The Art of the Invitation

How Asking the Right Questions Can Shape Your Critique Experience

Annie Neugebauer

During the seven years in which I ran a weekly critique group—as well as the numerous times I’ve traded manuscripts with more than a dozen critique partners—I’ve learned that communication is by far the most important skill writers can hone. Most writers know the importance of clarity and honesty when it comes to giving critique, but what about when it comes to asking for it? Communication must come from both sides to be effective.

It’s a fascinating experience to hand a manuscript to someone, give no guidance, and ask for her feedback, but it’s not usually the best way to get the most useful critique—especially if the critiquer is new to the experience or to you. If someone has offered her time and effort to help you improve your work, honor that gift by leveraging her feedback in the way that’s most useful to you. This means telling her up front what you’re looking for, what you’re not looking for, and how you’d like to receive it.

ASK FOR WHAT YOU NEED

The first thing I always tell my critiquers is the stage of the process my book is in. For long-time partners or particularly experienced critiquers, this alone might be enough information. For newer partners or critiquers, you might want to elaborate. Here are some examples of the information I might share:

Aside from draft-related feedback, if you have specific needs, you can’t go wrong with stating them. I like to ask readers to mark their reactions—where they laughed, shed tears, shuddered, put the book down, and so on—because those responses are valuable in assessing engagement. If you struggle with grammar and know you’ll need as much help as you can get, tell your critiquers. The surefire way to get what you need is to literally, plainly, and bluntly ask for what you need.

Occasionally reader feedback is best gleaned if the specific concerns aren’t pointed out until after the critiquer has finished. I like to get the most authentic read possible from critiquers, which means that I avoid projecting my concerns up front. This way, if they pinpoint something, I know it’s a real problem rather than one I’ve suggested to them beforehand. Try using a follow-up questionnaire: Before you hand over your manuscript, instead of saying, “I’m really struggling with Character X. Other readers have told me he’s passive. Does he seem weak to you?” wait until your reader gives you his feedback. If he points out weaknesses in Character X, you know it’s a noticeable problem. If not, follow up; ask, “How did Character X strike you?” That way, his opinion guides you rather than the other way around. Here’s the caveat: If you plan to ask follow-up questions, let your reader know ahead of time so that he doesn’t feel like you’re dumping extra work on him after he gives you feedback.

On the other hand, if you’ve already identified a problem but aren’t sure why or how to fix it, explaining the issue and asking a critiquer to “solve for X” can be very helpful.

SET BOUNDARIES

Clarifying what you want is just as important as asking for what you need. There are two reasons to set boundaries with a critiquer: (1) You know something is a problem and you want to save her time because you’re not ready to address it yet (or you’ve already decided on the solution but haven’t implemented it), or (2) you need to protect your momentum on the project by avoiding certain types of feedback before you’re ready for them.

Many people write sloppy first drafts. If you know large sections of the book will be cut or rewritten, there’s no need to polish yet. As mentioned in the rough-draft example, if you know your draft is a mess and you plan on cleaning up the prose later, it’s courteous to let your critiquer know this—and to instead guide her focus to large-scale problems. Likewise, if you’re on a deadline and know your structure and characters are finalized and you’re only looking for final edits, tell her. It saves time and effort for both of you.

Sometimes hearing critique at the wrong time can derail a writer. Some will argue that all writers should be open to all forms of criticism at all times. That’s an admirable goal, but many writers haven’t reached a place of absolute critique acceptance. The next best thing is to be aware of our defensiveness and frailties and honor our process by giving the critiquer a heads up.

I was in a bad place when I wrote my fifth novel. I fought for every word, and I was consumed by self-doubt. I felt raw and insecure and ready to trash the whole thing, so I knew I needed craft critique before I was ready to handle reader response critique. Here’s how I requested it:

This worked beautifully and helped me find my footing again. However, I do want to caution against overusing critique restrictions. Writers should strive toward being open to all criticism, and the best way to build up that strength is to practice—which you can’t do if you always ask your critiquers to avoid pushing your buttons. Only you can know the right balance on this, but when in doubt, I encourage you to include fewer restrictions so you can build your tolerance and grow in your receptiveness and, ultimately, your craft.

GUIDE THE TONE

Finally, to get the most out of the process, learn to guide the tone of your feedback. The preferred degrees of positive and negative feedback vary from writer to writer and from critiquer to critiquer, but all critiques should contain a mix of both.

New critiquers, especially, may feel hesitant to give harsh critique, but often that’s the most useful feedback. If I’m at the stage where I’m looking for brutal honesty, I like to assuage my critiquer’s fears. For example, I might reassure her with the following:

Likewise, often in an effort to be helpful, some critiquers focus so much on what needs improvement that they forget to point out what’s working. Seasoned writers, who are often less sensitive to critique, are especially prone to “cutting to the chase” at the expense of praise. Here’s an example of a reminder to highlight the positives:

In fact, I often purposely invite the same critiquer to give both criticism and praise. It’s a great way to remind seasoned and newbie critiquers alike to balance their feedback, because ultimately both are vital.

Putting your work in front of someone and asking her to analyze it takes courage. Likewise, offering to dissect someone’s work and tell him everything that is and isn’t working takes time and effort (and also a bit of courage). The best way to respect your critiquers’ generosity is to guide it in the most useful directions possible. Their feedback is meant to help you, after all. If you cut out the guesswork and tell them exactly how they can best do that, you’ll both be happier for it.