How to make each character you write sound different

Jane Eyre

One of the foremost tips for writing dialogue is to make each character sound different.

Easier said than done, right?

Recently, I was reading Lyndsay Faye’s novel Jane Steele, a modern retelling of Jane Eyre where Jane is a murderer. One of the many things I adore about Jane Steele is how unique and endearing so many of the characters are.

Jane SteeleYou could easily cherry-pick a piece of dialogue from Jane Steele and match it to its speaker simply by knowing the following:

  • The butler, Sardar Singh: a man of careful words and prone to phrases like, “So often the way with _____.”
  • The ward, Sarjara Kaur: an eager girl who references horses every other sentence at least.
  • Mr. Charles Thornfield: openly bold, sarcastic, and teasing. He participates in exchanges consisting of mock insults, calling Sarjara “Young Marvel” or “tiresome changeling,” for example.
  • Jane: has a tendency for foul, unladylike swearing.

This makes Jane Steele an excellent example of how to write distinct character voices. By giving your characters a quirk as to how they conduct themselves in conversation, you can make them vivid and memorable.

How to write something longer than a short story

Writing novels GIF

You’d think if you struggle with word count, you should forget about novels and just write short stories, right? Nope. YOU CAN WRITE A NOVEL. Take it from me. Underwriting is practically my middle name.

If you get stuck after 2,000 words, maybe you’re not planning enough. Maybe you’re “pantsing” — or sitting down to write without much more than an idea and seeing where it takes you.

But 50,000+ word beasts don’t get written that way. Novels require outlines, or you’re gonna get stuck a lot. Now, everyone’s pre-writing stage is different. And there is such a thing as doing too much brainstorming and not enough of the actual writing, so you need to determine the balance that works for you.

Here’s a glimpse at my outline and “story bible” for my WIP. I have five major buckets:

Ideas:

  • My original brainstorming of my seed idea, along with the trigger moment where my story begins and the key scenes in my protagonists’ pasts that shaped their worldviews.
  • A rough sketch of the defining scenes that I knew I wanted in my novel.
  • A bullet-point outline of my whole book. I’ll slot in new scenes here and there, and I refrain from plotting out the next act until I’m done writing the previous one.
  • Main plots and subplots, with chapter-by-chapter developments. This helps me see how each thread is developing and whether any lack substance or depth. Occasionally, I’ll add new subplots while writing the book.
  • Stuff for agents: my query, theme, paragraph summary, elevator pitch, professional synopsis, etc.
  • Notes on the voice of my characters, as well as any slang and sayings unique to my world. I worry about this more in later drafts, but I like to have something to consider as I begin.
  • An ongoing list of things to fix in revision. While I’m working on the first draft, I’ll put stuff here if I’m worried something isn’t working so that I remember to come back to it later.
  • Acknowledgments (so I know who to thank should my book be published).

Characters:

Profiles on each of the central characters. Details about their physical description, personality, moments in their pasts that sparked their “misbelief” (worldview), and ideas on how they will fail and succeed throughout the novel.

As author Lisa Cron says, you can’t “write about the most difficult, life-altering series of events in the life of someone [that you] know absolutely nothing about.”

Rules of the world:

This is where I do my world-building! I take notes on my world’s history, cultures, creatures, religions, locations, and anything else that comes up in my story.

This adds dimension and can be beefed up as you go along, but it’s good to have a decent idea of how things work before you dive in.

Actual research:

Real-world research to lend credibility to different aspects of my story or to inspire fictional elements.

Examples: plants used for healing, types of geography/terrain, how archery or blacksmithing works, and so forth.

Scenes in development:

This is where I keep my scene cards, track my overall progress (chapter/act word counts and what I accomplished each week), and “guiding principles” — memos to myself about bigger picture considerations to keep in mind as I write.

In my pre-writing process, the scene cards come last, and I develop each immediately before writing that scene in my novel.


Writing catI don’t necessarily do all this work upfront. My real-world research, for example, I complete as needed as I’m writing the book, and I may come back to the character profiles to flesh them out more if I’m feeling stuck with a character.

But that’s pretty much it. It’s a growing, organic document, and pre-writing spawns a lot of ideas for plot, subplot, and character development.

I keep all these files in Scrivener, but some people prefer a binder and paper. It’s your choice.

