Ragged Feathers

So, we returned from SpoCon late Sunday evening, exhausted but happy, clutching our gifts and swag, all three of us incredibly happy to be home again. Miss B. returned from my writing partner’s house about an hour after we got home. While we were convention-ing, Miss B was catching voles, rolling in grass, meeting alpacas and horses and chickens and generally having the run of a couple acres. I was actually half afraid that she wouldn’t want to come home. The cats, checked on every day by a friend or two, were aloof as usual. “Oh, you left? I didn’t notice…”

The kids are still talking about the hotel pool, and being able to watch all the television they wanted to. They attended a couple panels, liked the dealer’s room and the game room, and had fun spotting costumes. They weren’t too into panels–the siren call of the hotel room, with AC and the big wide television, was too strong to ignore.

Oh well.

As for me, I had a lovely time. Kudos must go to Chris Snell for organizing, and Kathy McCracken, who is a saint for ferrying three punch-drunk writers to her place of employment, ferrying us back, and going drinking with us as well. (Well, there was dinner involved, so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.) The list of people I enjoyed muchly includes Erik Scott de Bie, who can out-deadpan me, Moira J. Moore (hey Moira, the Princess finished your book the night we got home, she loved it), Roxanne Skelly (keep going, even if you are in revision hell), upcoming writers Kaye T. and Esther J., the nice guy in Registration who figured out the badges for the Prince and Princess, Frances Pauli (who almost made me moderate again), and Courtney Brasil, who was a trouper, let me tell you. That panel didn’t let up until after MIDNIGHT. Plus, the young man who I used as an example during the Paranormal Paramours panel: you were a good sport, thank you.

I wanted to take a bunch of pictures, but I was going so fast trying to get to the next place I needed to be…that I forgot. Bad author, no cookie for me.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun. The drive out there was pretty, even though coming into Spokane through the construction on I90 was an exercise in patience. The drive home was gorgeous, except for the Prince and Princess in the car for six hours growing heartily tired of each other. (They spent all of yesterday in their rooms, recuperating and catching up on alone-time.) I think I’ve about recovered–I was toast yesterday, couldn’t form a complete sentence to save my life.

Anyway. My big purchase in the dealer’s room was a pocket-watch that Bannon & Clare just had to have. I don’t even know how to wear a bloody pocket watch anymore, but it’s gorgeous and I love it. Thanks also to all the fans, both at the convention and at the Hastings signing, you were uniformly a pleasure to meet and chat with.

And that’s about it. I got up this morning, ran five miles, bouldered with my pal ZenEllen, and am settling into deadlines.

Whew. It’s good to be back.

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Why have I been so hard to find these days? Well, the new YA book I’m working on is eating my head. Plus, there’s two other books about to go into the pipe for revision. There’s the kids, of course. And the dog. (You don’t even want to know about the other strays.)

Plus, there’s the events I’m getting ready for.

I’ll be at SpoCon this upcoming weekend! You can find my schedule here. Plus, I’ll be signing at the Hastings in Spokane on Saturday, 3-6pm, along with Erik Scott de Bie and Moira Moore. (We have collectively promised not to get arrested.) Should be a ton of fun! I will, of course, be tweeting all I can. Because I’m Just That Way.

In short, if I seem to have dropped off the face of the earth, it’s because this is basically Hell Week for me. There’s getting ready for the convention, planning pet care and the drive out, wordcount every day, doctor’s appointments (don’t ask) and back-to-school stuff that all needs to happen before Thursday morning. The runrunrun of a con will probably be a relief.

See you in Spokane, or catch you on the flip side!

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This post is from the old Midnight Hour writing blog, where I used to do Friday posts. The Midnight Hour is defunct now–sad because I liked it so much. But I managed to get my entries off before it went bust, which means I can offer you this one. This is from November 23, 2007, and I think it’s still timely. Another note: this is crossposted to the Deadline Dames, where there is all sorts of great advice and giveaways.

Critique is like marriage counseling. One does not want to admit that one has done something that matters so much less than perfectly. Critique in a workshop/convention setting is even more dangerous, because there is the added fun of exhaustion, convention emotion, and fluid interpersonal rules.

I very rarely do critique sessions, mostly because I have beta readers I’m comfortable with. And I hate having to pick apart a stranger’s work, unless it’s in the comfort of my home where I can read a book and bitch in peace. Plus, in a group, there’s the whole group dynamic to worry about, and I’m usually far more concerned with people getting along than with the work at hand. Which is why I work alone, I reckon.

