Tamales are said to have originated in Mesoamerica as early as 5000 BCE. They derive their name from the Nahuatl word “tamalii” which means “wrapped food.” The people of the Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico hybridized wild grasses to produce what we know today as corn (thank you, Mexico.) It eventually gained significance in the region as a sacred plant and the main source of food in Meso-American civilizations, particularly the Aztec and Maya civilizations. The Aztec and Maya, as well as the Olmeca and Tolteneca before them, used tamales as a portable food for feeding their armies, but hunters and travelers used them as well.

The making and consumption of tamales was well established by the 16th century in the Aztec empire, around which time the Spanish conqueror and explorer Hernan Cortes (c. 1485-1541) arrived in that section of the New World presently known today as Mexico (which includes a large portion of our Southwestern United States.) Franciscan Friar Bernardino de Sahagun (c. 1499-1590) mentioned tamales in his 12-volume history series on the Aztec civilization, “Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva Espana” (“General History of the Things in New Spain”). The Spanish spread the use of the tamal throughout their other colonies and in Spain after returning to their home country (along with corn seeds.)

A tamal (singular) is made of masa and steamed or boiled in a leaf wrapper (banana in some regional areas of Latin America, corn husk in New Mexico and other Mexican-American areas of the United States.) The wrapping is discarded before eating (former President Gerald Ford, who wasn’t made aware of this well-known-to-tamale-eaters-everywhere fact, when asked what the great lesson of his 1976 election defeat to Jimmy Carter was, he answered, “Always shuck your tamales.”)

For years, the preparation and eating of tamales, known as the tamalada, was as much a Christmas family ritual for Mexican-American families as cutting down and decorating the Christmas tree, or making bizcochitos, a traditional anise and cinnamon-flavored Christmas cookie. While I have tried my hand at making bizcochitos over the years, making homemade tamales was a rite of passage for young girls in our family that has gone by the wayside for me, since it is rare I am with my family the days before Christmas Eve, when the tamale-making is at its peak. You do NOT want to attempt this feat alone!

‘’I think of it as the theology of la tamalada,’’ said Roberto Piña, program coordinator for the Mexican-American Cultural Center in San Antonio, Texas. ‘’It’s a process that begins with making the tamales, but ends up being a sharing of what’s gone on over the past year. It’s not just about making tamales. It’s a way of coming together, sharing and rejoicing.’’

Making homemade tamales, which can easily take eight hours, is definitely on the decline. But people still eat them at the meal following Midnight Mass and throughout the holiday season. They bring them to gatherings the way people elsewhere might bring fruitcakes. This Christmas I have promised myself that I will gather my daughter, daughter-in-law, hopefully-daughter-in-law-to-be, and close friends for an afternoon of tamale-making!

If you’re in the mood for making new traditions with your daughters, sisters or friends this Christmas, I’ve included a humorous account of my family’s tamales recipe on my personal blogspot, Chai Tea and Chocolate, where I’ve collected several tried-and-true family recipes. Gather four to ten “sisters” for a fun day of tamale-making! Everyone brings an appetizer to share and you offer to make the margaritas!

Are you a tamales connoisseur? If so, what are your favorites? Do you have Christmas family traditions you wish you’d kept to pass on to your children?

Back in January, all of the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales Bloggers set some lofty goals for this coming year. With only two months left, I decided to check to see if I’ve been able to meet at least some of the goals.

So here they are:

My 2010 Goals

Writing Goals:               

        1)      Finish the book! (well, at least I have two months left–and NaNoWRiMo!)

        2)     A minimum of 3 queries per month on average (hmmm…what was I thinking?)

        3)     April Workshop and Michael Hauge Workshop (Check!)

        4)     Read more about the craft of writing (Check)

        5)     Do something every day that enhances my writing career (Does getting out of bed count?)

Personal Goals:

        1)      Finish master’s degree in Special Education (Double-check!)

        2)     Find time to enjoy my family and friends (Mostly true…I’ll have to work on this some more in the next two months!)

        3)     Enjoy each day to the fullest (I would say “yes”!)

        4)     To remember it’s not all about “me” (Yeah. No kidding!)

        5)     To make the difference in someone’s life every day (That’s something I’ve tried to do every day this year.)

I’ve got my work cut out for me, I know. But the first of November is a great time for me to take stock of things and push for a great year.

So how about you? Writers and readers, both: have you met or exceeded your goals? What do you plan to do in the next two months that will propel you to a great year?

When I first began writing in hopes of publication, I was pretty nervous about getting my work in front of others. Oh, I had my husband read my early writing, and since he was a high school English teacher, he was good for grammatical errors, or to help with that one descriptive word that I couldn’t, for the life of me, pull out of the hat.

 I ventured out to sending a chapter or two to my sisters, who absolutely loved my work—of course. Sisters are supposed to love your work, especially if they ever want to read about themselves in a positive light in your next novel! And my writing was…adequate. But I had lots to learn about the craft of writing a good story; in fact, I’m still learning. Most importantly, my sisters aren’t writers and, while they certainly boosted my confidence, they didn’t necessarily help me craft a better story. Fortunately, critique groups have a much deeper purpose in helping an author create a story that cannot be done by those whose purpose in life is to love you. Just sayin’!

