Critiquing Sf/f

"He can compress the most words into the smallest ideas of any man I know."--Abraham Lincoln

Caveat Lector: Friendly, helpful critiques between budding sf/f writers are what I consider here, rather than reviews or analyses of published works. (I archive only recommended works on this site for a reason.) Take my words with a grain of salt; there are other excellent resources on the subject, including Critters and the SFWA's pages, which cover related topics (such as critique groups) in more detail.

What Are Critiques For?

There are (at least) three things to think about with regard to critiques: what does the writer want from them, what does the critiquer actually give to the writer, and what does the writer get out of the critique? (Mind you, this is a oversimplified analysis.)

What the Writer Wants

You might think this would be straightforward. Actually, it depends. At times the author wants admiration or encouragement. This is not, in itself, a bad thing. But certain kinds of admiration or encouragement are more helpful than others.

I've had the experience of getting a critique that amounts to, "Your writing is really great!" and nothing more. It's a great ego-boost, and ego-boosts are valuable in that they keep you writing. However, this kind of comment doesn't, in itself, help you develop better writing. Or at least it's never helped me that way. I'd rather see an analysis of what I did well (so I know not to mess with it!) or a thoughtful discussions of what I didn't do well (so I can work on fixing it).

The writer may also have specific goals in mind for a critique, or questions that she would like addressed. Perhaps she's worried about that passage in chapter 2, or whether the introduction is too slow, or if the magic system seems consistent. Perhaps she wants to know if the reader finds Melissa the Marvelous Maiden too tedious, giggly, or clichéd.

Conversely, perhaps the writer isn't interested in discussions of flora or fauna, or corrections of grammar in a rough draft. (Personally, I like to give warnings about rough drafts, but not to discourage a particular category of commentary.)

It's helpful to communicate specific concerns or questions to the critiquer so s/he knows what to focus on. Sometimes the writer may wish to give these notes at the end, so as not to bias the initial reading.

It should also go without saying that the writer should attempt to deliver a readable, organized copy to the critiquer, whether on paper or electronically. I like to give critiquers a choice of formats (Microsoft .doc, vanilla ASCII, RTF, PDF...) that I'm able to provide. The writer may also request comments in a particular form(at), or defer to the critiquer's instincts and methods.

What the Critiquer Delivers

A critique, of course. But the critique might be long or short, encouraging or critical, honest or disingenuous, or some combination of the above. It's bad form to disparage the author as a person; on the other hand, you should point out faults in the writing as honestly and tactfully as you can. As a critiquer I have limits on the amount of proofreading I'm willing to do on someone else's behalf, especially for basic grammar and mechanics, which are tedious and not my job to do for the writer. If you want to write, these are things you must learn. Typos, ambiguities, and phraseology are areas that I'm more willing to remark on.

Each critiquer has his/her own strengths and weaknesses. I'm terrible with matters of location within a story, and if it may be relevant I try to let the writer know what I'm good at picking up on and what s/he might want second opinions on. Participating in cross-commentary in a private critique group--the writer posts, the rest of us comment, then start commenting on each others' comments--has proved invaluable in honing my self-awareness as a critiquer, though it requires a friendly group and some hashing-out of logistics. I also like to warn the writer about particular prejudices I have that may be influencing my comments, such as a dislike for elves. (In the real world, readers are rarely impartial.)

If something will prevent the critiquer from delivering the critique in a timely fashion, or at all, it's courteous to let the writer know, when possible. I haven't always been good about this, but Life Happens, and ultimately you're doing the writer a favor, perhaps reciprocally. (If you have to pass that comp sci final on Tuesday, you have to pass that comp sci final on Tuesday.)

There's more on types of critiques and methods for critiquing below, as the subject warrants ore detail than is given here.

What the Writer Gets

There's a difference between the critiquer's words and what the writer actually gets out of those words. In the end, the benefit of any critique is up to the writer.

Harsh critiques can be difficult to read, and may sometimes bear rereading (after you've gotten over the trauma); they can also be some of the most beneficial. (I'm more worried about the potential reader who is skeptical of my work than the one who already likes it, though I appreciate the latter.) Often I find that comments on something that didn't work well in the story dovetail with subconscious uneasiness about the section in question; at other times a penetrating question leads me to re-evaluate and rewrite large chunks of the story or setting.

Gentle or approving critiques, on the other hand, are (as I've mentioned before) most helpful if they are specific as to why the story was effective. Sometimes I go through these comments asking myself if I agree with the critiquer, and seeing if there are things that I feel could be further improved.

I find it helpful to go through the story again, using the critique as a "checklist" and asking myself what changes, if any, are warranted. (Remember, no one can make you change the story but yourself.) Depending on the depth and extent of the critique, I may even do this multiple times. I also note any questions I have for the critiquer, if s/he is willing to answer them.