What does you pre-writing process, outline, and “story bible” look like?

5 tips for staying motivated when writing makes you depressed

Booze GoT GIF

Writing is not always fun and joy. In fact, I’d say a lot of writing is not fun and joy. But it is deeply rewarding, and that’s why we do it.

Right now, I’m finding it hard to move on from one manuscript (in the query trenches) and focus on the next. There are no guarantees in writing, and when you’ve put years and tons of work into a book, learning to be okay with possibly nothing happening with it can be soul-crushing.

So how do you stay motivated and optimistic in the face of rejection?

Take a break

First thing’s first: Don’t buy into the myth that you have to write every day. You don’t.

I find that I operate best when I hold myself to a schedule that works for me. Consistency is what matters. I consider sitting down for a writing session (including preparing/building scenes or doing research — whatever keeps me grounded in my book’s world) five days a week to be a respectable, manageable goal.

That’s just me. Find what works for you, and for god’s sake, cut yourself some slack. You are not a machine. You can still (and should) have a semblance of a social life, even as a writer. It’s healthy for you.

Forget about numbers

Some writers keep on track by giving themselves daily, weekly, or monthly word count goals. I find this incredibly demotivating.

Instead, I focus on accomplishing quarterly goals. To push myself, I might set a goal like, “Finish Act I.” When it’s done, it’s done.

I always freeze up when I look at word count, especially since I’m an underwriter. My internal dialogue goes something like, Ugh god this scene was only 800 words how am I supposed to write a 80,000 word novel at this rate, this is IMPOSSIBLE. Cue the self-doubt and worthlessness.

That’s bad. Stop it. Don’t worry about word count. You can always add more in revision.

Watch (or read) something that inspires you

Sometimes just listening to or reading the advice of other writers can give you the shot of inspiration you need to get your butt back to work.

“Booktube” and the community of authors/writers on YouTube always gets me pumped and excited about stories — both reading and writing them. I love Ava Jae, Kim Chance, Rachael Stephen, Lindsay Cummings, and Kristen Martin, for example.

And there’s no better reminder of why you’re in the writing game than reading a book so damn good that it makes you want to learn to be that good, too.

Look at the bigger picture

Writing is hard, but guess what? You’re a rockstar. You’ve got this. You’ve written thousands of words before this — hell, whole manuscripts, even. And you’re getting better every step of the way.

Becoming a good writer is practice. We lose sight of the big picture because writing a single book (over one, two, or more years) is the equivalent of one dance performance, one bicycle race, or one marathon. Ain’t nobody got our level of determination.

This Is Fine

Fucking embrace it

I know it sucks (believe me, I do), but sometimes you just gotta work through the pain.

If you hate the thought of sitting down to write, or if you think you’re a shitty writer — well, you can still feel that and put fingers to keys, or pen to paper.

Use that anger and frustration and agony as fuel — forget all about showing others you can do it. Show YOURSELF you can do it.

It doesn’t have to be perfect — you just need to get the words out. So yes, you can get this piece of shit done. You WILL be an author.

Because you’re a fucking badass, that’s why.

Understanding little things called subplots

X-Files GIF

I’m discovering that “subplots” is a term that most of us think we understand, but really we have a lot to learn about.

Subplots are miniature storylines that branch from the main storyline, right? Except … how the hell do you put them together? What constitutes a good, working “subplot” versus “some random side stuff than happens”?

In my current WIP, I think I’m getting better at developing subplots — or at least better at identifying them, which is really the first step to building them. But it’s a little like trying to make pottery. It looks easy until you actually do it. You end up with something that looks like a lump rather than a pretty pot.

I like how Janice Hardy explains plotting with layers. She writes, “A good subplot will add complications to your core conflict, be a step to achieving that core conflict, or cause trouble in your character’s internal or personal story arc. Subplots aren’t there just to cause random trouble or tell the story of another character because that character is interesting. They’re there to help illustrate some point of your core story.”

How do you know you’ve developed and tied up a sideplot well enough? That’s what I’m trying to figure out for myself, one ugly lump of clay at a time. I’m currently keeping track of each scene that contributes to a particular subplot, and guiding each of the subplots is what I’m calling a “breakthrough question” — the bigger question I’m trying to answer and the point I’m trying to get the character to by the end.

