Writers are an odd lot. Always congregating with our printed offerings of words, eager to be criticized. And yet, it makes sense. So much of what we write doesn’t exist on the page at all. It happens in the imagination of each individual reader. So it follows that we would need to test our work on as many readers as possible before pushing our words out of the nest expecting them to fly.

I have been active in writing critique groups for all my adult life. The first one I remember as feeling like a real group of writers (and not just me making a couple of my friends write poetry together at a Denny’s in Aberdeen) was in 1993 at Hamburger Mary’s in downtown Portland. I had gathered a group of young creatives and convinced them to meet with me regularly at one of the round booths upstairs. At least, that’s how I remember it. (Did Hamburger Mary’s even have an upstairs? I think so.)

Years later, as a transplant college graduate living in Novato, CA, and getting through the first years of teaching, I was lucky enough to get an invite (or maybe I begged for it?) to this amazing group of smart, supportive, and steady women. I kept coming back despite the imposter syndrome raging hard in the presence of these women who had their shit together so much more than I believed I did.

When I look back on some of my old writer’s groups now, I hold a special nostalgia for each one. Last night, I ran into a woman at a poetry reading who was in a fiction critique group I was part of for years. Seeing her gladdened my heart.

But not all my memories from critique groups have been fond ones. There was the one I couldn’t bear to keep attending because an arrogant male writer wondered aloud “Are there any other women writers worth mentioning besides Flannery O’Connor?” Okay, it wasn’t that one comment. Rather, it was the accumulation of thoughtless comments and ego and the overarching sense that no one in that particular group was trying to get to know me as a writer and help me along my way. There was a time when I thought I had to suffer any critique group that would have me. I now realize that was never true, and I’ll talk a bit more about that further down this post.

In this post I’ll try to distill some lessons I’ve taken in my thirty years of being in critique groups to define what it means to give compassionate feedback, why it’s important, and how to hold healthy boundaries (as well as when it’s not worth the effort).

Compassionate Feedback

While I’ve met plenty of writers who show up ego-strong in their feedback and make it all about them, the point of feedback is to help the person whose work you are reading do better at what they are trying to do. Here are some tips for giving feedback that is more compassionate.

1. Try to get to know them and their work.

Ask lots of questions, such as: What inspired you to write this story? What would you like readers to feel when they read this? And really listen to the answers. If the work is of a genre you are less familiar with, ask them to tell you more about that genre or do a little reading on the side if you’re willing (and have the time). These steps will grow you as a writer, too.

2. Help them do what it is they are trying to do better.

While there are a lot of people who like to talk about rules in writing, there really are no rules. There are infinite possibilities for how a writer might choose to get their story or ideas across. Be wary of when your feedback veers into stylistic choices. If you must make those kinds of comments, be sure to qualify that you are making a stylistic preference comment. For instance, if they are writing in mixed POV and you want to say they should choose one, qualify that. Or don’t say it at all. At worst, you disrupt the natural process of the writer figuring out their own style over time based on feedback.

3. Always point out some things you think they are doing well.

And be honest about it. Sometimes this can be hard. Find something. And point to a specific moment where you saw this good thing happening. Writing is hard. Don’t miss an opportunity to give someone encouragement along the way. Assume that wherever they are now, they will be a better writer down the road if they keep trying. Give them a reason to keep trying.

4. Be aware of your own bias.

We spend so much time liking and not liking things. The impulse is instinctual. Recognize the biases you bring to a piece you are giving feedback on and try to compensate for them with empathy, and perhaps a little research. Be aware if you prefer a fast-moving plot while the piece you are critiquing is a slow-moving character piece, and resist suggesting more plot to them.

5. Communicate what you are still curious about.

Write down lots of questions about things you were curious about. This sounds and feels a lot better than comments like ‘confusing’. We too often focus on commenting only about what’s on the page. But what’s not on the page? What do you want to know more about? Showing up curious naturally gives the writer an engaged reader.

6. Remind them of your limitations.

You are just one reader and it doesn’t hurt to remind them of that, especially when you have a lot of constructive feedback to give. You could even go so far as to share a humbling a story of a time you struggled in your writing. No matter how practiced we become, we are all still vulnerable humans, writing our hearts out to connect with other humans. It doesn’t hurt to say things like, “this is just one reader’s response” or “maybe this is reader error, but…” You are one reader who shows up with biases and the blind spots that might come with those. There is a place for the brazen confidence we seem to worship so much in this world. That place is not here, when you are giving feedback on the best another writer could do.

Of course, when you do this, relationships develop and these might shift a little as trust develops. But trust is something earned, not given just for walking through the door.

Holding Healthy Boundaries

I know that some of this flies in the face of the idea that writers need a ‘tough skin’ to get better. I don’t disagree, but I do disagree on what some people think that means. Having tough skin does not mean you have to consider any feedback that isn’t given with care and compassion for your work. Period. And while I don’t advise that you run from groups who have members who lack compassion in their feedback full stop, I also advise that you do. If you can let their feedback run like water off a duck’s back, stay in and hold space for a better, more compassionate way. If not, go shopping for another group. Also, talk to others in the group when you have concerns about other group members. This applies to any situation that makes you not look forward to your critique group. Sometimes the results might surprise you. Let me tell you story about that.

There is a group that I lead online. It’s one group of a few on a platform that is working really well for me right now. We’ve been an active group for a few years now, and I credit that group with helping me get my first short story collection finished, and another one halfway done. There are and have been many talented writers willing to go above and beyond on feedback over the years. I adore the group.

However, for two of those years we had a member who, time after time, submitted work full of depictions of female characters that would make the best of the best on the Men Write About Women Reddit thread. Not just that, his characters were often narcissistic pedophiles, usually with added doses of mental health problems. Add to that the fact that most feedback landed with a dull thud against his inflated ego. I dreaded reading his work every time, saving it for last. I even complained to Chris about it. But the group never said anything to me. What’s more is that these strong women writers kept joining and then leaving without a word. I said nothing and did nothing because I thought that meant I had the coveted thick skin.

Last summer I took a break from the group while traveling. Upon returning, I went to read the stories for the next meeting. Again, I saved his for last and complained to Chris. Then, I decided to do a little digging. Just a few emails, one to a friend and long-standing member who I trusted a lot and who gives the most compassionate feedback I’ve ever gotten who, when asked directly about the problem, shared his true thoughts. I emailed the platform moderators asking for advice, and also emailed members who had left asking if they had any feedback to offer the group. One open-ended question is all it took for them to share how uncomfortable the felt because of this one writer.

In the end, I wound up booting him from the group, and now the group is thriving. We even have an offshoot group now for story discussion. I learned so much about facilitating groups from that single situation. Never again will I keep my concerns quiet for fear of not being tough-skinned enough.

I also work as a writing coach and love helping writers gain confidence, set goals, and develop their work. For more information on coaching, email me at eatyourwords.lizshine@gmail.com.