Author: skzb

I play the drum.

Ultimate, Iron-Clad, Final Rules On Critique Groups

I got an email asking my advice about forming a critique group. I answered, but I’m going to expand on it here, so if I get asked again I can just point.

A couple of things by way of introduction: First, get it out of your head that you need a writers group.  You don’t.  You need to write.  If you get as lucky as I did, you can find a group that helps; but you’re just as likely to find one doesn’t, or is even harmful.   Second, the point of a critique group is not to improve the manuscript (though that is a very nice bonus), it is to train the editor who lives in the back of your head.   If you are very good at revisions, then skip the critique group and just hang out with your friends and drink coffee and scotch and argue about politics and season 6 of “Buffy.”

There, that said, if you do form one, what should it be like?  Fortunately for you, I know the answer.  Herewith, the Exactly Right Way to do it, and no other way will work.  I actually believe that, except that I can point to groups that violate every one of these rules and work just fine.  So, oh well.

And note I’m talking about a group that meets in person; for those of you meeting electronically, I have no idea, but I suspect much of this is different.  So, then, without further ado, here is the Ultimate Truth about writers groups.

1. The correct number of people is 5-7.  Any fewer and you don’t have enough diversity of opinion; any more and it becomes  a pain for everyone to talk.

2. You must respect every member as a writer, a critic, and a person.  That last one is not just something I’m saying because it sounds good; it has immediate, practical value.  Here’s why:  At some point, Jim Douchebag is going to say something about your book that makes you go, “Oh, crap.  He’s right.”  And you’ll fix it, because you have to.  And for the rest of your life, every time you look at that book you’ll go, “Fucking Jim Douchebag has his greasy thumbprint on my beautiful book!”  So don’t go there.  Don’t work with anyone whose greasy thumbprint will upset you.

3. Do not have a leader.  I mean, seriously.  What the fuck?  A leader?  Pfui.

4. None of this read aloud bullshit.  You pass out manuscripts ahead of time, find out when people can get together (another reason for the small number: it’s manageable), and talk about what you’ve read.

5.  None of that artificial crap about how long people get to talk.  First, you go around with general comments–the sort where it doesn’t really apply to any specific moment in the book.  Then you go through it chapter by chapter, page by page, even sentence by sentence if necessary (“My next comment is on page 41.” “I have something on page 38” “Go fish.”).  I’d skip the persnickety copy-editing type details (though it’s nice if someone marks those for you and then hands you the marked-up manuscript after the meeting), but on the other hand, sometimes grammar can be very useful.  In fact, having a grammarian in the group is really, really nice (bless you, Pamela, and bless you again).

6. Mention passages, scenes, sentences that you like.  This is not about stroking the writer’s ego.  It’s because two years from now, when you’re gleefully reading the book that you helped with, and your favorite passage is missing because no one told the writer it was good, you’ll feel like an idiot.

7. Do not be afraid to argue.  I mean, the writer shouldn’t argue, but there’s nothing wrong with strong disagreement among the critics. If someone likes a particular way of handling something, and you thought it sucked, that is a good thing. Argue, and let the writer listen to the argument; the writer will then be able to form a useful opinion, and possibly even pull a general rule out of it.  (General rules and laws about how to write or how not to write are the Big Bonus Prize.  You can’t make them happen, but when they do it’s the big payoff.)

8. The argument (see above)  is over when the writer says it is.  (We use the code-phrase, “Thank you.  I’ll think about it.”)

9. Oh, right. You meet as often as you need to in order to cover as much writing as the group is doing.

I may be adding stuff as people point things out, but in general, there. The final and ultimate truth about writers groups, and anything else is a mistake.

Except that, yeah, well, never mind.

 

Presidential Crime

I was listening to NPR yesterday. They were talking about the information the NSA was collecting on phone records.  In the course of the conversation, there was an offhand remark to the following effect: “Obama is doing the same thing Bush did, although now it may be legal.”

Now, there are a lot of places to go with this. We can discuss whether it actually is legal, and we can chuckle about how, in effect, we’re now in the fourth term of Bush’s presidency.   We can talk about how they skimmed past the “may be.”  But what hit me at once was something different: a journalist casually mentioned that a President of the United States had committed crimes, and then breezily went on to other matters. The fact that the President had committed a crime was treated (correctly) as simply something everyone knew, and at no point was there the least hint there could, would, or should ever be any sort of prosecution for it.

How far have we come?  Think about it.  A major news organization mentions in passing that a President has committed a crime, and it isn’t even worth a pause in the conversation.

Are you angry yet?  Disgusted?  Appalled?  I am.

 

SFWA Bulletin Stuff: All I have are questions

If there’s anyone who doesn’t know what this is about, I envy you and will not provide you with any links. You’re happier not knowing. Smile, nod, and skip this post.

1. Some say that in their column in issue #201, Resnick and Malzberg concentrated on, or at least spent a lot of the time, discussing the attractiveness of certain women in the field.  Others say there was one brief passing mention of one woman being attractive.  I’d very much like to read that column; does anyone know where it can be found on line?

2. I recently came across the claim that some women who were new to the field were intimidated by older, more established writers who can destroy their careers.  Well, on the one hand, this is obviously nonsense: I’ve never heard of an editor who would accept, “This person pissed me off, don’t buy stories from her,” from any writer no matter how “established.”  But on the other hand, might there be the perception that established writers can destroy a new writer’s career? If so, then the intimidation is real, even if the established writers aren’t aware of it (a scary thought yo).  Anyone know how widespread that perception is?

