Ouch! That Feels Good

Imagine this conversation among a group of women at the local park, while they keep an eye on their romping kids:

1st Woman: Molly, you feed your son too much junk food. And frankly, he needs a good spanking.

2nd Woman: I’m not sure I agree about the spanking, but he’s definitely overactive. You should take him to a psychologist.

3rd Woman: It’s probably the sugar that’s making him act up. If I were you, I’d empty all my cabinets of sweets. Also, he’s outgrowing his clothes, and those pants have big holes in the knees.

Can you imagine Molly’s response? Possibly, “Who the heck do you people think you are?” Or, “You’re not so perfect yourselves!”

Yet we authors voluntarily do this to each other. I’ve belonged to a critique group for more than thirty years, and every other week, we take turns reading our work aloud and receiving criticism. There’s praise as well, but plenty of suggestions for improvement.

In case you’re wondering if it hurts, the answer is yes. We’d all love to be told that no one can find a thing wrong with what we’ve written. But that’s pointless. A dedicated writer wants to improve any way she can. She HAS to improve, for the sake of her readers and her career.

I’m fortunate to belong to a group of terrific writers whom, over the years, I’ve had the great pleasure of hearing read their work aloud. Among past and present members: Neal Shusterman, Donald Stanwood, Elizabeth George, T. Jefferson Parker, and the late Barbara Seranella. I can’t claim that my critiques made a significant difference in their novels, but perhaps I helped with a tweak here or there.

Writing’s hard, no matter how long you’ve been doing it. Every story is a challenge, and when I venture into new territory, such as women’s fiction, I have to learn my craft all over again. True, at a higher level than when I started, but there are still a lot of stumbles. I’d rather hear about them from my friends than from a disappointed reviewer or reader.

I’ve outgrown the stage of life where I take my little kids to the park and share a bench with my fellow moms. But I’ll never outgrow my need for constructive criticism from my fellow authors.