Navigating Writers Groups: Put on Your Editor’s Goggles

A writer asks Gina about the sting of harsh feedback in a writers group — and what to do when “constructive” criticism doesn’t seem to be very constructive at all. Gina responds with discernment, compassion, and a quiet invitation to raise the game.

Dear Gina, 

I belong to a writers’ group that meets monthly. There’s about 20 or so people at each meeting. We get together and talk about what we’re working on and share some of our writing. I mostly enjoy the group and look forward to getting together. There are a couple people, however, who don’t share their writing very often.

I sometimes wonder how much writing they’re actually doing? But they always have plenty of criticism to give. I’m writing a fantasy novel and last time I brought a scene I was stuck on. One of these people commented that this isn’t a genre they usually read, then went on to say they just didn’t get it. Their comments hurt.

I want to be there to support other writers, and some have become my friends. But I’m having a hard time participating in the group and getting feedback from people who aren’t sharing their own work, or when they say hurtful and not very helpful things. 

Signed, 

Wistful Writer 

Dear Wistful Writer, 

Big hugs to you. I know how it feels to get harsh feedback, and in front of other people, too. My Celtic ancestry shows as my pale cheeks turn red, and sometimes my eyes well up from the hurt and shock. If I’d been sitting next to you, I’d have patted your back and slipped you a tissue. I’m delighted by your question, though, because it’s important to consider how a writer’s group influences our creative process.

The Reader Makes the Writer

Literary theory tells us that writing is only completed by the reader. That is—as attributed to Ernest Hemingway—for a story to have power, it must be felt by the reader.

It is in the reader’s experience that writing becomes a work of art. That’s the beginning and the end of the creative process, but that messy middle of revising and editing and adding and cutting is a tender and dynamic phase.

Sharing our work with others while it is still very much in process is a vulnerable and charged space for the writer. For me, once a piece is published, it is out in the world, and I can let it go (kind of). But, when I’m still writing, I am enmeshed in those words and sensitive to how they will (or won’t) land with my reader. 

The Courage of Sharing your Work

It’s a courageous act to show up at the page and write our words, much less reveal them to someone else and ask for feedback. I also commend the bravery it takes to join a writers’ group in the first place!

In my experience, most of these groups are self-selected; they are open to aspiring writers of all levels of experience. If the group’s purpose includes sharing works-in-progress, writers are highly likely to get feedback from people who are less than qualified to give truly constructive criticism, unfortunately. And, there’s some degree of social pressure on readers to overstate how much they like a piece to avoid hurt feelings and to encourage their fellow writers. 

Finding Constructive Criticism in Harsh Feedback

Of course, it always feels better to receive opinions when they are coming from some sense of good faith and honest respect. This kind of constructive criticism is much easier to integrate. Then we come to the individuals that you’ve described who criticize harshly and don’t truly contribute to the writers group.

When they speak out, some interior discernment is called for – because even if someone’s feedback was not necessarily rooted in a genuine or positive intention, we can still choose to use it to our advantage.

If we can transform harsh feedback into an invitation to improve our work, we become truly unstoppable as writers.

It’s not about closing ourselves off to the sting – we need access to our tender parts to create powerful writing. As writer Anne Lamott puts it:

“If something inside of you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability.”

This is what makes sharing your work an act of bravery in the first place.

In that moment of bravery, we can find the strength and clarity to untangle the intention behind the feedback and the feedback itself. When we release any charge the critic might be bringing, we open ourselves up to finding the gems that might be hiding in their critique.

Shifting the Perspective: Put on your Editor’s Goggles

There is something very powerful about this reframe. Because once we decide that any criticism has the potential to grow our work – no matter how it’s delivered – then the focus shifts. We learn to look past the delivery and see what’s actually useful: to spot the one sharp insight buried under a careless comment.

Even in the example of someone who just “doesn’t get” the writing, this can still provide insight into the type of person who would. Every story has its native audience: the readers whose hearts it speaks to, whose questions it answers, whose imaginations it sparks. When a reader says they don’t connect with a work, they’re helping define where that story’s reach ends. In that sense, it’s a very useful boundary marker. And with enough of those markers, a writer begins to see the contours of their own voice more clearly – who it is meant for, and who it isn’t.

It’s a skill, like training your eye to find the single clear detail in a cluttered scene, a diamond in the rough. And once you develop that kind of vision, any feedback you receive can be a gold mine of information, helping you to refine the writing into something future readers will truly treasure.

Think back to the last time you received feedback that stung. Was there anything valid there in terms of the writing itself, and what you want to achieve for your reader? This is the invitation for all writers—to take a step back from our own work and put on a pair of editor’s goggles!

As we practice our craft, it is imperative to become more objective with our own work. Do you think their criticism is valid? If so, incorporate the changes into your next revision. If not, do your best to shake it off and not ruminate on this person or their statements. It’s a strange mental loop I fall into, as well. When we give useless criticism too much attention, it drains our creative spirit and slows down the work. 

The “right” Writing Community

Another area for discernment is to consider what type of writers’ group would be most helpful to you? Creatives who are on the verge of calling themselves “writers” may accept a group’s norms without much question. Just to be accepted is enough! Then, as we study masterworks, write more, and publish our work, we may outgrow the very group we aspired to be a part of a short while ago. That’s OK! Finding a new group may very well raise the game for you. And, hopefully, the cycle begins again. 

Observing Writers Group Dynamics

If the social aspect of your group is the heart of why you’re participating, that’s a wonderful thing! Attend the monthly gatherings in that spirit of friendship and collegiality. If you find that sharing your work is again a painful experience, and if you witness similar treatment of other writers, consider talking with the group’s formal leaders about it. Sometimes group dynamics drift from desired norms, and it takes another kind of courage to hold a mirror up to those behaviors and invite the group to remember its purpose. You want to be a part of a group that respects its members, yes? Your willingness to speak up will help others, and yourself.  

Celebrating the Stretch

Above all, dear Wistful Writer, I celebrate your progress. First of all, just to have work to share is a major accomplishment. Then, sitting in the dis-ease of unhelpful feedback and sorting through that is a level of artistic engagement that you didn’t have before you decided to become a writer. And, big applause for how this situation stretches you!

P.S. I’m selective about the people I share my work with. I have a developmental editor, a “me for me,” who knows my story well and gives me wise direction. As I pursued my own developmental editing credential, I gained a cohort of fellow writers whose friendship and encouragement I value. The book Finishing School gave me a format for a different kind of writers group—one that encourages writers, celebrates accomplishments, but doesn’t expect that work will be shared. This format helps me tend to my writerly life without subjecting my work to scrutiny at a vulnerable phase of the process. When we gather in MRO’s Creative Space, it’s in this same spirit of support and inspiration for our craft. Please join us!