But I realize other people feel differently about it. So, in the interests of making things easier (always one of my favorite things to do) I’m going to offer some thoughts and tips about critique sessions.

Recently I participated in a Clarion-style critique session, where the more experienced critiquer goes first, everyone gets five minutes, and the writer is only allowed to respond during the brainstorming session. A fellow published author and I** were critiquing two unpublished authors, and the two unpubs were critiquing each other too. Which is a good way to get a range of advice.

One critique session went smoothly, the other not so smoothly. The one that went smoothly had an author who managed to keep his mouth shut and really listen to the advice being offered despite it being about one of his babies. He held his peace and during the brainstorming mentioned that he had majored in drama, so he could understand our concerns about dialogue. He asked our advice about specific ways to solve the problems inherent in the stories and took notes. Not only did the story impress me, but (and this is critical) the author’s taking of the critique impressed the editor in me. The guy seemed like he would be easy to work with, and that leads me to the first major thing critique sessions should never be used for.

Pitching. Please, dear God, DO NOT pitch your story to a published author or an editor during the critique session. It’s in bad form, especially to the others being critiqued. If they like your story, they may give you submissions tips, but that’s as far as it goes. Critique is supposed to make you a better writer, not sell your fantasy epic.

It is vital as well that you not seek to explain your story. If you have to explain your story during a critique session, you haven’t done your job as a writer. The story needs to stand without explanation, and most critique sessions will show you where the weak spots are that keep a story from doing so.

I don’t think any writer really loves to critique. We understand how dreadful a feeling it is to have one’s baby flayed and pinned to the wall, the flaws on open display. (Note: there are some toxic critiquers who delight in emotional banditry, insulting others’ stories. This post isn’t about them.) We don’t want to tell someone else what is wrong with their story–but we will in a critique session, because the information is valuable. It could be the difference between the slush pile and a contract. Try to remember that the critiquers by and large are overcoming their own natural reticence to help your story.

Above all, don’t get loud. If you disagree, wait for your turn and say, “I disagree.” But come on–if two of your critique partners agree on something, it’s something you need to seriously take a look at, not disagree with. At the very least there is a problem that might need tweaking in your text. But do not get loud. Do not blame your editor, or say that your story is for a small select audience who will Understand.

Because that sort of shit means you’ll never get published. An editor sees that sort of behavior and thinks, thank God I don’t have to work with that. You’re in the slush pile regardless of the quality of your work, and that is something no writer needs. Conversely, you can never tell when an editor will recognize your name and associate it with the great way you took a critique. Remember, editors are people too…and if they have to make a choice between 1. moderate quality and a person who’s easy to work with, and 2. higher quality but an a$$hole to work with, guess what they will choose most of the time? (Hint: it isn’t #2.)

Critiquers understand this is a delicate and explosive situation***. That’s why there are Rules. The Rules are there to take the emotion out or at least tone it down, to mitigate the hurt, and give a framework that makes it easier for us to be human beings instead of screaming emotion-driven banshees. Of course, Rules are only as good as the people playing by them or breaking them…but that’s beside the point.

So, things not to do during a critique:

* Don’t try to explain your story.
* Don’t get loud or combative, or distraught.
* Do not blame your editor, your beta reader, the sad state of literacy in America, the stupidity of readers, etc., for the fact that your story is inoperable.
* Do not talk when you’re not supposed to.
* Do not take the critique as a personal attack.
* Don’t try to sell or pitch the story.
* Above all, do not be rude.

Things to do during a critique:

* Take notes. You won’t remember everything without help.
* Keep your trap shut when you’re supposed to.
* Try to divorce yourself from the story for an hour. The clearer and more dispassionate you can be, the better.
* Be polite. Be polite, be polite, be polite.
* Thank the critiquers.
* Don’t ask how you can sell the story. Ask how you can make the story better.
* It is perfectly acceptable to ask for clarification. Use this with caution, though, as it is easy to slide down the rabbit hole into Defending Yer Story.

As usual, thy mileage will vary, my ducks. Take all my advice with a grain of salt, since this is only my personal perception, etc., etc., ad nauseum, ad infinitum.

Disclaimer done. Good luck out there.

* Heh. I make this joke only because I saw “kretek” on every packet of clove cigarettes I ever smoked.
**Not that I believe published authors are “higher” on the food chain. It’s just that they found something that worked and so, are uniquely placed to give advice.
***At least, the good ones do. There are still those emotional bandits, who are still another post.

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