I like that Hardy points out that subplots can be a complication, “a step to achieving that core conflict,” or even a means to “help illustrate some point of your core story,” because that provides a little more room to work with.

I’m not sure if there are any true hard-and-fast rules for crafting subplots, but the bottom line seems to be, make sure it’s relevant to your characters’ growth, theme, or the main conflict … and not just some random side stuff that happens.

Writers, give yourself 10 minutes a day

Don't Give Up Dinosaurs

Honesty time.

I’m at this weird point in my writing life where I know I’m getting better, but I’m the least motivated I’ve ever been.

Let me back up and explain. I’m about a third deep into my WIP, which will be my third novel (fourth if you count that one I started in high school and never finished). At the same time that I’m writing it, I’m querying my previous novel and starting to wonder if I’ll ever get a manuscript request, let alone get it published. Even after two years of writing/revising and rounds of query critiques (including by published authors), it may not happen, folks. The query — for whatever reason — isn’t hooking agents.

So I’m feeling kind of discouraged. Like, what’s even the point of trying?

I know I’m usually all about preaching, “YOU CAN DO THIS KEEP TRYING,” but the truth is, even those of us who understand the value of persistence to a successful writing career aren’t immune to struggling with confidence. I’m feeling pretty lousy.

Yes, I take comfort in the fact that for many published authors, it takes multiple books before they get published. Maybe even ten books. Or twenty. (Seriously, read this post — it will give you hope.) And pretty much every book can feel like “the one” and not be it.

And I know I’m growing and getting better. For my first book (not counting that high school attempt), I finished the first draft but not revision. For my second book, I finished the first draft and several rounds of revision with several critique partners, but the foundation is perhaps too weak to fix. For this book (third), I’m much more confident in the world-building, characters, and the foundation of the novel — it’s going to be better from the start.

All signs point to “it will happen someday.” I will get published. But the “someday” part throws me off.

And then I watched author Rachael Stephen‘s video about how it’s important just to try, every day, and keep trying. “You don’t want to write today,” she says, “but all you have to do is try. For ten minutes. … Once they’re up, you can get up and walk away. And at least you tried today.”

After that, she says, chances are you’ll get over the feeling of “oh my god this is so grueling ugh why even do this” and actually get carried away in the writing and start to enjoy yourself. You’ll start to remember why you wanted to write a book in the first place, and that will support you through the process.

Stephen admits that the video is as much a reminder to other writers as it is to herself, and I think this blog post is the same thing for me.

So I’m going to put in my ten minutes today. Even though I don’t want to. Even though I’m not feeling it. Even though I don’t particularly believe in myself right now. Because if I don’t at least try, then it will 100% never happen. And if I do try, and keep trying — well, even if I can’t predict whether it will or won’t happen, those are far better odds.

How to use Scrivener minimally to write a novel

Scrivener corkboard

I will never, ever go back to Microsoft Word.

Scrivener is a godly writing platform at a stupidly affordable price (under $50). But dozens of writers are hesitant to switch over because it’s “complicated.”

Let me ask you this: How many things do you know how to do in Word? Maybe … 10%? 20%?

Scrivener is easy. I know it can do some pretty fancy things, but even at bare minimum, it’s amazing. You absolutely do not need to pay someone to teach you how to use Scrivener.

Here’s the gist.

Your novel consists of “folders” and “texts”

When you start up Scrivener, you make a new project. Choose “Fiction” and then “Novel.” Give it a title, and voilà.

Your chapters and scenes all go in the sidebar so you can quickly switch between them. Select “Manuscript,” right-click, and then add a new folder for a chapter. Right-click on the folder and add a new text for a scene.

From there, you can drag folders and texts around to put them in whatever order you want. I give my chapters a name, but I just list scenes as “Scene 1.1,” “Scene 1.2,” etc.

(The below screenshot is from the Mac version, but I’ve used the PC version as well and they’re both equally good.)

Scrivener Mac

You only really need two modes

Wherever your three “Group”/”View” mode buttons are (these vary on PC and Mac), toggle between them to try them out. One looks like a blank sheet of paper; another looks like a notecard. There’s a third mode, but don’t worry about it.

These are the only two modes you need. Actually, you only need the mode that’s a blank sheet of paper. It’s the only one I use.

Scrivener mode

Delete a bunch of stuff

Delete everything under “Research.” Delete the “Template Sheets.” Delete “Sample Output.”