3. R and M made the claim that “anonymous” people were attempting to “censor” them.  I’ve become convinced the anonymous part is just silly; I’ve yet to see a comment without a name attached. And various of us are debating what “censorship” means in different contexts. But what I haven’t seen is anyone who, before issue number #202, said that their column should be pulled, or that they ought not to have been permitted to say what they did in #201.  It is debatable whether, if that was said, it constitutes censorship; but I’d like to know if it was actually said, and, if so, by how many?

 

On Language, Politics, and Why and How to Argue

Rhetoric.  Rhetorical devices.  Politics.

There’s been a discussion of free speech and censorship lately, falling into the usual camps of, “It isn’t censorship unless a government does it” (clearly nonsense), and overblown statements calling any criticism an attempt at censorship.  My issue isn’t with either of these, it is with the language used.

A few posts back I did a post in which I discussed various political camps using curing cancer as a metaphor.  Most people, I think, got what I was doing (a few didn’t, but that always happens). But when you do something like that, you aren’t trying to convince anyone of your position on the major issue. What I mean is, anyone who read that and had the reaction, “Oh, gee, he’s right. I’ll become a socialist now,” isn’t someone I want on my side.

The point of something like that is to draw some distinctions. Ideally, those who read it, while still not agreeing with me, went, “Okay, now I’m a little clearer on how he views the difference between a liberal and a pseudo-leftist.”  I consider that valuable. If someone who reads that finds himself, because of events in the real world, questioning his basic assumptions, then maybe some of that will come back and help clarify a few things.  And there’s a second purpose: to help things become more sharp and clear in my own mind.  And a third purpose: it is an argument with those who are in 95% agreement with me for the purpose of making it 96%.  (Also a fourth reason, because it made me smile, but let’s skip that one for now.)

The object of the exercise can be stated as follows: To make distinctions and differences in our minds accurately reflect, as much as possible, the differences and distinctions in the real world. I oppose liberals every bit as much as I oppose conservatives; but they aren’t the same.  I oppose pseudo-leftists as much as I oppose Libertarians; but the differences between them matter.

With that in mind, take another look at the second paragraph above.  In it, I say, “overblown statements calling any criticism an attempt at censorship.”  The trouble with that is, it is exactly what I ought to be showing, rather than simply stating it.  And by failing to do that, I pretty much remove all value from it.  The question is, where are the lines between criticism that attempts to clarify and sharpen issues, and an attempt to shut someone up, and when does the latter become censorship?  Now that is an interesting question, and one I’m going to ignore, because I want to talk about the more general case.

When does one refer to another by a derogatory label? That is, when is it correct to refer to someone as an imperialist, as a reactionary, as a pseudo-leftist? When two conditions apply: 1) it is accurate, and 2) the other is not whom you’re trying to convince of anything.

Were I to try to convince someone that his position was that of a pseudo-leftist, I would explain what I meant by the term, discuss the implications of it, and attempt to show how that person’s positions fit into that category.  When I, in another discussion, refer to someone as pseudo-leftist, I’m not trying to convince that person; my agenda is to make distinctions in the context of another discussion.  Does that make sense?

As part of the conversation mentioned above, some of the more extreme opponents of censorship (which is not, mind you, a bad thing to be) will refer to those who differ with them as “anti-speech” or “pro-censorship.”  What this tells me is, those people are not the intended audience. They are not who you are trying to convince of anything.  If your argument takes the form, “By taking position X, you lend support to excessive censorship because of Y,” then there is an effort to convince those people. If your argument takes the form, “The reason I object to the pro-censorship people is,” then you are attempting to make a different point, aimed at different people.

I bring it up because I sometimes see people using a derogatory label for positions they oppose, and then, apparently, trying to argue with those who hold those positions. This makes nothing more clear or sharp for anyone.  Following a friend’s Tweet, and then link to link to link, I recently came across some Men’s Rights Activists. Seriously, I have nothing to say to those people. I don’t want to convince them of anything. We have no common basis for action or discussion.  But if I did want to argue with them, I wouldn’t say, “The trouble I have with you sexists is…” because convincing them that that label applied would be exactly the goal.

Bottom line point: Do not enter into political discourse without knowing what you want to accomplish and why, after which you can give some thought to how.  “Because he’s wrong,” is not a sufficient reason.  Now, if I can just remember to apply that rule to myself, all will be well.

 

 

 

Open Letter to the Chicago, Illinois Press and Tribune

Sir: I have just read your editorial concerning the horrific events of last Tuesday inst, and you should be ashamed of yourself.  While trying to disassociate yourselves from radical abolitionists, in fact you say the same thing they do: you justify Mr. Brown’s crimes.  Your claim that you abhor his “method” and his “violence” while feeling some sympathy to his “cause” says, in effect, that the blame for inciting servile rebellion–in fact, insurrection–ought to lie with the victims.  It says that Mr. Brown’s efforts to see our sister states awash with the blood of helpless, ravished women and slaughtered children as Negroes rise up with barred teeth and machetes–that all of this is of no consequence.

In fact, abolitionist-extremism is all that matters. Slavery has nothing to do with it. There is slavery in many other places, after all, and in those places you don’t see terrorist fanatics trying to turn happy, peaceful Negroes into mad killers!   No, the issue, the only issue, is terrorism.  Even bringing up the matter of “slavery” is opening a door to these radical abolitionists who want nothing more than to see us bow down to our Negro masters.

As long as there is terrorism and abolitionist extremism, that will remain the only issue.  Mr. Brown should hang, and those who speak sympathetically of his “cause” ought to hang with him.

Sincerely.

A Reader