Here is a blogpost by a children’s poetry colleague, Barbara Bleiman, which resonates with my own experience so strongly I want to share it and reflect on it here. Barbara and I are both members of the ZigZag children’s poetry Stanza group, children’s poets from all over the country who meet monthly online to share and critique each other’s work. I am lucky and blessed to have stumbled upon this group and as well as encouraging everyone to read Barbara’s blog, I want to pick up on two things she highlights.
The first is the generosity of children’s poets – ZigZag is a brilliant example of this and I have found it in other writing groups too, not just children’s poets. I have asked for advice in our WhatsApp group and received it unstintingly. We share information about competitions, even though it means we ourselves will have more rivals for the prize. And when I’ve been doing projects or running workshops, if I want to use a poem or an idea from someone else, no one has ever said no, or demanded royalties, or mentioned any kind of recognition. Of course I always acknowledge other people’s work and ideas, but no one even seems to worry that I won’t; they’re just delighted that their work is being useful. Sometimes I use the work in unfamiliar contexts, as recently when I used Jacqueline Shirtliff’s poem Floordrobe in an ESOL lesson – a lesson in which adults whose first language is not English are learning English. Everyone was really interested to find out how the poem had worked in that setting, and we all learned something from that. The result was greater confidence in the value and usefulness of children’s poetry – a classic win-win! (For more on this see this blogpost.)
The second thing I want to think about is critique. When I first began attending writing workshops the idea of my work being critiqued was terrifying, and sometimes, when people made comments that I disagreed with or pointed out things I was ashamed I hadn’t noticed, my fight-flight-freeze instincts kicked in big time. And I’m not alone. When I run workshops I’ve had to make a rule that people can’t introduce their work by saying this isn’t very good. When you open up your work to critique, it’s vital to be open, and that includes not prejudging it yourself!
Critique, giving and receiving, is a skill – one of the most valuable skills in creative work, especially if you value process as well as end result. When you give it, it’s important both to be honest and to be kind. The simplest way is the feedback sandwich, in which you begin and end with praise and put what you don’t like in the middle. This is a useful technique, but it’s just the start. I think that even if you don’t like the writing, you can respect the writer by honouring the fact that you both recognise that writing is a process, and that the writer has done a brave and generous thing by inviting you to be part of their process.
My wise friend Stephanie Butland says that when people critique, you should take their criticism very seriously, but you need to sit light to any specific ideas they have about changes you should make. As a reader they are hugely important – but they are not the writer, you are. I do find myself making suggestions for changes, but I try to avoid this, and try instead to explain as best I can the reasons why I think a change would benefit the piece.
As the recipient of critique it’s vital, as I said, to be open. Your writing is your baby, but just like your baby, it’s growing up, and I hope you don’t want it to be still living with you, letting you cook for it and do its laundry into its thirties! Learning to calm the fight-flight-freeze response, to listen carefully and take seriously people’s criticisms takes a bit of time but it’s really rewarding. It doesn’t mean you agree with every piece of critique – but if you don’t it’s still really helpful because you have been given the opportunity to see more clearly why you are sticking to your guns on this one.
At heart, giving and receiving critique is a great way to mature as a writer, to lean into process and to learn and grow. I have been aware lots of times of how generously people have responded to work that is unfinished at best. This kindness hasn’t made me softer on my work, but it is making me a better critic of it – and sometimes people notice potential I hadn’t been aware of, which is very exciting indeed. Kind honesty is possible. It takes practice and commitment and it’s worth working at because it is a pearl of great price – and incidentally this is true not just in the writing arena; it’s a wonderful life skill. I want to add my thanks to Barbara’s to Zig Zag and all of the writers who have helped me so far and who will help me as I go further and deeper into the lifelong process of becoming a writer.