You can always recover these from the Trash if you want them later.

Scrivener binder

Write in any font you want

One thing I really like about Scrivener is that you can write in whatever font or size you want. None of it matters when you compile the document because Scrivener formats your manuscript for you.

And that’s the single best reason to use it.

“Research” is for everything else

I took out everything in the pre-formatted “Research” section and made folders for:

  1. “Characters” — literally, profiles on each main character
  2. “World-building” — magic rules, politics, geography, etc.
  3. “Plotting” — For me, this consists of things like chapter and act word counts, a table of macro problems to fix, scraps and random brainstorming, ideas for a sequel, and discarded chapters.
  4. “Other” — For tentative query pitches, a sample query letter, a novel synopsis, an elevator pitch, thoughts on theme, and so on. It was super helpful to see those in one place, side by side. (More on that later.)

And that’s it

I don’t really use the corkboard (digital index card feature) in Scrivener because I do a lot of planning in a good old-fashioned paper notebook before I even open a word document and start typing. That’s just my style.

You can go a lot deeper with Scrivener, but at the end of the day, it’s no more complicated than using Microsoft Word. Probably less so, because Word is annoying and dumb.

When you’re ready to print or make a non-Scrivener file type — a Word doc … or, on second thought, anything else, like a Kindle file or PDF — all you have to do is hit “Compile.” Easy peasy.

I’m happy to talk more in-depth if you have questions or want to bounce around ideas, so leave your thoughts in the comments.

 

Here’s a trick for eliminating unnecessary exposition in your novel

dark willow buffy bored blah

As I revise my novel, one of the problems I’m working on is too much exposition, especially in the beginning chapters.

I’ve devised a little trick to help as it’s not always apparent to me when I have too much.

What is exposition, anyway?

Author Beth Amos defines exposition as “information that is offered to readers to help them understand the plot, characters, or setting in a story. Exposition is telling, not showing, and passive rather than active.”

What is too much exposition?

Amos has a nice way of explaining when you’re hitting the danger zone with exposition:

The key is to use it piecemeal, doling it out in small chunks and only when absolutely necessary. To involve readers in your story, you need to maintain their interest and pique their curiosity. You do that by revealing just enough details to make a character or situation intriguing without insulting the reader’s intelligence by spelling it out for them. And if you can offer those same revelations through dialogue and action, so much the better.

Think of real life. When we meet a person for the first time, we know nothing about their past, their personalities, or even much of their present day life. Over time, if we continue to be exposed to this person, we will glean these details through the person’s actions, interactions, and conversations. The more puzzling and complex a person seems, the more our interest is piqued. In contrast, when you meet someone who is so fascinated by his own life that he proceeds to tell you every aspect of it in excruciating detail, the impulse is to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

Here’s my trick to reducing exposition:

I’ve been rereading each scene and chapter looking only for tell-ish exposition — anywhere I’m stepping out of the “present” to explain something so the reader better understands the deeper context — and I highlight it in yellow. I especially look for exposition that feels like it could be taken out without affecting the action or flow of the scene. In other words, it’s just not that relevant or necessary.

If the highlighted portion is more than two lines, I trim it down to two (or less). But instead of simply deleting the offending text, I cut and paste it into a text document in my Scrivener project that I titled “Scraps.” This way, I’m not losing the extra information — and I don’t forget what it is, either. I’m taking it and moving it to the side, out of the way, so I can recycle it later, or so I can remember why it was so important in the first place.

What this has taught me:

First, it’s made this exercise has made it much easier to spot heavy exposition in my novel. It really is true that it’s difficult, if not impossible, to look for everything (character, exposition, description, etc.) at the same time — you need to take a pass for one thing, then a pass for another.

Second, I’ve learned to take out the bits I don’t need and find more creative ways to incorporate them. For example, in my novel, I realized I had told the reader what my character’s unusual routine was each morning when I could have shown her going through it at the start of the story.

What techniques do you use to eliminate unnecessary exposition in your stories?

A whole month of critiquing — DONE

frodo mordor

THE END

After critiquing over 100,000 words of another writer’s manuscript in a single month, those classic words took on new meaning.

Last month was the first time I had ever critiqued another writer’s entire manuscript, and it was a BIG JOB. I’m kind of exhausted right now. But I’m also excited, because this means that I get to dive into all the critiques she made on my manuscript and start a new, hopefully much more beneficial round of revisions.

