Critters^TM Workshop

"Brutal Honesty" as a Bad Thing

Here's an exceprt from (pro author) Bruce Taylor's MAGIC OF WILD PLACES on his experience in a workshop that had a mean-spirited "tear you down" approach. This is the exact opposite of Critters' approach, notably the rules and Diplomatic Phrasing. (And which seems to have been successful!) Bruce writes:

...

At this point, I wish I would have known what I was in for and that the workshop appeared to be based on the est (Erhard Seminars Training) model, popular at that time, which came across, I soon discovered, as if based on this expectation: "We're going to rip you to shreds and it's up to you to overcome it and rise like a phoenix from the ashes."

But the real goal, had it been stated clearly, was really this: "Stop fucking around and be the best writer you can be! Take yourself seriously!" So when you weren't writing what was perceived as your best, the comments came as: "What's wrong with you? Why are you wasting our Xerox budget?" "This really sucks. I can't believe this character!" "This is just creative typing." "Why the hell can't you punctuate?"

Ah, yes, so familiar. It was as if everyone was giving voice to all the unspoken criticism in my family. The covert made overt.

I was stunned.

One of the older students dropped out the next day saying that she had a family emergency. She never retuned.

I had recovered enough, still emboldened and empowered from the traveling, to try again. I read Cannery Row by John Steinbeck, wrote out a few paragraphs of the book longhand, then in the same voice, with which I was comfortable, wrote a story, "Jade's Bar," turned it in to get copies made, and passed it around a day or so later.

"God, what a stupid story."

"Why are you wasting our Xerox budget?"

"Too slight, nothing here."

"Really dumb."

"I'll pass."

"It's not a bad story but needs some work."

And so on.

Feeling really wounded. Unconscious tape running full speed in my head; Dad was right. What made me think I could--I'm a failure--I thought this was good--just not good enough. And the pain, the shame burned through me. And I wanted to turn in other material but it wasn't science fiction but I thought it my best writing but what if I turned it in and that got trashed--didn't dare. Won't let you take that away from me, at least let me hold on to the illusion that I know I can write well but I sure as hell ain't gonna let you look at it. At least I'll spare myself that one, last humiliation, that one, last dagger into my creative soul.

I had no way of knowing that, right then, with that unconscious decision, I must have been at the crossroads my father was at, even perhaps the same age he was, when he got his work criticized and making the same decision: hide lest your worst fears be confirmed.

After everyone had their say, Avram Davidson[*] looked at me for a long while and said quietly, "See me after class."

And to myself I said, "Oh, shit. This is it." With great trepidation I went up to him and he said, "When I first saw your stuff I wasn't really sure you could write, but this is a wonderful story. Here's a cover letter for Fantasy & Science Fiction, let Ed Ferman (the editor of the magazine at the time) see it." He paused, and looked at me so gently and said, "You write off-beat stuff and it's good, just be aware that not everyone is going to get it. But that's the way it is. You just keep writing it."

[*]Avram Davidson, former editor of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, one of the most esteemed editors and magazines any time, any place, any where.]