Young writers -
For the past few weeks there has been intense, yet isolated, sparring on the appropriate approach to being a good critic: what it means, what is expected, and so on. Arguments have ranged from writers getting thicker skins to critics toning it down to everyone simply lightening up about the whole affair. I'm going to address some of the arguments proposed in this ongoing discussion, and I apologize if things seem in a state of catastrophic organization--I will have to reread this tomorrow and revise where necessary for clarification.
In a first move, I want to address criticism as a whole. For the most part, we all seem to have a pretty generalized conception as a critique being a response to a work of art. That's pretty heavy, if you stop and think about it: what does it mean to "respond" to a work of art, a craft, a creation? How does one go about "interacting" with such a thing--whether this be a poem or a story or a sculpture, or what have you? It's a very serious question that most writers--particularly beginning writers--take for granted. There's something fundamental about reacting to art, so much so that I suspect most of you have never really taken the time to think much about it.
In the same breath, we have to ask if all interactions are of the same value. Are they? Do we trust people who have doctorates in art history to give genuinely enlightening commentary on a new painting, or do we think it would be better to trust the guy who is now, for the first time in his life, walking into the art museum? At a more exaggerated level: do we trust medical doctors do diagnose and treat us properly, or do we run to poets? The answers are obvious: despite what illusions we may have about equality, the reality of the matter is that all critiques are not the same. And, further, their value doesn't stem from the amount of effort the critic put into responding to your work, or any such nonsense, but rather HOW they responded to it based on their past experiences. For us, here, it is difficult to know each other's background -- nay, let's say it's impossible -- so how could we possibly know whose critiques are worth second thought and whose deserve a smile and nod?
This brings us to the second big issue with criticism: many, many times since I've been here, I've seen fresh writers defend their work as something not written for others but written for themselves. This begs the question: why, then, have you chosen to post it here, in a public domain, where the most minimal effort on your part would reveal many users take their craft seriously and expect you to do the same? Besides the obvious contradiction that if you wrote it for yourself you wouldn't post it here, you'd keep it in a journal, there's something much more important that needs to be reconciled immediately: you need to decide (not definitively, for sure, but for the short term) what your goals are with writing.
This decision, above all else, should be your primary guiding light in determining which critiques are valuable to you and which are not. If you write for fun and someone who writes seriously comes down hard on you, then you should disregard it. That's the pleasure of being on a public website: you get people from different strokes who have different ideas all collaborating to form a giant community where all possible interests can be cultivated. Trust me, for every serious critic you'll encounter, there are plenty of people who also view writing as a past-time and will respond to your art as such. THUS -- the question of whether criticism should be harsh or constructive or nice or whatever should be totally thrown out the window: a criticism needs to be honest, and needs to be predicated off the critic's own experience--not your whims and fancy. Let me be explicit when I say this: there are people on this site who try immensely hard to better their craft through appreciating serious and harsh criticism -- your attitude that writing is not something worth investing more than a marginal effort in is an insult to them and to all poets who try to perfect their practice. That's not to say you're wrong, or that you are discouraged from enjoying it as a pleasurable hobby, but that you should be aware of how you are perceived by those critics.
Moreover, I have seen in more than one place the argument that because we aren't published and renowned, advice along the lines of "discard this" is invalidated and without justification. I am the first to stand up and decry this outrage: this argument is fallacious on many levels and demonstrates an ineptitude to appreciate the writing process. We do not disregard our doctor's advice because he has not suffered our ailments; we don't disregard film critics because they don't make (good) films, and we don't disregard art critics because they don't make (good) art. This line of reasoning seems to me bizarre and, at best, irrational. In truth, the practice of writing and the practice of critique are two mutually beneficial procedures, but ultimately they're mutually exclusive. A good writer does not make a good critic, necessarily, and a good critic does not make a good writer necessarily, as well.
One need not be renowned or published to have an ear for good verse, good dialogue, or anything. What one should have, however, is a refinement of taste based on exposure to other works which are considered "good" and coming to appreciate their value in the realm of literature. No one is able to really define what would make a good sensibility, but it's like pornography: you know it when you see it. To that extent, comments such as "throw this out" are meant literally: there's nothing in the poem that is salvageable in any conceivable rewrite. That doesn't mean stop writing; it doesn't mean give up. It means whatever you've been working with is showing no signs of getting any better with any foreseeable effort. Sometimes, that's just how it is: an idea isn't good, the execution is terrible--whatever.
When I hear young writers going on about how such so-called "destructive" criticism goes against their mettle and ultimately discourages them from writing: I ask myself who has really given up writing because someone disliked it? The writers most often using this line of argument further--ironically--tend to claim they're writing for themselves, not for others, so lay off (Do I even need to point out that this is the "Young Writers Society" as opposed to the "Young Diary Society"? This isn't a journal for you to post your sloppy seconds for others to chew on--when you post, make sure it's something you feel you've put an effort into (which, notably, is more than simply writing it once and never looking back)). What I wonder is, then, how destructive criticism goes against their mettle if they're entirely self-driven? It's contradictory. The truth is: we all write to express ourselves and be understood. Whether our chosen media is fiction or poetry or essay or what have you, we all desperately seek to be understood. The hard truth of the matter is, however: not all expressions, like critiques, are equal. What critiques, harsh as they may be, destructive as they may be, are trying to guide you to do is to find better, more inventive outlets for your expression.
At the birth of your career as a writer, that's a tough proposition. But let me tell you, from first-hand experience, you have much farther to go--and the sad fact is you may never be the next Frost, or Auden, or Whitman. That doesn't mean that you won't be great and that you should nihilistically abandon the profession of writing: that, precisely, is why God made critics. Critics help you understand your weaknesses; they help you understand your limits and how to deal with them. You will, by the way, have limits--that's what makes poetry and writing, in general, such a diverse and interesting field: it's not homogenized, but it's vastly heterogeneous based precisely on the fact that we all have our limits. Good writers know when and how to deal with these, but they certainly don't just stumble into them: it takes time, and it takes considerable effort, and, most of all, it takes hard knocks. I'm sorry if that's not appealing to you, but it's the truth.
If you aren't willing to try, it means your poetry will always be appallingly bad, and harsh criticisms will not stop showing up at your door (or computer screen, for that matter). Completely apart from the sheer mess it makes of a piece of work, you will thus never learn what actually makes a poem effective - more than any words you use, it's the underlying psychological triggers of arrangement, form and structure that affect the reader. If you don't bother to learn some basic ground rules and work with them, and insist on writing for yourself, then people will always read your poetry and basically say, "Whatever." There are always people who will claim they don't need to use poetic rules and techniques because they want poetry to be "free" and that they don't want to be serious; unfortunately, what they don't notice is that the reason it never leaves the internet and onto the bookshelf is because it always turns out badly.
Cheers, and all the best!
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