Katlyn Stechschulte
“Beautiful.”
If I had $10 for every time I heard this word during my first MFA residency, my full tuition for the residency would be back in my bank account.
Beautiful. This word, which I reserve for something unique or rare, something that makes me take pause from life, was assigned to just about every reading, poem, essay and excerpt.
It astonished me that a group of writers—who have such a deep reverence for words—could throw this particular one around so carelessly.
Don’t get me wrong: There were some beautiful pieces. But there were also some mediocre ones, some confusing ones, and some that flat out needed tender, loving care. Yet, somehow, just about every single piece was deemed “beautiful.”
I know writers are among those who can find beauty in atypical places, and arguments can be made that beauty is everywhere, or beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And yes, like beauty, taste in writing is subjective, so a piece that I find dull someone else could find beautiful. But by the end of the second week of residency I had grown numb to the word. Why was I reacting so strongly to the situation?
Words carry value. And when I heard that everything we studied was beautiful, it not only diminished the value of the word, but of the work that was being described by it, as well.
As writers, shouldn’t we be able to assign the most accurate adjective to what we read? Shouldn’t we take the effort to dive a little deeper into our vocabulary troves and find something that is suited for exactly that piece? Or, instead of simply stating “It’s beautiful,” explain why it is beautiful.
I cannot help but think that “beautiful” is becoming a cop-out assessment in the literary world. A pretty crutch. Passive and lazy. If beauty can be found in everything—or is in the eye of the beholder—then there is no need to back a “beautiful” claim with substantiated reasons.
By leaning further into this crutch, inching away from potentially uncomfortable and direct workshop discussions, we are disservicing ourselves and the writing community as a whole. How can we expect an honest and thoughtful evaluation of our own work if we cannot offer one to others? How can we better our writing if we do not know where it shines and where it is lackluster?
Accurately summarizing a piece is a great place to start, but the real benefit in critiquing lies in analyzing writing at a structural level and articulating our analysis into actionable feedback for the author. In order to do this, it is imperative to put aside our personal preferences and stop hiding behind subjective summary terms, and instead read pieces with open minds, uninfluenced by our individual tastes, and be brave enough to provide objective feedback.
Some considerations to make when critiquing a piece:
- What do you interpret the author is trying to accomplish and how successfully does the author realize his or her intentions?
- How accurately does the author structure the work for the intended form? If it is a literary journalism piece, are there enough facts woven in? If it is a braided memoir, does the writer successfully balance and weave the various strands?
- Make note of pacing and rhythm. Were there places you stumbled? Places you couldn’t peel your eyes from the page? Call those out.
- Signal spots where you appreciate detail and mark places where you would like to see more. A character or scene is usually more developed in an author’s mind than on the page.
- Make note of tone and fluidity. What is the overall feeling the piece leaves you with?
When reviewing literature take pause, consider, and form your assessment carefully. You are doing more than commenting: You are setting the bar for the development and creation of quality writing of others, as well as your own.
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Katlyn Stechschulte is a marketing and communications professional and MFA student. Her work has been featured in the Springfield State Journal-Register, Aberdeen American News, and The Columbus Dispatch.
13 comments
Susan Lerner says:
Jan 20, 2015
This is so helpful. Wish all workshoppers would use these questions to critique submissions.
Kyle Stedman says:
Jan 20, 2015
My CNF class starts tomorrow night, and I’ll definitely be sharing this. Thanks!
Tisha Gay Reed says:
Jan 21, 2015
Beautifully beautiful. Ha! Actually, I will be printing this and taping it to my desk so that I can have it to reference. I want you on staff at Ashland!
Brevity: When You Use the Right Words, You Don’t Need Many | These Paths says:
Jan 23, 2015
[…] To read my thoughts on critiquing visit: https://brevitymag.com/craft-essays/beyond-beautiful/ […]
Marie Ann Bailey says:
Jan 30, 2015
My blogging friends and I have frequent online discussions about how to and how not to review books, in particular self-published works. Although you’re writing about workshop critiques, your advice is well suited for reviewing published works, in particular self-published books. It’s never too late to provide A little more honesty and a lot more constructive feedback. Thank you for this post, Katlyn.
Rebecca Burcher Jones says:
Jan 30, 2015
Amen. It’s useless to hear “beautiful” and “I love this!” I don’t take part in a writers’ group or workshop to hear those things. I find that few writers really grasp how to give useful feedback. Your tips are helpful. I think there’s a need for instruction in giving feedback! Classes. Never saw one on this.
Kelsey May says:
Feb 15, 2015
My favorite creative writing professor would not allow the words “This is good” or “I love this” to follow someone’s piece. We were instead told to explain what “worked” or what “didn’t work”, a much harder task than simply stating that I liked someone’s piece.
