The QRW commenters are a fantastic group. You offer up your own experiences in response to posts, suggest fascinating differences of opinion, and generally provide your unwavering support to the blog and the writer (me). You rock.

One comment from last week, in fact, inspired a double dose of posts over today and tomorrow. Sherree asked about my participation in writing and communications groups. Are they helpful? Effective? Supportive? Worth the cash? A terrific posting topic. Plus, it occurred to me that there are two areas I write about in this blog that the topic applies.

So, let’s analyze the group scene (heh heh heh). Today – writers groups online and off for aspiring novelists and nonfiction writers. Tomorrow – marketing/writing/networking groups for freelancers.

This being the QuietRebelWriter blog, you can always expect some snark. And when it comes to writers groups for budding book writers, I gots it aplenty. Aspiring novelists in particular are constantly told of the benefit of workshopping. Students in undergrad and MFA writing programs, or attendees of national publishing conferences, do this ad nauseum: subject their work to the constructive criticism of their peers, with the hope that out of the din will emerge a few helpful suggestions and tips to strengthening the work. When the class or workshop is conducted well, with a zero tolerance policy for grandstanding, filibustering, or general viciousness, workshops can be as beneficial as they are intended.

So – what about the rest of us that are not in school, don’t have the cash to plunk down for expensive and anonymous workshopping conferences, but who still want some helpful feedback? We can show our work to our friends and significant others, but will invariably receive biased feedback that prevents hurt feelings or withheld sex. But we really need outside opinions. We need the kind of workshop that we may remember from school. Where can we turn?

When it came to my own novel, I thought it through. Where did I turn when I needed something? Where did I go for the things that I desired, from jobs to apartments to furniture to concert tickets? Craigslist, of course. And since Craigslist offered not only careers and tangible items for sale, but also discussion, social opportunities, and platonic and full-contact human companionship, it made perfect sense. And since I’m writing about it now, you can be assured that it was the train wreck you’re all predicting it would be.

I searched elsewhere for the kind of community and (free) external review I sought, scoping out local artsy papers and groups, but only on Craigslist did I find a notice from a small writers group assembling in Chicago with the express purpose of creating a workshop type environment. The organizer and a few members of the group had a roster of self-published books to their credit, but most were newbies. Perfect. The first couple sessions went well, although they were dominated by the organizer’s strong personality and tendency to constantly refer to his self-published glory. Plus, I was pretty disappointed in the caliber of writing I was seeing, even from the proclaimed expert. But I stuck in, offered up some questions and comments, and submitted my own work. On the day my chapters were reviewed, I got quite a bit of detailed constructive feedback. I wasn’t looking forward to the tough editorial decisions I would have to make as a result, but I was grateful for the thoughts.

Perhaps it was my youth, or my gender. Perhaps my poker face wasn’t so poker-y. Whatever the reason, the organizer continually apologized for all the comments as they came, something he didn’t do with anyone else. He apologized for the constructive criticism during my review, during our break, at the end of the meeting, and even in a series of emails over the next week. He did it so much, I got annoyed. I came in knowing about constructive criticism, and expecting it. The constant apologies implied something, something a bit uncertain but disquieting. I politely told the organizer that I was fine, that apologies weren’t necessary, and that I was tougher than I might look. That’s when things got weird. He threw a email hissy fit, saying I obviously didn’t value the years of experience and publishing credits he had, and that I obviously couldn’t take the rigors of writing and publishing a novel.

Um, ok. I thought about it. I got a bad feeling about all of it. I didn’t go back.

After, I looked for other groups, through libraries, other listings, and friends. Frustration. I eventually tried online writing groups, figuring the lack of face-to-face might eliminate weirdness. The group I chose had wonderful rules governing the amount and type of comments members must contribute. But I was one of seemingly hundreds, lost in the intimidating amount of group messages. I dropped out.

Writers are told to get honest feedback. Easier said than done when you’re out of the school environment or trying to prevent massive expense. I finally bit the bullet and bought admission to the University of Iowa Summer Writing Program. I got focused, salient, expert advice in a caring, non-weird environment, guidance that pushed me through to the end of my book. It was pricey, but it was helpful.

What about you? Had better luck, and found writing groups that serve you well? Have you found benefit with expensive programs?

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