I like
mud. It’s rich, it’s fertile, it reminds me of primordial soup. Mud
is the kind of fecund mess that life comes from.
And so is
criticism.
I’m one of
the list parents for FFnP’s online critique group, the Mud Puddle. It’s
an amazing community of talented writers, many of whom are published. We
are all willing to trade constructive critiques. That’s no small thing,
considering few of us have have ever met face to face. Critique is hard,
vulnerable work—balancing positive feedback and honesty, accounting for
subjective taste, and trying not to mess with a writer’s voice—the exchange of
critiques can be like an embrace, a kiss, or a slap in the face.
A writer
friend of mine named Laurie Brock said to me the other day, “The wisest, most
secure people I know are perfectly able to hear criticism without becoming
angry. They’ve seen their own shadows, so someone else pointing it out
isn’t a, ‘Hey, your panties are showing,’ moment.”
Of course,
she’s right. And I am not one of those people.
Once upon a
time, before I took up the crazy dream of writing, I was content and
centered. When someone at work gave me a piece of feedback, I could take
it calmly, without feeling defensive. Why, oh why, is writing so much
more vulnerable? I live to have people read my books and tell me what
they really think, but receiving a full-blown critique is a bit like being
submerged in mud—it’s kind of warm and cozy, and it’s kind of suffocating.
Don’t get
me wrong. I am grateful to every single person who has ever pored over
words I wrote and taken time to point out missed commas, over-used words, and
parts of my story they hated. And, like most writers, I have a very thick
skin. I don’t get mad. I rarely get defensive. Sometimes I do
feel confused about what to do, or whose opinion to trust, or how to fix a
problem. But, all that fecund mud seeps into me, and I always find my way out
of the mire with a new idea.
Buy me a
couple of drinks, and I’ll gladly show you my panties. But I’m more shy
about showing my story, naked and streaked with mud. From punctuation to
story arc, baring oneself to critique is intense. I won’t promise you
that the Mud Puddle is a utopia, where your feelings will never get hurt, and
the coal dust of your WIP will be quickly transformed into diamonds. But
it is a fabulous, safe place to show your underwear and make long-lasting
writing friends. The Mud Puddle has made me a better writer, more sure of
my own voice and more aware of my weaknesses. And honestly, because
helpful critiquing requires mindfulness and sensitivity, it has made me a
better person too.
I wish for
every writer that kind of fertile community.
And so I
invite you to come play in the mud. If you are a member of FFnP, you can
join the puddle by emailing critique (at) romance-ffp (dot) com.
To wrap up,
I asked some members of the Mud Puddle to share their philosophy of critique,
or lessons they’ve learned there:
“The greatest
gift I've learned from the Mud Puddle is how to write active characters, in
motion with their setting. The MP helped me realize how to eliminate passive
voice.”- Paula Millhouse
“I’ve learned writing is a balancing act, too much of one
thing, no matter how beautiful or fun, can become a distraction….[sometimes]
I’ve written a particularly magical/funny/interesting phrase or paragraph and
no one else cares for it. I’m not saying a writer shouldn’t follow
her/his heart, but when several people you trust all agree, it’s a good idea to
ponder and perhaps reconsider, no matter how painful.” - Coleen Burright
“When
I critique, I always try to find something good to say. Saying something
'less comfortable' is sometimes necessary, but I always try to find a positive
way to say it. That said, I think it's important to learn how to receive
a critique as well as give one. We all have something to learn.” - Rhenna
Morgan
“I am
always honest. I try never to be brutal about it, but I won't lie and say something
is great just because I can't find anything good to say about it. That's not
helpful. It is probably one of the worst things you can do to a writer who is
trying to learn their craft.” - Samantha MacDouglas
Photo of
muddy feet is courtesy of Jonathan Isaac.
Bio:
Amber Belldene grew up on the Florida panhandle, swimming with
alligators, climbing oak trees and diving for scallops…when she could pull
herself away from a book. As a child, she hid her Nancy Drew novels
inside the church bulletin and read mysteries during sermons—an irony that is
not lost on her when she preaches these days.
Amber is an Episcopal priest and student of religion. She
believes stories are the best way to explore human truths. Some people
think it is strange for a minister to write romance, but it is perfectly
natural to her, because the human desire for love is at the heart of every
romance novel and God made people with that longing. She lives with her husband and two children
in San Francisco. Blurb:
Blood Vine, released January 2013, from Omnific Publishing
Bites
are an inconvenient bliss, exiled vampires are wasting away, and the fate of
their kind depends on the perfect PR campaign.
When public relations pro
Zoey Porter arrives at an enchanting California winery, she discovers her sexy
new client is the almost one-night stand she can’t forget. After her husband’s
suicide, Zoey has vowed never to risk her heart again. But can she walk away
from the intriguing winemaker a second time?
Driven from Croatia by his
ancient foes, vampire Andre Maras has finally made a blood-like wine to cure
his fellow refugees. Now he needs Zoey’s PR expertise to reach them. After his
wife’s death, Andre has a vow of his own—never to risk another painful blood
bond. And one taste of the tempting Zoey would bind him to her eternally.
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