I’m honored that I got to take part in shaping someone’s book. I mean, that’s downright cool. I feel like when I see it on shelves one day and sit down to read it in a glossy hardcover, I’m going to be teary-eyed and proud. Not because I was able to influence someone’s novel, but proud that I helped someone make their story better. Proud that she stuck through all the tough feedback and toiled through the edits to make it as good as it could be. Proud that I know someone who made her dream happen.

Because, hey — I BELIEVE in my critique partner. She’s gonna make it one day. I just know it.

Critiquing a full-length novel has also sharpened my eye as a writer. When you’re just reading a novel, there’s a bunch of little things you don’t notice or take for granted. And when you’re writing a novel, you’re too close to your work to see them. But when you’re critiquing someone else’s WIP and see issues come up time and again — well, you suddenly understand where all those writing rules came from. It clicks in a way that it didn’t before. I’m sure my critique partner could say the same thing from critiquing my story because every writer has their crutches.

Would I do a full manuscript swap again? Absolutely. It was definitely worth the investment to become a better critiquer, a more observant writer, and to receive a full critique in return. Would I do it again in the near future?

I think my brain needs a break first. :)

500 percent done

12 tips for new writers working on their first manuscript (aka, a letter to my past self)

writing a book

Writing a book is dang hard. And even though experienced writers know that writing the thing is the easy part, that doesn’t diminish what an amazing accomplishment it is to finish a book. A lot of people don’t get that far, so it’s pretty incredible if you do. I mean, you are awesome.

You learn a lot going from your first completed manuscript to your second. In no special order, here are 12 things I wish I could go back and tell my former self — a newbie fiction writer with a lot ahead of her.

#1: No one gets it right on the first try

Dear past self: You just finished that manuscript, wrote “the end,” and your whole body is shaking. YOU WROTE A BOOK. You’re excited and proud, and you damn well should be.

But as amazing as you think your book is, it’s going to need a lot of work — a little thing called revision. There’s a reason most writers consider their very first finished MS their “practice novel.” You’re flexing a muscle you’ve never used before, at least not so rigorously — it’s gonna take awhile before you compose a masterpiece.

So don’t feel bad if this isn’t “the one.” First drafts are never, ever perfect. First novels rarely ever are.

#2: Listen to what your gut is telling you

Dear past self: When you were writing that book, you thought that this was the hard part. But now revision looms ahead of you, and you just can’t bring yourself to get past the first few chapters. You’ve polished them each about ten times, and you still have tens of thousands of words left to go. How can you even.

Truth is, you’re procrastinating for a reason: You don’t love your book. You don’t believe in it. You think it’s boring, and that’s hard to admit, and it’s going to take you a year or two to finally concede to it. But hey. That’s okay. You can put this one in a drawer somewhere and start working on something that’s going to excite you again. Because if you don’t love your story, chances are no reader will.

writing happened

#3: Publishing isn’t the point

Dear past self: The totally delusional write to make millions. (Not gonna happen.) The semi-delusional write to get published. The realistic write because they love writing, and if publishing follows at some point, hey, that’s pretty awesome.

Every writer wants to get published, but as soon as you accept that that’s not why you’re doing this — that you’re writing because you can’t not write — then things will fall into place. You’ll become more disciplined, more serious about getting the work done in a timely manner. And that’s what counts. That you treat it like a profession. That you hone your skills. That you keep writing. Publishing is not proof that you’re a writer. Your writing habits are.

#4: Study your craft

Dear past self: You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo, so you better study up. Start researching story structure. POV. Character development. Info dumps. Show versus tell. Internalization and dialogue. And most importantly, REVISION.

Fiction University is going to help you a lot. You’re going to recommend it to every writer you meet who’s struggling with the basics. You’re a whiz at grammar and punctuation, and that will take you far. Now it’s time to master technique.

#5: Get over your fear of sharing

Dear past self: The best revision you’ll ever do will be the product of having other writers look at your writing. No writer should revise in a vacuum — you’re too close to your work to see what needs fixing, and you have no sense of what you should be focusing on.

