Are you a fishist?

You started out a good writer, and your critique partners are part of a process that made you even better. You’ve worked hard, and listened to what that phenomenal group of readers and commenters has to say, and you can really see a difference between the stuff you wrote pre-group and the stuff you write now. This is working. It really is. You’re getting better.

In fact, you just might be the best one in the group. Secretly, you’ve always harbored the belief that you could be. That sneaking suspicion has grown into the belief that you ARE. You’re the best in the group. Oh, you’re not going to gloat or be smug, and you’re still giving 110% when it’s your turn to write a critique. So it’s not like that.

That’s a good thing, right? You’re the most likely to get published. The one who can give the best advice – delivered tactfully, of course – to the others. You get respect and approval, and everybody loves your work, and critique after critique says “I can’t find much to complain about here.” You’re the biggest fish in that pond.

Careful.

It FEELS like a good thing to be the biggest fish in your pond. It’s something you could get used to. It’s comforting, and comfortable, and the accolades are nice. That feeling of being helpful, and of teaching others, and of genuinely assisting up and coming writers to become better… those feelings are pretty great.

But it’s not good news.

That process of improvement, of fresh air let into your work through the puncture holes, of critiques that make you gnash your teeth a few times before you pay attention – that uncomfortable, damnable feeling of having things to learn – remember? That process has just stopped.

Once you’re the big fish, it’s dangerously easy to be seduced into thinking that you’ve stopped growing because there’s no more room to grow. A writer can’t afford to become complacent and self-important. We have enough ego already – yes, expressed just as often in breast-beating and despair as it is in self-congratulation and smug assistance to others, but it’s still ego.

In my critique group, I’m far from the biggest fish. I’m blessed with several other writers who knock my socks off. I’m further blessed with writers who are better than I am at different things – I can learn about plotting from one person, story structure from another, method from another.

Best of all, I’m blessed with wonderful writers who frequently disagree with me. Often I have to go home and sleep on their words before I can shut my ego up enough to listen, but whether I end up changing my ways or not, their viewpoints are always valuable. I couldn’t ask for a better group of readers.

If you’ve become the victim of fishism – if you’re splashing in a pond that doesn’t have any room left for growing – consider flooding yourself with new ideas, new disagreements, new discomforts, and new critique partners. Start that painful learning process again. It’s a big ocean.

What to Pay For

In a writing career, there are a million people who stand ready to tell you what to do. Some of these people want money, in the form of up-front cash for advice, or for the cost of how-to books, or the cost of conventions, or the cost of workshopping, agenting, mentoring or critiquing your work.

When is it worth it to pay? When are you getting scammed? When are you laying out money for something you could get for free – and when are you passing up an opportunity that would repay itself tenfold?

It’s not easy to tell, and everyone will tell you something different. The only hope is to steer by your internal star: what feels true to you and what feels wrong? Here are the three things that seem the most true to me.

ONE: YOU ARE IN A BUSINESS
In other words, you are the supplier of a product (fiction) and everyone else in the business (publishers, agents, editors, readers) are distributors and/or consumers of that product. If you keep your eye on that simple fact, you will realize a number of things that proceed directly from it.
- Most of the money, over the course of your career, should end up in YOUR pocket
- You have to learn, struggle, work and fail and learn some more to succeed – no easy answers
- You must handle your own money and business matters – no one else can do it for you
- People (even agents and publishers) can choose whether to buy your work or not, and that is ALL the judging they can do – no one can tell you what to write or not write but yourself

TWO: YOU NEED INSTRUCTION
If ever you feel that you don’t need to learn any more, stop. Your career is over. There will always be things to learn. The business changes all the time, the craft changes all the time, and you change all the time. Everything is fluid, and nothing is fixed. Not even the language! This has several implications as well.
- Writing comes first – don’t buy workshops, conventions or how-to books you haven’t got time for
- Strive to make your time do multiple duty: conventions can be part of self-marketing and networking as well as instructional
- Don’t do things you’re not ready for – get your product ready before buying marketing courses, etc
- Before you spend money, check with yourself: is this about the writing, or about the socializing – and is it necessary?

THREE: YOU ARE NOT ALONE
There are many writers in the world. Most of them have been where you’re standing, and most of those have empathy and understanding – though few have much free time. Band together. Share the cost, share the ability, share your work, and remember that all writers are readers. This is really the most important of all.
- Much advice is free on the internet – check that it’s from authors and editors you respect and that it feels true to you – no need to pay for 99% of advice, especially for beginners
- If you have a critique group and use them well, they are invaluable; if they are nonhelpful, primarily social, or mostly build you up OR mostly cut you down… drop them at once
- Most of the truly helpful stuff to pay for involves other people – groups, conventions, and workshops are OVERALL more helpful than how-to books, paid mentors, online classes or paid critiques

I hope this free advice has been helpful. The gist of it is really said in two easy lessons: be cautious with your money and follow your own sense of what is true. Neither is easy. Sorry. It’s not an easy thing to be a successful writer – if you’ve been told that, you’ve been told lies.

Fun, satisfying, creative, adventurous, ever-changing, powerful, astonishing and wondrous – but not easy.

Our Process

Hey, everyone! I wanted to tell you about our process at a typical meeting of the DFW group. We’re not formal, tend to giggle a lot, and have a great deal of fun. Here’s how our critique process goes.

We have a Yahoo group, set to be private so that we can critique each other’s work without fear of copyright issues or our work escaping into the net. Every Wednesday or so, we delete old files and upload new files. This way, no one has to print out their entire story or hand out copies. We try to keep the word count to a reasonable amount, depending on how many people are in the group at the time, so no one has too much work to do.

Then, when we meet on Sunday, we share written critiques of the chapters or stories. Written critiques are preferred so the author has something to take home and refer back to, and because writing a critique tends to be more thorough and helps with tact. At the meeting, we discuss the critiques, answer questions and generally talk about the writing.

After that, we have a tendency to spend a lot of time talking about things in general and socializing!

We meet at Panera Bread, in Stapleton, which allows us to spend whatever amount we want to on food and drinks–they have inexpensive pastries all the way up to full meals. The atmosphere is laid back and comfortable, without any glares if we stay too long.

Hope to see you there!