…about the value of specific praise

In my day job, whenever I write a motion or a brief, I’m totally ready to have it ripped apart. First up, my colleagues–the damn thing comes back covered in “track changes” and comments. Once it’s gone through that crucible, it goes to opposing counsel and, oh boy, do they EVER tear it apart in their own brief. And once that’s done, the Judge takes over: they skewer your every weakness on oral argument, and then (usually) issue decisive judgment on the merits of your argument in their written order. 

On the plus side, I’m used to it. You start prepping for this kind of negative feedback as soon as you step into law school. The Socratic Method does work–by having someone directly questioning you about your position, you learn how best to defend your argument. But when you get to practice, shit gets real. Are lawyers assholes? Yes. Intentionally? Sometimes. The reality is that our system is adversarial–it forces us into opposing corners in the hopes that “truth” or “the right answer” emerges when the two sides collide. It’s an erudite trial-by-combat.

So why am I talking about this? Because somewhere along the line, I decided that I wanted to be a writer. A fantasy genre fiction writer. Writing the kinds of escapist adventure stories I loved to dive into because the real world (as evidenced by my day job) is full of depressing, angry, harsh realities. 

It’s a different skill set. And, in order to get better at this skill set, I took classes, practiced, and, most importantly, got myself a cadre of amazing critique and writing partners. And you’d think that being a lawyer used to giving and receiving criticism, I’d have it down. 

Nah. 

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do think that my contributions to my groups have added value to the group and to the work product of my peers. Their contributions are patently visible in the quality jump in my books and without them, I’m not sure I’d be agented today. I was pretty sure that I was giving as good as I was getting. 

Until I read this blog post advocating for the power of specific praise when giving critique.  Written by Kaitlin Schmidt. One of my Content Hospital co-founders and an incredibly valuable critique partner. Who, at the time of this blog post, I’d been in a critique group with for a year. One. Whole. Year. Whose critique I had VALUED for one whole year. 

It rocked me. And the more I thought about it, the more it rocked me. Why? I mean, I’d been a teacher before–we’ve all been conditioned to make corrections in a “praise-correct-praise” cycle. And, yeah, lawyer=asshole, so I’ve also been conditioned to look for the weaknesses in someone’s work and dig... But that wasn’t it, or not only it. 

After sitting with it, I realized two things made me uncomfortable. First, I didn’t have an eye for finding the good. That muscle had atrophied while I developed my “weakness-finder” eye. Second, I’m the product of the Eastern European school of thought: Nothing’s ever going to be perfect, so just tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it. The good isn’t really important to acknowledge.

I know there’s therapy for that. I’m there.

So, for the last two months, I’ve been actively trying to apply the Kaitlin method to my creative writing critique groups. (The lawyers are a lost cause…) And here’s what I noticed.

I’m getting better at seeing good writing. 

I know that sounds dumb, but the truth is if you ask writers what makes good writing, you’ll get a million different answers that when condensed generally comes down to “vibes.” By way of an analogy that lawyers would recognize, in 1964, the Supreme Court was asked to rule on an obscenity case. Justice Stewart famously explained that he could not define "hard-core" pornography with a set of rules or a test, but “he knew it when he saw it.” Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, (1964). 

You know that you like something when you read it. But why? Is it perfect grammar? Punctuation? How it makes you feel? Voice? Prose? When you force yourself to focus on those portions of writing that give you the “yum,” you start to see how each of those elements come together to give you that lovely bit of dopamine. It’s not an overnight process. Sometimes, especially early on, I could only tell the author that I got the “yum” but not why. But with practice, or the more I looked at it, I could really point out something that specifically contributed to that “yum.” I’ve praised sentence structure, voice, imagery, evocative language, smooth foreshadowing, you name it. Sometimes it’s one sentence, sometimes it’s the whole damn section. But the longer I work on this, the more I know how to look for it. 