Without the guidance of critique partners and beta readers, you’ll be changing things that don’t need changed and making edits that don’t have much impact. Having someone provide feedback on your work will be ten times more valuable than trying to figure out revision when you have no idea where you should even begin. Revision is hard enough; don’t do it alone. The only way to get over your shyness about sharing your writing is to share your writing.

write trashy

#6: Negative feedback isn’t a death sentence

Getting critiqued is hard. You’re going to cry the first few times. You’re going to feel nervous. You’re going to have to train yourself not to get angry when someone thinks your story needs work.

But guess what: The more you do it, the less sensitive you’ll be to negative feedback, and the more you’ll crave it. Because this is the good stuff. This is going to make your writing better. And with time, you’ll start to realize that the difference between a bad chapter someone hates and a good chapter they love can come down to a few key edits. It’s not as a hard as you think. It’s practically magic.

#7: Revision will get easier

Dear past self: Just like getting critiqued, revising will get easier, too. Right now, you hate it. It’s so much work. You spend so many hours on one chapter. You feel like this is going to take forever and that you’ll never get there.

But listen: You will get there. And you will get used to revision. In fact, you’ll actually start to love it more than writing a first draft, because revision is how your story transforms. How it becomes everything you envisioned it to be. As the changes you make pile up, you’ll actually start seeing the forest for the trees. And revision becomes … fun. Imagine that.

#8: Schedules are VERY important

Dear past self: In order to write a book, you have to stick to a schedule. That could be anything — 300 words every day of the week, or 500 words every other day. You decide.

And just like with writing, revision only gets done when you set a schedule. And as soon as you make that schedule a habit that you follow, it won’t be so hard to stick to anymore. And hey — you’ll learn that if you plan your schedule at the start of each week, you’ll get so much done. And getting shit done is a GOOD FEELING. You’ll want as much of that good feeling as you can get.

#9: Stop worrying about word count

Dear past self: Okay, so you’re an underwriter. While other writers can churn out 130,000 words and then have to spend their time trimming, you’re stuck adding to your novel more than you need to take away. You basically have to flesh out every scene — paint in the details.

But for the love of god, stop obsessing about word count. You’re not doing yourself any favors. Sure, publishers expect certain genres to be within a certain word count range. But you’re going to drive yourself crazy with this one, trust me. Focus on the story now — word count later. Story matters more, and oftentimes in filling out and also tightening your story, word count will take care of itself.

word count gif

#10: Stop comparing yourself to other writers

Dear past (and present) self: On your worst days, you’re going to hate every word you write. Don’t look at your novel on these days. Don’t go anywhere near it. And above all, do not compare your writing to someone else’s.

Your style is your style, and trying to be like That Author You Love isn’t going to change that. In fact, trying to emulate them won’t get you published. A fresh voice will. A unique voice. Your voice.

Every writer’s journey to success — and to publication (which are separate things) — is different. Some take longer than others. Some are harder than others. So a published author you admire is just a writer who’s been at it longer. Who’s practiced more. Don’t get down on yourself because they’re far along in their own story and you’re just starting yours.

#11: You will get better

Dear past self: When you see how much better your second manuscript is going to be than your first, you’re going to flip. It’ll be so obvious in the writing, structure, and characters how much you’ve grown. You’ve learned from some of your mistakes. You’ve gotten better. And of course, you still have more to learn.

But when you go for your third time around, you’re going to use that new knowledge and write an even better story. All stories involve work — involve rewriting. That’s how it’s done. And even if novel one through novel four don’t get you published, the experience of writing them — of revising them — will make you stronger. So much more than you think.

#12: Never give up

Dear past (and present) self: Never give up on your dream.

Writing is hard. It’s a thankless job. It takes years of your life. And sometimes you’re going to wonder if it’s even worth doing.

But in your heart, you know it is. Because you love this. Because this is who you are. And because you’ll never be truly happy until you see your first book on the shelves — and then your next book, and the next. Writing stories makes you happy. And when you don’t write, you’re anxious and grumpy and restless, and you know it.

So keep writing. Keep going. Whether it takes you two manuscripts or ten to get published. Write to write. Write because you want to. Because you can. Because you’re unstoppable. Because you’ve got a story to tell, dammit. And never let anyone else tell you otherwise — especially yourself.

6 important questions to ask a potential critique partner

gravity falls pretending to write

All good writing is rewriting, and no good rewriting is done in a vacuum.