Sarah Freligh says:
Feb 15, 2015
It was, as you stated, a “first MFA residency,” a setting where strangers are put into a room and asked to perform one of the most intimate functions known to man (with clothes on, that is) — to critique the work of a someone you don’t know and whose work you might not understand or even find worthwhile. It’s a situation that can easily get out of hand without the sure, strong hand of a facilitator, whose job it is the facilitator to set the tone for the workshop and establish the ground rules for critique. Interestingly, you don’t discuss his/her accountability (or lack thereof), but ascribe all blame to your fellow workshop participants in a tone that borders on scorn.
Also, your guidelines are useful for some pieces that have found their focus, voice and structure, but what about first drafts? Should these be judged by the same rigid yardstick that you recommend? I think not.
This is certainly a subject worth discussing and I salute you for your bravery in wading into this difficult and oft-avoided topic. But your argument itself seems–in your words–“passive and lazy.”
Sarah Freligh says:
Feb 15, 2015
It was, as you stated, a “first MFA residency,” a setting where strangers are put into a room and asked to perform one of the most intimate functions known to man (with clothes on, that is) — to critique the work of a someone you don’t know and whose work you might not understand or even find worthwhile. It’s a situation that can easily get out of hand without the sure, strong hand of a facilitator, whose job it is to set the tone for the workshop as well as establish the ground rules for critique. Interestingly, you don’t discuss his/her accountability (or lack thereof), but ascribe all blame to your fellow workshop participants in a tone that borders on scorn.
Also, your guidelines are useful for some pieces that have found their focus, voice and structure, but what about first drafts? Should these be judged by the same rigid yardstick that you recommend? I think not.
This is certainly a subject worth discussing and I salute you for your bravery in wading into this difficult and oft-avoided topic. But your argument itself seems–in your words–“passive and lazy.”
Tamara S. Kirk says:
Mar 4, 2015
Why not start the honesty approach early on? I am 6 weeks away from obtaining my Masters in English and Creative Writing and I especially thought it would be different at this level of education than it is. I hear the word “beautiful” and I cringe. I see the short paragraph written about my short story or poem and I know not much thought was put into that response and I keep thinking, “Something is wrong with this system!” I don’t think we need to be cruel to each other, but if we were discussing a piece of literature, we would put more effort into the pros/cons of the piece. I think it is equally necessary in first drafts. If something is not working, let the writer know why it doesn’t work for you as a reader. Ask questions. Start the actual dialogue. Grow. Learn. Especially in a graduate level course where people should have slightly tougher skins, and an actual desire to improve their work.
Julianna Thibodeaux says:
Aug 13, 2015
I agree with much of what has been said already, and yet I’m wondering where this occurred? As someone said, perhaps it was the first critique session, or early on in the residency. My experience in workshop/critique groups was completely different. There was quite a lot more unnecessary negativity than bland compliments–equally useless “I don’t like that” statements that were not substantiated. There is a delicate balance between constructive nurturing and constructive critiquing that can provide, as you put it, “actionable” suggestions. But writers in the early stages are fragile. (Maybe not just in the early stages, honestly.) As a creative writing teacher, I am a firm believer in guidelines for the critique and make it a policy to go over these in every class I teach. This is intended both to eliminate sour grapes responses and thoughtless and potentially harmful comments and suggestions. I can’t imagine this wouldn’t be a requirement of all creative writing programs. I’m glad you’ve raised the issue.
Marie says:
Jul 15, 2017
I completely agree. I earned a bachelor in English Lit and Creative Writing and had three semesters of fiction workshopping. I also had classes in every semester studying literature. We never ever focused on a word like beautiful to summarize a piece. What you describe is lazy reading and analysis. Writing isn’t about sounding beautiful and in fiction writing, your voice becomes the POV voice. Form is everything and yes, looking for areas where the reader is pulled out of the story, foreshadowing, HOW the writer is controlling pace, and what you think the story is about is what is important. I prefer ambiguous endings, not full circles. IF my character is a jerk, my story’s voice may not be beautiful…lol. I could say so much more.
Tim Chambers says:
Oct 5, 2020
I agree that critiques that begin with “this is beautiful” or “this is amazing!” or “I love this” are waaaay overused. I see this in my upper-level writing courses. I find the same flattery occurs in the art studio, although the perimeters of good art are less defined than in writing; structure isn’t defined by any standards as in verbal or written communication. I much prefer and benefit from a hard critique (not mean, but kind yet firm) any day. Thanks, Katlyn, for calling out the fluff!