murder.booklocker.com

I recently joined an online group that calls itself the Chicago Writers Association. It’s a new experience for me. The few times I’ve gone to groups online there’s been so much garbage to wade through that it hardly seemed worth it for one lone nugget. I signed up for this forum only to discover that almost no one uses it! [Some of them didn't even know how to log in]

Then a day or two after I joined, my in-box began to fill with email from different members of the group. I was intrigued by the topics and contributed a short response here and there. But by the end of the day, the email was full of the original comments AND the responses — multiplied by several users. There had to be a better way.

Upon asking the group’s leader, I was told that I could opt to have the comments and responses collected into a digest format, complete with a mini table of contents and links at the top. Now I can keep an eye on what’s happening, although not in real time unless I navigate to the website I guess. It’s still better than twenty messages a day — all repeating what went before.

While I’ve already learned some helpful things, about publishing, for instance, I am amazed that the folks in the group prefer not to use the forum. I admit that there is an informality and spontaneity to both email and the digest that might be missed with the forum. On the other hand, the information that the group shares remains with just the few on the list.

I mention the group now because I’m still learning how best to participate. One of the things that drew me the most was the opportunity to have others critique your work. I have a few short stories that I would love some feedback on.

But just today I got a critique of a published piece. The author is a person whose writing I enjoy and who has decent credentials. While I appreciate that he took the time to do the critique, I can’t help wondering what was behind some of the things he said. Maybe it’s the teacher in me. Not that some of what he said wasn’t right on target — it was. But there was no kindness, no gentleness, no hint of praise anywhere. No help for how to make it better other than to abandon it and start over.

Frankly, I can abuse myself just fine thank you. I don’t need anyone else to do it for me. What would have been helpful would have been comments like, “Where were you going with this?” Not, “This just plain doesn’t work.”

So while I hope to submit a short story or two to this writers association that I am now a member of, I can’t help feeling just a tad leery. What kind of people are they? How will they treat my work? With the respect that I hope to give theirs when asked for a critique? I’ll let you know.