And it’s not limited to my critique group work. It’s adding a layer to my critical reading skills for published works. Since “Reading is Fundamental” (thanks RuPaul), being able to pinpoint “yummy” writing that speaks to me means that I can better articulate what I appreciate reading. Which then means that I can practice that skill and grow as a writer. 

Recipients of specific praise write better.

If this sounds like EXACTLY Kaitlin’s point in her blog post, it’s because it is. There. I said it. She’s right. Pointing out the stuff that’s working (and why it’s working) tells an author what they need to keep doing. Kaitlin gives a concrete example in her post, so I’ll follow suit. One of my writing partners feels she struggles with capturing and distinguishing her characters’ voices. She’s said she can’t tell when narration is in character or feels contrived. She’s been saying that for months. How stupid do you think I felt when I realized I’d never once pointed out where she’d done it perfectly? In the last few months–since implementing Kaitlin’s methods–I’ve noticed both her first draft and her subsequent edits have gotten so much stronger because she’s nailing that character voice more often. 

But the other benefit I’ve seen is that recipients of specific praise write MORE. Or at least don’t quit. And if you think this is a question of “snowflake writers getting their sensitive feelings hurt,” it’s not. Or at least not entirely. 

Don’t get me wrong, praise doesn’t hurt. But I’m desensitized to negative feedback courtesy of lawyering: I get a twinge of “aww” when I get criticism, and then I focus on fixing the issue. But what I never put together until I sat with Kaitlin’s post was that I’ve internalized that negative voice. I struggle to put creative words to paper. I demand perfection of myself even though I KNOW that I can’t attain it, and I certainly can’t attain it on a first draft. I love editing. My words definitely word when I’m editing. But I hate that first draft because I struggle so much to commit words to that damn blank page. I am self-editing–or worse, self-censoring–because I focus only on the “ick.” I can’t get over it and just write. 

What if we take that to the extreme? What if we get to a point where we writers-block ourselves? What if we get so discouraged we stop writing? What if my own brand of asshole-direct-passionate-tactless-focus-on-only-the-bad critique led someone to doubt themselves? To stop trying? What if someone has internalized me–the lawyer=asshole? I don’t mind making opposing counsel want to quit their jobs, but I never want to be a part of the reason someone quits a writing group or bows out of creative writing. I hate what I’ve done to myself–why would I want someone else to suffer like me? 

So, I wondered if it would change if there was equal air-time given to the positives. I still struggle to get words on page (don’t ask me about bison). But, if I focus on my strength for writing dialogue/banter, I write more. It’s like I need that skeleton, because then I can go back and pad it out with action/dialogue tags, setting, movement, and better prose. And I do that FASTER, because I’m more comfortable with editing than the initial drafting. It’s like I’ve hacked my system: if I circumvent my inner asshole by focusing on something I’ve been told I do well, I don’t stop writing. 

And what about my writing groups? Well, I know that at least one of my partners has felt beat down by critique before. In one case, it got to the point that they took a hiatus from writing and weren’t sure they would come back. I can’t draw a direct correlation between the implementation of specific positive praise and their return/renewed participation, but I’m pretty sure that they haven’t walked out of a group meeting feeling beaten down since. It’s made the whole experience of receiving critique so much better.

Knowing what I know now, it’s hard not to feel guilty that I wasn’t doing this to begin with. Yeah, maybe I gave praise, but it was generic and probably felt disingenuous when I spent the rest of my time pointing out all the things that didn’t work for me. And I’m not shy about expressing my opinions, so it probably felt like a full on cross-examination. It’s hard knowing that my failure to give equal time to the positives in writing has sabotaged me and may have sabotaged others. 

All I can say is that I’m grateful for Kaitlin’s insight and the discussions we’ve had about her methods. Kaitlin’s critiques are always amazing–whether constructive or praise, she nails them every time. No wonder she does it professionally. 

I don’t think I’ll get to her level, but I owe it to my writing partners and to myself to keep trying. One piece of specific praise at a time.