 Ultimately, not all critique groups or partners are created equal. Some may not have developed the expertise to help you in the way you need to be helped. Others may not have the confidence to “tell it like it is” and simply become cheerleaders (I’m not saying that’s bad…sometimes we do need a little “rah-rah” to keep us writing!) And some may just not like your sub-genre or feel uncomfortable reading more graphic scenes.

 Guess what? That’s okay!

 A good critique group or partner is a diamond in the rough! They help you by finding the holes, inconsistencies, and general “blah-ness” that pulls your reader away from what it is you’re trying to get across. They are readers, first and foremost, whose opinion is greatly valued by the author. That doesn’t mean you change everything to please them, but you listen. What are they pointing out as problematic? Is your voice overwhelming the point of view of a particular character? Are there inconsistencies that are perfectly clear to you but not to another? Maybe you know “too much” and need to back up and give the reader more backstory so that it is clearer to them. And, of course, you want that one critique partner who is an exceptional copy-editor and can find grammatical and typographical errors in her sleep!

 All of these characteristics of a good critique group, and many, many more, helped take my stories from “adequate” to sparkling. My critique partners didn’t write my stories. They were the beta testers that helped me find problems in my work and sometimes gave me suggestions on how to fix them.

 Because I would much rather have a critique partner point out my problems than an agent or an editor in a rejection letter. I don’t have a problem with an editor or agent rejecting my story because it just isn’t right for them at this time. I do have a problem with them pointing out mistakes that could have been caught by a good critique group. Sending out partial and full manuscripts should be your best work. A good critique group helps you get there.

Rachel scooted up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Her heart raced. She had a pretty good idea what Jack and Tom were discussing, and she wished she could be the fly on the wall.

On second thought, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Tom was her superior, and fulfilled every dream she’d ever had about the man with whom she’d dreamed of living out the rest of her life. He was handsome, hard-working, considerate—the epitome of success. He treated her with respect and even though she had known he wanted her, he’d held out, waiting for her to make the first move.

And Jack was…well, Jack. What you saw was what you got with Jack. He was one of the best in their unit and even though he’d slipped up this time, it was not all his fault. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Their kiss resolved whatever doubts she’d been having about him. But they were in the middle of this job and the job came first. Whatever feelings they had for each other needed to be shelved until Frank Watson was behind bars.

Of course, that was easy to say and much harder to do, especially now that they were going to have to live together in this great big house with enough horizontal surfaces to conjure up a year of hot dreams. Not to mention the indoor swimming pool and hot tub, which Jack had teasingly referred to the day they moved in.

She slipped off her gown and corset, and then began the unpleasant process of unfastening the taped wires on her abdomen. No one had ever mentioned the pain associated with removing wires—she’d learned about them on the job. The marks left from the tape painted red splotches on her pale skin, making her look like a Picasso painting gone awry. So much for the glamour of undercover work.

“Nice view, Mrs. Willoughby.”

She yelped before grabbing a decorative pillow from the bed to cover her breasts and then turned her back on Jack. She glared at him over her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me?”

He was propped against the bedroom doorframe, his jacket and tie gone, white shirt untucked. He looked a sight—blood-tinged welts from the pummeling to his face rearranged his near perfect features and she knew he had some broken ribs. All in a night’s work, she supposed.

“No problem, I’ll just wait here and enjoy the show. This view is actually just as enticing, I might add.” His voice dropped. “I especially like that cute little birthmark right below your left cheek.”

“Out.” She grabbed a bolster and placed it on her butt. “Now.”

“Aw, you just ruined it. I was hoping to have the memory of your beautiful—”

“Stop. Walk out the door now.” She could hear his footsteps moving toward her. “Jack, I mean it.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not very good at taking orders.” His breath at the back of her neck ran shivers down her spine, inciting every nerve ending on her skin. “I’ve been waiting to do this all night. Do you know you have the sexiest spot right here?” He breathed a kiss at a spot just behind her ear. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to this spot,” he said, taking a nip at the space between her shoulder and neck. His finger circled slowly, ever so slowly, down the length of her arm, stopping at the juncture on the inside of her elbow.

She heard a growl and was afraid it hadn’t come from him.

“You like that?” His sultry voice and feathery touch was breaking down barriers faster than Jimmie Johnson on the backstretch at Daytona.

Somewhere, somehow, she needed to get a backbone and remember they had a job to do.

And this wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry.” She turned, using the pillow as a shield. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I believe your room is the master downstairs?”

He frowned and then attempted a wink that didn’t quite make it, considering his left eye was pretty much swollen shut. “I’m not sleepy yet.” His little grin reminded her of a little boy attempting to get out of going to bed early.

