I'm nearing the end of a long, long revision process, made longer still by needing to stop and learn how to fix things that needed fixing. Since half the challenge of fixing such things comes in recognizing the problems that exist, this book has also been through many rounds of critiques.
One of my beta readers asked me the other day whether I fear critiques. To be honest, it's difficult to know how to truly answer such a question.
Here's the thing: all critiques are different. Every book, and even every draft is different. I'm different every time I offer a draft up for critique.
My very first true critique was of a short story I'd submitted to one of Marion Zimmer Bradley's anthologies when I was fourteen. I thought it was an artistic, surreal dream sequence, totally beautiful and haunting. She wrote back that it lacked any sort of characterization and plot, and needed major work.
I treasured that rejection because it was the first response I'd ever had that treated my work as though I could be professional. I wish I'd thought to write and thank her for it.
Now, my response may seem very masochistic to some. But for me, the critiques I fear most are the ones that pat me on the head and say "Very nice, dear." Because those are the ones that tell me there's no hope for me, that I might as well enjoy my sparkly dream of writing without even bothering to try and improve.
There are, of course, critiques that are just plain mean. I hope I've never given one of those, but let's face it, we all have bad days, and sometimes we choose really unfortunate ways of expressing our frustration. The best thing I can do when I get one of these is to let it sit for a few days before responding, and see if it magically transforms into an honest-but-not-what-I-wanted-to-hear critique, in which case I'd better listen up, or if it stays plain mean. The ones that stay plain mean sometimes give me the necessary "I'll show them!" kick in the pants on hard days.
The honest-but-not-what-I-wanted-to-hear critiques can be daunting, indeed. What to do, when told your story is trite, boring, or unintelligible? That your characters are cardboard, unsympathetic, or that the reader cannot begin to connect with them and would prefer they drop dead immediately? That the reader cannot tell if scenes are happening inside or outside and has no idea when or where this is taking place? These cannot be ignored as purely mean when they have a certain resonance in my brain, that tells me I sort of knew this was going to be an issue. One response is to drop the work (temporarily or permanently) and start something else, preferably trying to learn to address these new issues. Another is to try and learn to fix the problem. (The one I'm wrapping up had several of these; another needs its external conflict gutted and replaced. No, I don't know how I'm going to do that quite yet.) Either response can help a writer grow and learn; I think it's personal preference mixed with how sick you are of the book that's been critiqued, unless of course you're under contract. I will say it's pretty darn thrilling to receive a later round of critiques on a book that indicate one of these major issues has actually been solved.
I do fear the critiques that want my book to be an entirely different kind of book. I purposefully choose critiquers and beta readers whose tastes and strengths don't match my own; I already know what I like. But wanting to please everyone can twist a book off its original course and mush it into something no one likes, far more easily than it can create a book many people enjoy. I respect critiquers who tell me they don't enjoy my kind of book, and still address what they see I'm trying to do. It's tough, and I hope I'm getting better at giving those kinds of critiques as well.
But there are also critiques I can hardly wait to receive. There is really nothing so exciting as having someone read your book and understand it well enough to see where you got something wrong. There is nothing so inspiring as having someone push your book to be better, put the work in themselves to try and help you make it so. It's the first time that someone other than me believes in the story, and that's exciting too, after countless hours of struggling with it alone.
For me, though, critiques are a feedback check, not a goal. Anything that keeps me moving towards what I feel improves the story, or keeps me learning how to write, is good. Anything that distracts me, slows me, or stops me is a waste of writing time. And it's my job to keep myself moving, use what I've got, and figure out what to do with it all.