The Queen, Eeyore, Dylan and me, Muttley

A typical meeting of the writing group starts at two o’clock on a Monday or Tuesday at the Queen’s house. There are four of us.

The Queen – in overall charge.

Eeyore – in charge of doom.

Dylan – anything goes.

Muttley (me) – in charge of disruption.

As we approach the door, we all stop to admire the garden. Hollyhocks, black pansies, trailing clematis and shrub roses, all line the route to the porch. It’s hard not to feel envy. The Queen has fingers greener than the Hulk.

Once assembled, we share news. Of family. Of films seen. Of food eaten. Of builders. Of fellow Bristolians. At some point the Queen guides us onto matters of writing. We are reluctant, like a book group where no one has read the book. Dutifully we report any happenings. This element is short. We move on, taking it in turns to read aloud our latest work. There should be a method in deciding who goes first, but no, we argue about it. Every time.

Eventually, one of us sighs, brings out a few sheets of A4 and the process begins. One voice. Three scribblers, pens at the ready. We mean well, all four of us, truly we do. But it might not seem that way. The reader, sharing her tortured words with us, is rewarded by giggles, sly glances, outbursts . . . There is a rule that we don’t interrupt, but we break it gaily.  Whether it’s Eeyore’s made-up words, my endless internal monologues, Dylan’s love for continuous present or the Queen’s arty descriptions, we let rip. Small tears and then often huge great gashes. The problem is that we don’t agree. Hardly surprising if you consider our books. We have a plotter, a dreamer, a lover of tangents, a repeater, a spiritualist, a pragmatist, a weaver, a schemer, a joker . . . We like first person, third person, omniscient, accents, fantasy, reality, the past, the future . . . We all think the pace is too fast, too slow, non-existent . . . We’d all write the scene differently . . . although not necessarily any better.

The feedback is only about a quarter useful – we ignore the comments we don’t like. (They’re the same every time anyway – old dogs, new tricks.) However, the relationships, support and conviviality are invaluable. Tea and sweet things add to the pleasure.

 

When we’ve all had our moment in the spotlight, we try to arrange the next meeting. This takes some time. The Queen likes to holiday. Dylan has a roundabout to play on, Eeyore doesn’t know when she’s free, and I cannot plan ahead. But we manage, noting the date, and then emailing the Queen a week later to ask what we agreed.

I was invited to join the group after a random chat in an aisle at the supermarket. I barely knew the Queen, and had never met the others. The first few occasions were nerve wracking. Not only did I have to produce a few hundred words I could bear to read, I had to try to make clever comments. I failed at the latter, but they let me stay. Three and a half years later, I still look forward to going. In a world with no structure, the discipline of stumping up the next chapter – because turning up empty-handed is just not the deal – has been a huge part of getting my latest book in shape.

It’s a lonely business, but less so, thanks to the camaraderie in the kitchen of the house with the garden to die for. Long live the writing group.

Writing Groups and Criticism - Heather Dyer

 

Perhaps you have been following the debate on the merit of creative writing courses in the Guardian recently (http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/mar/14/creative-writing-courses-advice-students). It’s a long-running debate and there are valid arguments on both sides. But what interests me at the moment is the value of criticism in creative writing classes – and this goes for criticism in informal writing groups, too.

Personally, I love criticism. I’m greedy for it. I know how hard it is to find someone who can give honest, constructive criticism – criticism that makes you suddenly see the wood from the trees, makes you realize that what you were never quite happy with is just not good enough, and can ask questions in ways that leads you to answers you didn’t know you were looking for.

As writers, we’re standing inside our stories, so it’s difficult to know how they look from the outside. As Kathy Lowinger says, ‘Get your work read because you can’t see yourself dance’. An outside perspective can be invaluable – and offers insights that you wouldn’t get otherwise.

But - having been a member of many writing groups, and a teacher of many creative writing courses, I also know how damaging criticism can be. I come across students who are afraid to read their work in case they receive a negative comment that makes them want to give up (and in this case, I tell them, ‘don’t read’). I come across people who were criticised as children for their creative efforts and were told they were ‘making a mess’ or weren’t ‘doing it properly’ . Needless to say, they haven't tried it since. And I come across writers who want to offer up their work for criticism, but only want positive feedback and defend their work against the slightest criticism.

So I suppose I have concluded the following:

1. A writer shouldn’t share their work until they’re ready for criticism and can take it or leave it without being mortally wounded. This is usually possible only after some time has elapsed after writing it.   
2. A writer should say ‘thanks’ for the feedback they receive, and nothing more. Then they can go home and decide what to do with it. If a writer tries to defend their work, the people giving feedback will quickly stop bothering. 
3. When giving criticism, try and restrict it to the one or two main issues – don’t go on and on. 
4. Try and give other writers the feedback that they are ready for. We can’t judge everyone by the same yardstick – and when I think back to what my writing was like when I first started, I cringe. By working to our strengths and strengthening the positives, the negatives often fall away all by themselves
5. But even when giving feedback to experienced writers, don’t forget the positives. We all like being reminded of what we do well. It makes us want to carry on.

What's your experience of writers' groups? Have I forgotten anything?

http://www.heatherdyer.co.uk