It can be challenging to find the right balance in critiquing, to give truly useful feedback, without putting anyone off.  

At one of the Jolly Great Writing Group (JGWG) meetings, Michele made an important point on the feedback from critique partners. In particular she felt some members were being too polite and not giving as open suggestions as they could be. That she’d rather have members bring to her attention any niggling uncertainties or matters that may help the writer make more informed choices when revising the work in question. Especially if there are overlapping or similar comments to each other’s.

She’d like members to point out to her if there are any issues with wording or any ambiguity as to what emotions the writer was striving for, or any awkward sentences or words that didn’t rest well with the critiquer.

We all have ideal readers who love what we write, but in the writing group it would serve the writers better if we each give our honest - kind, diplomatic and discreet, but honest nonetheless - comments. It’s then up to the writer to take or shelve the suggestions. After all the creator of the work has the pure vision of the story. We just give more food for thought, without hopefully confusing it further.

We strive to learn more about each other, respecting each individual voice and ask the writer open questions as to their vision of the work.

Let's be clear as to the depth and specific needs of the critique from each piece from each members. Communicate exactly what the writer is happy with and where help or a second opinion is sought.

Below is the hilarious take by Chris Joseph on how not to run a Critique Group.

Meeting Of The Mindless
By Chris Joseph

We writers tend to be a sensitive bunch. When it comes to how we feel about our work, we’re constantly riding an emotional roller coaster.
We can be in a heightened state of exhilaration, like when the coaster makes that final downward plunge at what seems like a thousand miles an hour. At the other extreme, we go through periods when we’re sickened by anything that has to do with writing, much like the unfortunate coaster rider who ends up barfing his three hot dogs, cotton candy, and jumbo soft pretzel all over the new shoes of some innocent bystander.

So what can we really expect to happen when a bunch of us high-strung creative types get together at a writers’ group meeting to share our latest masterpieces? It’s amazing that bullet-riddled corpses haven’t been wheeled out of any bookstores.

Let’s take a look at one such meeting. The players are Myrna, the neurotic fantasy writer; Hubert, author of war novels that offer his own unique brand of revisionist history; Fabia, an oversexed writer of tawdry romance novels; and a strikingly handsome, slow-witted, kind, caring, noble, great-smelling, humble humorist who we’ll simply call "Chris."

We’ll pick up the action as the group has just finished reading a few pages from the novel that Myrna has been tweaking for the past 17 years, a space travel work she calls, Beam Me Up, Michael Jackson:

Hubert: That sure is an interesting piece of, um, work, Myrna. I find it fascinating the way you make Michael Jackson out to be the voice of sanity on a planet of whack jobs. Haven’t you been watching the news lately? Or didn’t cable TV make it up to your planet yet?

Myrna: And what’s that supposed to mean? Just because Michael is going through a rough time right now doesn’t mean he can’t be the leader of a planet filled with a bunch of people that have a lint phobia. Have you taken a look at what’s really inside your clothes dryer? Probably not, since that shirt you’re wearing has more wrinkles than your middle-aged butt.

Fabia: Tell me more about these Lint People. How do they reproduce? I think you need a nice, romantic scene, something like this: "They met behind the clothes dryer; two bits of discarded fabric that life threw together in the hip pocket of an old pair of jeans. She looked into all six of his eyes, enticing him with a “come hither” look. They embraced, ready to make mad, passionate love, the sensual smell of fabric softener bringing out their animal instincts. She became aroused, bosom heaving..."

Hubert: What is it with you and heaving bosom? Every other line, it’s “heaving bosom” this and “heaving bosom” that. In all my 58 years, I have never seen a bosom that actually heaved.

Myrna: I can believe that.

Hubert: Oh, put a sock in it, crazy lady. At least what I write about is historically accurate, not like that flaked-out space crap that you hallucinate.

Myrna: Accurate? That’s a laugh! We haven’t had the heart to tell you this before, but for your information, Paul Revere did not notify the colonists that the British were coming on his cell phone. Attila was the leader of the Huns, not the Nuns. And I’m quite certain that one of the Knights of the Round Table was not named Sir Gonad.

Borders store manager: Folks, I’m going to have to ask you to keep your voices down. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a reading of Winnie-the-Pooh to a group of four-year-olds going on next door in the children’s section. Please keep your genitals to yourselves.

Chris: Wow! Winnie-the-Pooh. Kids are really advanced these days. I wasn’t able to handle those scary bear stories until I hit thirty. Even then, after my mom finished reading it to me, I begged her to let me sleep with the light on and--

Fabia: Shut your pie hole, Funny Boy! We are serious writers here. We don’t have time for you sophomoric prattling. Now, I think it’s time we stop all this bickering and get back to reading our work. I’m passing out to all of you a few pages from the novel I’ve been working on, an erotic thriller called The Bosom Heaved at Midnight.

Hubert: Oh, for God’s sake! Just once, I’d love to see if you could write something where people keep their clothes on for at least five seconds? Is there not one shred of decency left in this world? This isn’t Cinemax, you know.

Myrna: Hubert, for once, I have to agree with you. There’s too much smut and filth in the world today. I think we writers have a responsibility to write about subjects that uplift and inspire. Take Michael Jackson, for example...

Chris: Michael Jackson? Where have I heard that name before? Wait...I remember, he was in another one of those scary bear stories, the one with some broad named Goldilocks. Wasn’t he the one who said, "Who’s been sleeping in my bed?"

Chris Joseph is a humor writer residing in Pennsylvania. He formerly worked as a newspaper correspondent when he was still allowed something sharp to write with. To contact him, or to check out his weekly humor column "A Loon With a View," visit his website at www.chrisajoseph.com.

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