Okay, it might end up being a love-hate relationship, but still…
A special lull exists between when you gently press your writing into someone else’s arms for critique and when they drop off your book like an Amazon delivery guy with a full bladder and no health insurance.
During that lull, your mind fires off a thousand questions in between each sip of coffee: What if they hated it? What if they discovered a plot hole that unravels the whole series? Are there going to be red, angry comments in every paragraph? What if, after reading this, their take away is that I’m unpublishable? Oh god, what if that sex scene is too–
Or, perhaps, you’re on the other end of the spectrum and expect only a few minor errors to be found, and that, otherwise, your first draft will be heralded as a flawless tour de force. …Only to open the document and discover that a textual Red Sea has drowned the product of your own prodigy.
Honey, I need to tell you that no book you write will ever be perfect. I say this not to deflate your ego, but to free you. Something, somewhere in your book will be meh, okay, eh idk, not up to snuff, absolutely wretched, straight up cringe, weird in a bad way, or (at worst) buh-OR-ing.
And that’s normal. Believing yourself to be above such plebian follies is unreasonable and will drive you into the sticky arms of perfectionism faster than a Devil Wears Prada internship.
Look, critiques hurt. I’m not going to tell you that this blog post will make them painless. Rather, what I am going to do is show you how to get through the process by dealing with the butthurt and reveling in the awesome benefits feedback gifts you. So, how do you learn to love this process when it feels like someone stuffed your ego inside of a rusty iron maiden? How do you make it hurt less? And maybe something you look forward to?
Time For Your Book’s Physical!
Let’s look at critiques like this: You’re a healthy something-or-another-year-old who goes to the doctor for your annual physical. You expect your cholesterol to be a little high and you’ve a mole in the shape of Michigan that’s doing you a concern, but beyond that, you’re ready to receive your clean bill of health.
But your doc returns to you, brow furrowed, as she pours over your bloodwork. She rattles off a list of alarming numbers and a differential of diseases that all sound ominous. You suffer more needle pokes and whirring machines to narrow down the source. By the end of it, your doc tells you have Scarymedicaltermitis, which is curable with a prescription. You take the prescription and Scarymedicaltermitis goes away, which is excellent, because if you hadn’t taken it, it could have turned into a nasty case of Actualbadtimesitis.
By catching it now, your physician saved you a wallop of grief with a simple solution. You are now healthier and have a peace of mind that you didn’t before, because you went to that physical exam and actually rooted out problems before they became deadly. You walk away with a stronger confidence in your own health.
Good critiques are like an accurate diagnosis and prescription. Undergoing them instills you with confidence about your own work that you wouldn’t otherwise have.
No Pain, No Gain
Did you know that cognitive dissonance actually triggers pain within the brain? Criticism is cognitive dissonance’s richer, bitcher sister (to paraphrase Frankie from Community). We hand someone our baby, expecting them to oooh and ahhh over it, when instead, they hand it back, pointing out all the weird birth marks and how your child looks like a mandrake root plucked out of an ailing community garden. In other words, you believe “this book is good” and instead you’re hearing (rightfully or wrongfully) “this book is bad.”
Understand that it is completely reasonable to feel pain in response to criticism. It’s hardwired into our brains, and science shows it can provoke physical pain and a host of other awful responses. Denying it and burying the feelings doesn’t mean you’ve mitigated the pain; instead, you’ve chosen to spend a week wiggling that knife free of your sternum instead of yanking it out like a Klingon on his fifth barfight of the night.
Go into your first reading of a critique knowing it’s gonna feel like your broken bone is being set by someone who believes chomping down on a stick will make it hurt less. There will be sodium-laden tears, some Biblical gnashing of teeth, and several large deposits made to the swear jar.
Don’t fight it. Go put on your shoes and walk the block. Have a messy cry. Knock the dust out of your neglected punching bag. Write down a nasty review of their nasty review and then DELETE IT.
Come back for the second read-through once you’ve cleared that initial reaction from your system.
A Caveat – Time and Place
Always ask yourself: are you open for growth, or closed for restoration?
I consider myself someone who enjoys and actively seeks out critiques of my work. It’s a skill I take pride in, but it’s also something I maintain by respecting one cardinal fact: having a growth mindset is not something that’s always 100% active.
Last year, I asked for feedback on some opening chapters from a friend who excels at critiques. Soon after, I unexpectedly had to put down the closest animal companion I’ve ever had (my cat, Terra). No amount of pep talk or positive thinking would’ve put me in a headspace where I could be open to critiques. We postponed the review session, and I waited until I was in a better headspace a few weeks later.
Ask yourself, are you in a mindset where you’re open to growth and improvement? If “no,” can you pep talk yourself into that headspace? If the answer is still “no” because you’re already on the verge on beseeching an extraplanar being to throw the world off its axis and into the Sun, then come back tomorrow. Part of becoming good at taking critiques is knowing when now is not the time nor place for receiving one. Sleep on it and try again tomorrow.
Good vs. Bad Critiques
Not all critiques are created equal.
One of the reasons why I encourage you to deal with the initial psychic pain first is so that you can clear your mind and be objective for this next step. As a protective measure, our brains often want to argue with the criticisms (or even the critic). We may end up dismissing a poignant insight because we know subconsciously it’s true but despise the implications: “That’s was the scene I was most passionate to write! It can’t be bad!” So, we make assumptions about the critic in order to avoid pain: “They didn’t understand it!” “They were threatened by how good it was!”
However, sometimes the critiques do suck. Unhelpful critics encompass a wide spectrum: the jealous type who will nitpick you to death to feel better about themselves, to the well-intended friend who simply doesn’t like time travel and so they were never truly drawn into your recursive, 4th-wall-breaking trilogy about what if infinite time loops but too much.
