Tips for good critiquing

[Lily]

www.writingforward.com/writing-tips/tips-for-critiquing-other-writers-work

[Richard]

Tips for getting critiqued.

1. Don't get bent out of shape over them.

2. Remember, not everyone will be impressed with what you write.

3. Don't ask for them if you can't handle them.

4. If you are happy with your work, be satisfied with that.

5. Sometimes, it just isn't that special. But who knows, you may be able to come back to it later and rework it. You may be able to use bits and pieces of it for something else. The idea behind it is probably something special, the presentation just failed to deliver. Don't drop the idea because of that.

6. Sometimes the critiques are spot on even if you do not like them. If that is the case, I refer you to rules 1-5.

[avery]

It's important to remember that critiques are subjective. Always go with your own gut feeling.

[joshuachrisstoff]

Rule 1] :If you don't like it, go away.

2] If you have specific parameters you want the critter to work within, explain them fully when you are posting it, above it. For example, I know my Engrish is pafettick, grammar and grandpa left home quite sometime ago. I explain at the introduction to the piece that I don't need to know my language skills suck. This could well put a lot of people off the task asked for. Never mind, the last thing I want to see is pages and pages of editorial notes explaining everything that is wrong with it. I am an old dog and very unlikely to ever learn new tricks. So I know it will cost me a substantial wad of cash to have it professionally edited.

What I want from all you critters out there is: Does it tell a story? Does it have a beginning, a middle and an end?
If you can ignore grammar and just look at the words of the story, fine.
If you can't ignore grammar and just look at the words of the story, fine.

If you have seen any crit I have done here, or elsewhere, I try to be scrupulously honest, give my honest heart felt beliefs, dodge any technical bits since so many know so much more than me.
I also like to finish with, 'I wanna read more' or 'I got bored at the third paragraph and put it down. But usually that is accompanied by a note specifying the genre doesn't fall within my interest range and I can't comment on stuff I don't know bout.

That gets back to my perpetual bugbear and that is be descriptive in the prologue to the piece, genre, age range, everything cos you don't want someone over honest, critting something they would never normally read.

[greenwriter]

Well a crit is just somebody's opinion. Not to say it's correct.

[jd]

You need to carefully consider each critique before making changes.

[Christie Bremmer]

A good critique is helpful, nit-picking is not. So many of them nit-pick.

[joshuachrisstoff]

Gidday Christie,

Nit picking may not be good but it is very 'realistic'.
If the critter is sidetracked by every second word being inappropriate, then it is valid critiquing. If the grammar, and grandpa, are pulling the reader out or away from the story, then it needs to be fixed b4 you go anywhere else.
I have zero knowledge or ability where grammar is concerned but I can tell a story, also, I can tell when I am reading one. I will write a well done, etc for my crit. That can be b4 or after someone rips them up for grammar or context issues. I don't care one little bit.
To me, there seems to be about 50% editors to the number of writers. It is an impression not a number crunch. The KEY is that so many editors couldn't make a living if writers were perfect. It almost seems to me that no 'writer' can edit. It also occurs to me that no editor can write.

I believe we need each other.
We also need insiders in the business to tell us things about what we produce 'from our POV', correct?

[william]

I do not critique, I'm not qualified even though I've been writing for thirteen years. There are reasons for my non-qualification, one of them is simply that no two writers write the same. I might not like how you write or what you preach. I don't like drama, romance, wordy literature, convoluted descriptions, strange adjectives, confusing and unrealistic metaphors, bad, really bad punctuation, a meaningless story...I do edits, 5,000 word count. If I edit and you have questions then I will explain, just the once.

[william]

Having said that, I wanted to offer my work for criticism, it's a chapter from a Holocaust story.

The original formstting has gone, pity.

The Package.
Chapter four.
Classification.

Hamburg, October 1938.

He pushed open the door and entered the room, and forcing a smile he called out, “I er, er, received notification to report here today,” he glanced at his wristwatch. “My n-name is Kaempfer I, er, I’m not late am I?”
“Sit!”
He dropped the grimace, closed the door quickly and glanced around the room: a spartan affair, adorned with Hitler portraits and propaganda posters. A plain wooden chair stood in front of a large wooden desk, he hurried over to it. He stopped and his jaw dropped, he raised his right arm and said, “Heil Hitler”, and on seeing that the other did not intend to reply, he sat down.

The man in the yellow khaki uniform, sitting behind his desk stared at him. His armband displayed the Nazi symbol, a swastika, and he wore the Nazi party badge on his uniform lapel. He said, “Kaempfer, you are aware of the new legislation are you not?”

Kaempfer felt the other’s eyes boring into his; he lowered his gaze and nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir, I am, sir.”

“You are to receive new papers; you will be re-classified as from today.”

“Re-classified, sir, I, er, I don’t understand!”


(That was 200 words without the title, read on (if they haven’t been deleted) for the other 500.)



“You just told me you were aware of the new legislation, you are married to a Jewess, so you will be re-classified as a Jew.” He sneered and said, “That is to say, a half-Jew.”

“B-but I am only - as you said - married to one.”

The sneer turned to an expression of disgust. “You have had sexual intercourse with her, have you not?”

“But, sir, she is my wife.”

“Then divorce her.”

Kaempfer said, “How, on what grounds?”

“You have the legal right to divorce her because she is Jewish. Under the new legislation, that alone is reason enough.” He pushed a form across to him. “Just fill in this form and sign it, then you can keep your original pass and that will be the end of it. But remember, you can no longer live together.”

Kaempfer rose and approached the desk, the official handed him a fountain pen. “Their days are numbered anyway, these Jews, these pariahs,” he added, “And you will thank the Fuhrer for this, one day.”

He took the pen and leaning forward, peered at the form. He noted the reference to German citizens with Jewish, half-Jewish, and other non-Aryan races, and looked at the official. Before he could speak, the other uttered, “You are going to sign it aren’t you?”

Kaempfer nodded. “Yes, yes, I was...” the man’s glare terrified him, so cold, empty, and callous. He looked down at the form once again and quickly filled it in, his hands shaking. He finished by signing it, and then straightened up, handing back the pen.

The other snatched the pen, sneering. “Now that wasn’t difficult, was it?”

Kaempfer stood there in silence.

“You may leave now,” said the other, and Kaempfer turned and walked towards the door in a daze.

The man called out. “Herr Kaempfer, please be so kind as to send your er, ex-wife in,” and added, with a raised arm, “Heil Hitler,” to which Kaempfer responded half-heartedly, then he opened the door and left the room.

He closed the door, and walked towards a slim dark-haired woman in her mid-forties. She sat on one of the wooden chairs in the narrow hallway, next to another woman.

He looked down at her, her face still held traces of her youthful beauty, and their time together flashed through his mind; all the way back to their wedding day, in this very same building, years ago; he said quietly, “You can go in now.”

Ellen Kaempfer rose up. “What has happened, you look awful?”

“I, I , I’m alright, it’s just-.” He looked at her, her brown eyes wide. He felt defeated and said, “He’s waiting.”

Her eyes examined his features, and then she walked towards the office door.

As the door closed, Kaempfer looked down at Ellen’s older sister, Betty. The two women had received a letter similar to his, delivered by a police officer on the same day. She stared back at him. “What took you so long in there, what did they want?”

He tried to speak, his throat ached and he felt the tears coming and he rushed off down the hallway, wiping his face, wishing he were far, far away from this dreadful place.
***