On Critique Groups and Feedback
I’ve had fortunate luck in learning and giving feedback on pieces. When I lived in Israel, there was a poetry critique group that, while it was more of a “you finish, we applaud politely” kind of place, people did provide feedback. They also had a yearly English-language chapbook, and the poetry quality was pretty good. A separate tiny group met in my apartment every month or so and sat and wrote more than workshopped, but I got to hear feedback from potential readers, at least.
Fast forward to moving to Austin in the early 90s. There was an insular group called Turkey City that met, but I had no “in” to get involved. There was — and still is — Slugtribe. For a baby fiction writer (I’d started transitioning to short story and novel form), it was great: bring up to 5k words with lots of copies, everyone reads silently, then there’s a critiquing discussion, and the author gets all the written feedback when it’s over.
My first time presenting, I brought a chunk of a manuscript I’d been working on for several years. I was proud of it, my friends who’d read it liked what they’d seen, and the prose was perfect. Looking back on it, the critiquing was gentle–but it took me a few months to summon the courage to go to another meeting. For people new to critiquing, bringing their lovely children for review can be traumatic. But persevere I did, and I’m grateful for the time spent in the group.
While Slugtribe was and is awesome (thanks in large part to Wendy Wheeler!), it’s an open group, so the critique members consist of those who show up that night. Ditto for the quality of the writing, which ranged from awesome to the neophyte. (Slugtribe supports several now-published alums, including Patrice Sarath, Paige E. Ewing, Nicky Drayden, Elizabeth Moon, and the prolific Marshall Ryan Maresca,) I was just starting to write A Day at the Zoo and wanted feedback from folks with more experience and, hopefully, published experience.
I started looking for something at a more professional critique level by mid-2015. One member linked me up with group she was in, where most members were game designers past or present and some very sharp critiquers. And most published authors of one kind or another. This is a closed group, meaning one needs to be invited, and there are the usual hazing and mystic ceremonies to bring one in. Or not. It meets weekly for several hours, so there’s continuity of people’s writing as well as the critiquers. And cookies, let’s not forget those.
The pandemic moved the group from its very comfortable living room to discord, a new experience for many. It allowed us, however, to cast a net for members broadly. We have about a dozen active members, and we’ve been privileged to provide feedback on manuscripts that are now on sale at a bookstore near you or online.
The word I use to describe it is “safe.” Not safe as in gentle criticism–that’s a blunt, honest, and sometimes puzzling thing. It’s safe because we can bring our pieces, whatever the quality of editing or genre, and not feel attacked or personally criticized. And when the critiquing gets rough, it might feel that way in a group where we don’t know each other comfortably well. We met en masse for the first time at the last ArmadilloCon in Austin. Eleven folks, many meeting for the first time. It was lovely. And the critiquing was no less rigorous that week.
All this is to say, if you’re serious about your writing, don’t believe your own press as to how good the material is; find a group, any group at first, to get feedback. There are online communities like Scribophile, which have “get critiques as you give them” bartering, but they also have whole-novel sessions with a set group of people. Like Slugtribe, this is an open forum, but it’s easy to read another author’s critiquing of other work to see if their feedback is relevant to your writing.
All this to say, there’s an article about critique groups at Authors Publish that might give you a good look at this essential part of writing: https://authorspublish.com/lectures/the-art-of-getting-feedback-on-your-writing/.
Happy Holidays!
When Sophie’s Choice was released, I went with a date to see it. I didn’t check reviews; I just heard about a great actress. I spent the last half of the movie sobbing and scared the bejeezus out of my date (especially since I had to drive her home). My mother had told me 
I’m a recalcitrant writer when it comes to technology, which is funny considering I’ve been neck-deep in emerging technologies for, um, four decades?
At the last ArmadilloCon, there was a spirited set of discussions, on and off-panel, regarding trigger warnings. Even with the book title “The Property of Blood, ” the author was urged to use a trigger warning for violence.
As someone who’s lived with PTSD for most of their lives and has had the cinematic Vietnam vet flashback, I don’t see it this way. Caveat Emptor needs to be a much finer, more granular warning, if at all. What triggers one person may be fine for another. And where’s the limit? Do we warn if there are giant spiders in the novel? What if there’s non-consensual, non-sexual touching? The echo of trauma from a bully’s beating can be very painful for some readers, but how does one alert the public?
What Ilona said, mostly. But also, if there’s a large amount of specific violence such as anti-<abuse> that’s not on the title or dust jacket, it’s probably not a big deal to add a warning on the back cover just to give a heads-up. My $0.02, IMHO, YMMV.