time and time alone. You’re going to get lots of rejections. There’s nothing you can do about that, unless you’re a natural and everyone loves everything you write. Rare, but it happens. Don’t be jealous of these people. Writing is filled with all sorts of hardships, so even they will suffer (mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha). Sorry, couldn’t resist.
3) Reading! Dear god, I’m amazed how many people who want to be writers never read. Read and read often. Read everything you can in your genre. Read outside your genre. Read short works, read long works, and yes listening to audio books does count to a certain extent, but as a writer you need to pay attention to words on paper. You need to see how those words work together to form sentences, paragraphs, scenes, chapters, stories, and series. Read damn it!
Okay, just as a disclaimer this post isn’t directed at any particular person. You’ll find these workshop archetypes all over the place. I’m sure I probably left a few out. Just remember that workshopping your work should be a positive experience. If you leave a workshop with nothing but negative feelings, it’s best to stop going. You won’t be helpful and no one will be able to help you. Keep it positive and have fun.
Additional links that might be of interest to those finding this post:
Finding or Creating a Writers’ Workshop Group
Wikipedia entry for Milford Writer’s Workshop