It’s a difficult line to have to navigate: “Is this an unfair critique, or am I reacting unfairly to it?”
The best way to discern the worth of a critique is to ask yourself if it improves your story. Will implementing the feedback allow your story to be clearer, your characters fuller, your prose more vibrant, your plot tighter? Or, are you left unsure and confused about what benefits their suggestions will bring?
Let’s compare and contrast good and bad feedback:
| Traits of Good Critiques | Traits of Bad Critiques |
|---|---|
| Actionable Clear and articulate Well-reasoned and reasonable Specific to your story Good-faith comments that aim to strengthen weaknesses and bolster your story Consistent and understands your book as a whole Demonstrates an understanding of what you’re trying to accomplish and helps you achieve it Critiques the story and not you as the author Specific positive comments Demonstrates good understanding of story structure, character, pacing, etc. Leaves you feeling like you know what you need to change for the better Often gives you that gut feeling of: Dammit, they’re right! | Unactionable Muddied insights and suggestions Subjective takes (often couched in “I like/dislike” terms without explanation) Too general, non-specific Overly nitpicky Nonsensical, as if they skimmed rather than thoroughly read your book Counters your intent instead of strengthening it (note: sometimes this is a difference in editorial vision and can be constructive) Critiques you as an author rather than your story Generic positive comments Demonstrates poor understanding of story structure, character, pacing, etc. Leaves you feeling confused and unsure about how to improve your book Suggests blatantly wrong changes (such as incorrect grammar and spelling) |
Shortcuts, Not Shortcomings
Good criticism gives you a map with the shortcuts labeled.
Bad criticism gives you a map torn to pieces.
If you have a beta reader who excels at critiques, you need to incorporate them into your will now. These people are a treasure. They will save you countless hours of floundering, languishing, and self-flagellation, while substantially increasing your odds of literary success. They are rooting out the flaws that would get you rejected by literary agents/publishers or saving you from a Goodreads sky empty of stars.
They are not listing your book’s shortcomings. They are giving you a list of shortcuts.
E.g., Trim this, flesh that out, rework here.
Always remember that good critiques strengthen both your work and you as a writer. They give you an opportunity to fine-tune your magnum opus into something even more extraordinary. Yes, some critiques may mean that you need to improve your writing skills, but that’s always going to be true. Literary giants are not renowned because they’ve written perfect books – they became exceptionally skilled at their strengths to the point no one cares about their shortcomings.
Let’s look at this from another angle (and one that I have personally experienced!): you receive a round of critiques that are devesting. Truly ego-destroying. You know in the pit of your stomach they were good critiques and the takeaway was: your writing is not up to snuff.
I had this happen to me while I was studying screenwriting in film school and had a table read with my friends. They kindly obliged, but by the end it was obvious that none of them emotionally connected to the story and their feedback spotlighted weaknesses where I thought there had been strengths. We all went out to dinner afterwards and the script was never brought up once. I felt devastated, because I could finally see the stink lines emanating off my script.
That night I realized I had two choices:
1) Quit writing forever and never feel this pain again.
2) Or, improve my craft and work at becoming a good writer.
I chose the second knowing that it would require being mashed like pixie wings inside a vengeful hag’s mortar and pestle. Unsurprisingly, my craft improved dramatically after weathering waves of merciless feedback (nowadays, I always tell my beta readers, “I rather have a good book than have my feelings spared.”). Eventually, I had friends pestering me for new chapters and staying up until 5am to finish reading my last novel. And when critiques rolled in, they were “local” to the scenes, rather than sweeping dismissals of the core story.
If I had avoided all those brutal critiques, I’m not sure my craft would be where it is now. I’d still be out there blindly trudging through a thicket of text, hoping to find my way.
Enough with the Critiques, Already
One of the hallmarks that you’re improving as a writer is the type of critiques you’ll receive. When you’re close to “nailing it” it’s easier for readers to point out flaws, but when your entire story is a mess, there’s no single thing a reader can point out for you to fix. If most of your comments are about the whole of the story, then it may mean you need to perform a major revision. But, if you’re receiving granular, scene-level comments, understand this is often a marker of a solid story.
Imagine critiquing the Mona Lisa fingerpainted by a 5-year-old on a sugar high versus the Mona Lisa with a single errant brushstroke that happened after da Vinci sniffed Janeway’s new perfume and sneezed (no, I will never apologize for overly referencing Star Trek). The latter elicits specific feedback that is clear and actionable because it’s so damn obvious where the problem is. Likewise, your story could be a few misplaced brushstrokes away from genius.
The Benefits Package
So, what’s the point? What are the benefits of repeatedly crushing and rebuilding the playdough that is one’s ego? You probably already know, but sometimes it’s still nice to see the list:
- Your stories will be stronger, fuller, and livelier
- You’ll blind people with those polished pages
- Happier readers
- Better odds at publication and awards
- Boosted confidence in your own writing
- Get to tell imposter syndrome to shove it
- Privately learning what your weaknesses are from a trusted source vs. strangers, professionals, and your future readership
- Future critiques will hurt less
- Pride in your ability to stomach bad news and grow stronger from it
- Thickened skin (or a chitinous carapace if you’re Kafka)
- Bonus perk: Science says you’ll also look hotter and your sunglasses will now sparkle whenever you don/doff them.
In A Nutshell
Accept (don’t fight) the initial pain response.
Assess the quality and usefulness of the feedback.
Reframe criticism as a list of shortcuts, not shortcomings.
Recognize when feedback is telling you your work is ready.
Revel in all the benefits of learning to love critiques.