Sometimes I'm not sure what to make of a comment, and wherever possible I prefer to go through several critiquers to "triangulate" their reactions. ("Echoes Down an Endless Hall," when it went through Critters, was perplexing: on various aspects of the story, critiquers would hold opposite opinions in roughly equal numbers, so it came down to authorial judgement anyway.) I may also apply what I know of a critiquer's preferences and tendencies in evaluating his/her comments. (If I submitted an elf-story to myself, I would take my comments with copious salt.)

Thank the critiquer for his/her time, though you've probably done so; it doesn't hurt to do so again, especially if you hope s/he will be willing to look through future stories. (Acknowledgements are sometimes in order, too.) In the case of a destructive or malicious critiquer (which I hope are rare), you're not obliged to send more stories his/her way. Write off the experience and move on. You have better things to do.

Ways to Critique

All writers have their methods; all critiquers have theirs. I'll discuss my methodology for doing and organizing critiques, as well as others that I am aware of. Take from this what's useful to you and don't worry about the rest; we are all individuals, after all, and as critiquers we are all readers who know what we like (at least some of the time).

If time permits, I give the work under consideration a preliminary read-through without making any comments to give me a sense of what's going on. (When time didn't permit, I've had the embarrassing experience of making a comment about something that was clarified in the next paragraph. Fortunately, email critiques, with which I have the most experience, allow for easy corrections.)

Next I go through and give line-by-line commentary, which often picks up on typos or other errors (though if there's a persistent error in mechanics I'll usually make a note of it in one place and tell the writer that s/he should check the rest of the work, too). The other reason for doing a line-by-line is that it lets me capture, for the writer, snapshots of my reactions as a reader as I go through the story. (It may be helpful for the writer to know that on page 4 I was sufficiently annoyed with the protagonist to throw the book across the room.) As such, I note places where I laughed, speculations on where the story's going, concerns or skepticism about details of worldbuilding, alternate suggestions on phraseology, and so on.

At the end of the line-by-line, I write a summary commentary. I discuss things that I thought worked well, in no particular order; then things that didn't work for me, usually in order of their "importance," along with suggestions for improvement. I might refer the writer to other sf/f works that might prove illuminating, or relevant nonfiction or facts. (I can be worldbuilding nitpicker.) If the work is incomplete I give some indication of whether, as a reader (as opposed to a critiquer), I would be inclined to continue reading the work, and why (or why not), thoughts on developments that I would find fascinating or aggravating, and if warranted, brainstorming on possible directions for the story.

Another method of summary commentary that I've seen breaks the work down into categories: characterization, style, setting, plot, and so on. This can be helpful in organizing your thoughts (and the writer's). I don't use this method because I don't read well that way, but the organizing principles are valuable, and I ask myself similar kinds of questions.

You can also organize a critique according to the rhythm of the plot itself: opening, middle, ending. Openings and endings may be particularly worthy of commentary, as the former has to draw the reader in, and the latter has to satisfy the reader that the ride has been worthwhile. This can also be a useful way to address questions of pacing ("I think your story really begins on page 7, and everything else can be summarized as a two-paragraph flashback").

However you organize the critique, it's worth pointing out larger concerns before smaller ones; I violate this in the line-by-line, but I feel that by its nature the line-by-line makes up for it. I'm reminded of an earnest writing seminar instructor to whom I gave a "consultation" as a peer writing tutor at Cornell. This woman had been writing loving, detailed critiques of all her students' papers (I would have enjoyed being one of those students), but was starting to burn out beneath the quantity of work involved, and became frustrated in trying to help her students improve their writing. I suggested that she write less detailed commentary, especially for students who seemed to need more help, focusing on one or two things they could do to improve and de-emphasizing details until they were ready to tackle the minutiae. For a story critique, you probably want to give as much detail as you're willing to provide; but by emphasizing the points that you're most concerned (or happy) about, you can keep the writer from tearing out his/her hair over relatively minor and easily-"fixed" matters.

Closing Thoughts

Like anything else, critiquing takes practice; critiquing under special circumstances, such as limited time, can add challenges to something that may already be difficult to do well. However, the benefit to the critiquer, not just the writer, can be considerable, as it forces the critiquer to think about (un)successful story elements separately and as a gestalt. I've had the experience of finding something unconvincing in someone else's story and realizing that I was perpetrating the same thing myself, and certainly anyone who's seen early drafts (or even "final" drafts, alas) of my work is aware of my weaknesses as a writer.

It's probably evident that good critiquers are, if not rare, to be treasured; the corollary is that people can become good critiquers with practice. (At least, I hope I'm a better critiquer today than I was five years ago.) Whether you're reading this from the writer or critiquer perspective, both or none, use this whimsical essay as a starting-point to the extent that it helps you, and go forth to find your own ways.

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