Susan, my answer is, that's what I meant when I said I was (probably) a bit less draconian about it than Betsy was. For your first example, my own response would likely have been along the lines of "Ah - good point. But since you're talking about, well, the end of the book, I'm leaving it there." I don't think that's arguing, or yes-butting; if someone in my own group stresses a particular point that I already have plans for elsewhere in the book, I'll generally say so.

And for the second example, that, to me, sounds like a suggestion coming from someone who would, themselves, have written it that way. To me, that's a suggestion that gets a moment's weight and no more.

But your "aha" moment came out of the dialogue, and lord knows, we're all talky meat at my group. Just, if the writer whose work is on the table at the moment is getting overwhelmed, we move on.

At the other end of it, I'm with Bev 100% on the idea that a writer had better make it clear, since going out and knocking on readers' doors to explain things isn't an option.

In that vein, though, I have been to three separate poetry readings & signings, where the poet would flip to a particular page and, with the signing pen, make a correction in a line or a word or a line break. One woman did it in two places.

At the other end of it, I'm with Bev 100% on the idea that a writer had better make it clear, since going out and knocking on readers' doors to explain things isn't an option.

True, but the main reason I seek out critiques is so that I can figure out what's unclear and fix it before I try putting it out for general consumption.

And I almost always feel like I need to question the critiquer a little to figure out the "why" behind their suggestions. Sticking with M and J from my writers group, M is probably the classic virgin reader for work like mine--she hasn't read Jane Austen's works once, much less annually, she knows not the ways of Richard Sharpe and Jack Aubrey, she never reads romances, and she's not a history buff of any shape. So when she doesn't get something, I have to decide if this is a case where I should ignore the virgin reader, because, let's face it, how many people with no Regency era background whatsoever would pick up a book like mine, or if her feedback is telling me I'm coasting on genre cliches and need to do a bit of my own work. And with J, her instinct is to line edit, and since our voices and styles are different, I rarely agree with her ideas. But when I ask her why she wants to make a certain change, I get wonderful insights, because the woman has a great eye for story.

Bev, for some reason, I find that weirdly charming.

I did too, Deb. One of them told me, "A poem is never 'finished.'" Which appeals to my strong tendency to tweak.

True, but the main reason I seek out critiques is so that I can figure out what's unclear and fix it before I try putting it out for general consumption.

Oh, I understand that. Which takes us full circle, back to the "in the form of a question" response to feedback.

I somehow don't think that most people find feedback that's less than 100% enthusiastic easy to take; I'm not fond of it myself. Add that to the need to weigh a variety of takes on the subject - I'll hand a WIP out to anyone who wants to read it, up to and including my neighbour's basset hound - and you get a recipe for frustration.

edited because I am Queen of All Typos this evening. Fear me.

had to fight the urge not to "yes, but," but rather to say,----"You're absolutely wrong," because the whole point of Ch. 2 is that Anna is alienated and has built thick self-protective walls that even her closest friends can't get through.

So I tried to explain the story purpose and cultural reasons Anna wouldn't exactly bare her soul, and ----ask if there was a way to make her more sympathetic within that framework.

In my class I would want you to skip everything beyween the triple hyphens and get right to the question about making her more sympathetic. Why you made those choices and how you plan to have the work out the road don't enter into the problem at hand. You might even need less background explanation than you think.

In my class I would want you to skip everything beyween the triple hyphens and get right to the question about making her more sympathetic.

Huh. See, I don't get that. I don't understand it at all. If twenty people have no trouble with a character as written and one demands more sympathy, why is the writer obliged to concur?

If the writer is initially saying, hmmmm, I don't think she's coming across as sympathetic enough, tell me what you think, that's one thing. But why is the author obliged to assume one critic out of many is right, and rethink her story?

What am I missing here?

Why you made those choices and how you plan to have the work out the road don't enter into the problem at hand. You might even need less background explanation than you think.

I don't think so, for a case like the one I described. I feel like the only way I can get useful feedback from M is if I question her closely on why things aren't working for her. It's all that virgin reader issue described above. If I made every change she suggested, believe me, my stories would no longer be recognizably mine, nor would they be historical fiction of a quality I'd be willing to have my name on. But if I ignored everything she said, I'd miss out on some ways to strengthen my work and make it more accessible to people who aren't Big Damn History Geeks. And it's that clarifying discussion that helps me figure out what to keep and what to ignore.

From my novice point of view, I see a large distinction between justifying yourself and probing the reactions of the audience. I think the reflex of the former often blocks (unless it's "I wanted to do X -- help!"), and the latter can give rise to interesting angles and revelations -- which are perfectly ignorable.