Critique Partners: Why you need them AND your big girl panties to make it

Here’s a shocking fact that I’ve struggled to wrap my brain around: I’m not, by nature, a brilliant and engaging writer in my first, oh say, ten drafts. I know, I know. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?

My love/hate relationship with critiques dates back to my days in my MFA program. At that point, I was on a mission to save the world one godawful, self-absorbed poem at a time. No, seriously. Stop laughing. I wanted to be the next Anne Sexton, minus the whole suicide thing.
But the problem was, my classmates were deep and I was shallow. They talked about Marxism in under-developed countries and I had to google “Marxism” to determine it was named after some guy named Karl who thought a lot.

They were children of wealthy South Americans, it seemed for the most part, and I was a single mom who worked fulltime by day and wrote/attended graduate school fulltime by night. I read their words and most of them flew straight over my head. They critiqued my poems and said I was too plain spoken, that I laid my meaning out there on the page without trying to make the reader work for it. Work for it? I want the reader to pay for it…understanding my meaning should be part of the cost they set down, right?

And there, friends, began my journey into romance writing. If there was anything on this planet that I was born to do, writing happily ever after for characters who have painfully cool names is it.

I have found in romance writing, a kinship with women just like me. They work. They raise children. They fight with their husbands/boyfriends/moms/dads. They struggle with the realties of day-to-day life without losing focus on their dreams. These are my peeps, honest and true, and I look back on those self-important poetry days and laugh at myself. I was one beret shy of a life self-indulgence and bad writing.

But even with the better subject material (daddy issues got old—only so many poems you want to read about a dead beat dad before everyone is so over it) and wide open canvas to create on, I do not write in a vacuum. The publishing industry, romance in particular, is a living, breathing thing that shifts, grows, contracts—and sometimes gobbles you up whole.

You cannot possibly do the hard work of creating your story and still objectively see how well it fits in with the harsh world outside your computer screen. You need help. Tough, compassionate, and honest help. You need a critique partner (or, if you’re lucky enough, a whole gang of them!)

Let’s be honest. Critiquing and receiving critiques ain’t always easy. It sure ain’t fun to pop open a less-than-glowing take on what you thought was your best chapter to date. Having clichés exposed every other line really does take some of the shine from your day—but let’s face it—you need to be told when what you’re doing isn’t on the right track.

In the short months I’ve been part of my group, I’ve had moments where I wonder if I’m crazy. Putting yourself out there week after week to have your flaws exposed and your brilliant ideas brought down a few notches isn’t great for the self-esteem. But I’ve learned (after a few bombs delivered in the form of rejection letters), that self-esteem and ego really have no place in the pre-published author’s toolbox.

Sure, when I’m driving a Bently and Harlequin Presents has just couriered my 100-book contract to my butler, I’ll rest on my laurels. But in the meantime, I’m counting on my critique partners to save me from myself and give it to me straight (hence the “big girl panties” part.)

So thanks, girls. Really. Sometimes I mope for a few days when you beat up on my heroine, but you’re wonderful at what you do and I’d be lost without you.

Xoxo!