Hey, I got a nice thank you for one of my critiques this morning! Yay! .

You know, it's really difficult to critique this way, especially with my complex relationship with critiquing. I don't know these people, and when I'm doing this, I have no way of knowing how it's being taken--there's no body language, no way of knowing if I'm overstepping or sounding cruel or going too far.

I try to think how I would feel if I got a crit from me, but there's no way of knowing how another person feels. The writing group I was in years ago was so toxic that I've got a different touchstone with critiquing than others seem to have. I was so affected about being slammed for so long that sometimes I wonder if I do this sort of behavior, too. It's a constant battle of checking and rechecking.

See, I've come to feel that critiquing is an artform. It's like dancing in a way, coming from a place that this is a gift from a writer, a dancing partner, who is then trusting that I won't clomp all over his or her feet. I'm not insane about this--this isn't my crazy spot , but it's my own visualization that I use so I can hold back from being a rampager.

My writing group began from a writing class I took, and we really got along, so we started meeting. Which, btw, is a great way to start or join a group, so I do highly recommend it. Anyway, it started out great, but it devolved into this weird, co-dependent mess. I won't go into details, well, I probably will, over time. The outcome was that the non-writers of the group were the powerhouses, the ones who could trash the rest of us.

I responded by writing stories that were shorter and shorter, as these seemed to make smaller targets. Eventually I stopped writing altogether. It got so bad that, once, one of the main powerhouses brought in her novel for us to read. I guess she had the idea it was perfect; I don't know, but I critiqued it the way she had always done my work.

I (none of us in the group) didn't hear, didn't hear, didn't hear, but figured she was going over the comments. About two months later, she walked up to me with the manuscript in her hand, holding it flat against her stomach.

I smiled and said, "Oh, good, you want to talk about it?"

She glared at me, very still, and said, "You were upset about your dad dying, weren't you?"

I said, "Well--no, he had cancer--" but it's getting confusing.

She said, "You said these things on my manuscript because you were upset about your dad dying, weren't you?" And this time, she shoves it forward, so it hits me in the stomach, edge on.

We go through all this again, but the second time, she hits me harder.

Well, I ended up backing down and saying that yes, that was it.

I look back now and realize that this was likely the best thing that could have happened. On several levels, I learned a lot and I still hold to these lessons. I can take any critique and smile through the whole thing. I know to protect my work; if someone starts taking it and me over, I back out and refuse access. I think it's made me a kinder critiquer than I might otherwise have been; I think about the person behind the work, too. I learned that if you write for your writing group or for a mentor, you're screwed.

Other things, too, stem from that experience, but the rest of the story is that the writing group did fall apart a few months after this (that's another story!) and three months after that I had my first pro sale, so there you go I loooove those happy endings.

That group lasted in this terrible form for ten years. It's the years I mourn. What was I thinking; how could have I been so stupid? I am not blaming anyone else for any of this, though; I should have seen what was happening and not taken the easy path that I did choose and take. Oh, well, next lifetime, I'll do better