At least, that’s what I believe. I could go through a dozen self-edits on my manuscript, but I’d get less mileage than I would from one good critique from a couple beta readers or critique partners. If I don’t have a little guidance, for all I know I could be fixing all the wrong things because writers are too close to their work to assess what’s working and what’s not — at least until we get someone else’s perspective.

But searching for critique partners can be a total gamble, especially when you’re trusting strangers online. Twitter is a great place to look (search “critique partners” — boom) if you’re already combed forums and hit dead ends, but you can scout any number of places. Here are six good questions to ask a potential critique partner (and yourself) to determine if you might be a good match.

Keep in mind that you should generally look for critique partners writing within the same genre and/or age group as you, so I’m going to assume you already know to ask that question. ;)

What kind of critique schedule do you have in mind?

Answer this question yourself, too. Determine upfront — before you even begin talking to the other writer — how much you can handle, whether it’s per week or per month. Are you able to swap one chapter a week? Three chapters a week? Are you open to swapping a full manuscript all at once? Know how much and how often you’re willing to critique so that when you ask your potential partner about their expectations, you won’t feel pressured to agree to a schedule that you can’t stick to.

Don’t forget to ask how long their manuscript is, too. A month might sound like a reasonable time frame to return a full MS critique, but if their story is 200K, maybe not so much.

How often do you want to check in?

This is a really important one because it holds you and your potential critique partner accountable. Most critique partner relationships begin with a “first date” — where you swap first chapters to see what the other person’s critiquing style is like and if it’s going to work for you. Use this step as a measure to assess whether or not they’re serious about the partnership.

tried to care

Critiquing is a mutual responsibility, and you should be professional about it. There’s nothing more upsetting than firing off your critique of their first chapter, only to wait … and wait … and wait for their critique of yours. Sometimes, they’ll never even bother responding. This sucks, because you did the work and they didn’t. Word of advice? Even if you don’t think the other writer’s critique style is going to work for you, be a good human and critique their first chapter. I can’t stress this enough. Don’t sit around waiting for their critique to roll in and then ignore them because you plan to ditch them anyway. It’s not polite.

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If your potential critique partner gets that first chapter back to you within a few days and you both like each other’s style, then you’re good to go. But you should set an expectation of how often you want to touch base and exchange critiques. Once a week is a good starting point — maybe over the weekend.

The point isn’t to be strict but to judge how dependable they are. If your critique partner is constantly missing those “check-in” times, you may be better off without them. Having light deadlines will also ensure that you don’t end up doing all the work and then never getting anything back.

Where are you from?

The wonder of the Internet means you could be partnering with someone from a totally different country. Crazy, I know. It’s good to know upfront what time zone your partner is in because night for you might be morning for them.

What software do you use to critique?

There are all sorts of ways to annotate documents, but you might want to find out how your potential partner plans to critique so you can make sure you’re going to be able to access and read their comments. :)

Microsoft’s Track Changes is a safe route, but you could use other tools, like Google Docs. Just make sure that if your partner repels technology, you give them some tips or guidance to help them out. (Not everyone has used Track Changes before, for instance, or knows how to make the font in comment bubbles bigger.)

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What kind of critique are you looking for?

Some writers are looking for ovearching feedback, such as on big-picture issues, like character development and world-building. Others might need more help in the grammar and punctuation department. Asking what they’re seeking in a critique can reveal their strengths and weaknesses — and give you an idea of whether those strengths could come in handy for you.

If you’re good at grammar but suck at dialogue, for example, you may want to find someone who needs assistance with the mechanical stuff but has a knack for writing conversation.

Lastly, if you’re dumping them, is it for the right reasons?

If you read someone’s critique of your writing and flip out at what you’re seeing, take a moment before writing that “sorry, not gonna work” email and consider whether you’re rejecting them for the right reasons.

Criticism is hard to take, but remember: You’re not looking for someone to gush over your work and flatter you. You’re looking for someone who’s going to give you honest, constructive feedback that will improve your novel and challenge you as a writer.

Yes, you should try to be kind in how your phrase that feedback, but keep in mind that most writers, no matter how they critique, are coming from a good place. They mean well. So decide whether you’re saying “no” because they don’t think your work is perfect and you’re afraid you’ll have to do a little work, or because they’re just not giving you feedback you can use and grow from.

It’s tough love, baby.

grow up tough love