It took every ounce of strength she had not to reach out and welcome him into her arms. “Well, I am,” she retorted, moving away from him and toward the bathroom. “I don’t know about you, but this evening has really taken a lot out of me.”

“Yeah, well it hasn’t been all apple pie and ice cream for me, either, sweetheart.” He winced as he sat on the bed. “I’m heading over to the emergency room at Northside. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

“It’s Saturday night, Jack. You’ll be lucky to get seen in the next two hours.”

He ran both hands through his hair. “Yeah, well, I have an inside track,” he said with a grin. “Make sure to set the alarms, will you? I don’t want to worry about you while I’m gone.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Besides, how many agents do we have running surveillance in the basement?” Prior to moving them in, a full staff of household workers were hired to maintain the massive house and grounds. They must have nearly emptied the FBI office in Miami of all its Latina undercover agents, including the infamous Vargas sisters, Lulu and Lucia.

He laughed. “You’re right. But you never know.” He stood and walked slowly toward her. “I’m sorry about tonight.” His blue eyes, what she could see of them, seemed sincere.

“Stop.” She wouldn’t let him take the rap alone. “It was as much my fault as yours.”

His hand reached out to touch her and she flinched. Instead, he tucked it into his pants pocket. “I should have known better. From now on, it’s all business outside this room.”

She shook her head. “You’re right, Jack. It’s all business from now on. Everywhere. Including this room.” Stepping into the bathroom, she partially shut the door behind her and dropped the pillows before poking her head out. “Bye.”

“Spoken like a true fibbie.”

His lopsided smile pierced a sharp pain in her heart. She’d never forget that grin in a million years. “Later,” she said, slamming the door in his face. She leaned against the door as if the mere act could keep Jack from overwhelming her.

Too late for that, she thought.

Jack headed for the gourmet kitchen where he retrieved the keys to the Mercedes parked in the four-car attached garage. He could get used to this lifestyle, he thought, as he revved the engine and backed out. The massive house was situated on a large two-acre plot of prime land in Buckhead. It seemed to go on forever, but the tall and lush magnolias, oaks, and evergreens surrounding the structure gave it a homey, tucked-in feeling. The entire perimeter was fenced in by a stone wall and locked gate. He punched buttons until he found his favorite Atlanta country station. Trace Atkins’ gravelly voice came over the airwaves, singing one of his favorite songs.

“You’re gonna miss this,” he warbled off-key. Not hardly.

Racing down the driveway, he hit the button to unlock and open the gate and charged out onto West Paces Ferry. It was less than a fifteen-minute drive to the Northside Hospital emergency room, but it gave him plenty of time to think.

The discussion with Tom…actually, more of a directive…left him with two options—keep his hands off Rachel, or find another job. Since finding another position in law enforcement after being fired from the FBI would be quite difficult, he agreed to keep his relationship with Rachel strictly professional.

But they did have a cover, and that cover required them to act as husband and wife in public. So Tom couldn’t say jack about his being a loving and attentive husband when they were out and about.

He laughed to himself. He just needed to make sure they spent plenty of time in public.

Mulling over the details of the operation Tom had finally shared with him, he settled into the comfy, leather seat. Getting the twins involved was going to make this job very interesting, especially since they were going to be able to work from inside. They would wait for Watson to make the next move.

He made a right turn and headed up Glenridge. His face hurt like hell and he was having a difficult time taking deep breaths. But, damn, that kiss he shared with Rachel had been worth every punch he took.

Just as the Mercedes hit the bridge over Georgia 400, he heard a roar come up behind him. The headlights of the vehicle were on bright, temporarily blinding him. The Mercedes jerked as the vehicle plowed into the back of him before swerving as if to pass.

“Damned drunk drivers,” Jack said as he let off the gas. How the heck was he going to explain a rear-ended bumper on a sports car that could hit 120 miles an hour? If he thought he was in trouble with Tom before, he was wading in it now.

All he could see was the side of a black 4×4 pickup with oversized tires as it pulled alongside, and then slammed him, pushing the luxury car into the concrete abutment.

“What the—” He hit the brakes. “Oh, sh—” he said as he felt his car break through the wall and free-fall off the bridge.

* * * * *

Ahhhh! Who decided we had to wait for the next chapter? Oh, that was me. Okay. I’ll calm down now.

If your hands are stable enough to type, leave a comment below for a chance to win a prize! Can’t wait for Thursday! (Tune in tomorrow for our guest chef, Suzanna Frazier.)

Conferences are the lifeblood of writing organizations like Romance Writers of America (RWA) and its local chapters. Publishers and editors, agents, published and wanna-be-published writers join together for a few days of exhilarating workshops, motivating keynotes, parties, celebration, and merriment surrounding our favorite pastime (after sitting at the keyboard for hours at a time, of course)—eating and drinking.

Georgia Romance Writers (GRW) are no exception. Our fall Moonlight and Magnolias Conference is considered one of the best in RWA circles. This year we’ll have Michael Hauge, a best-seller and story and script consultant in Hollywood, presenting a full-day workshop on “Master Your Story—Master Your Destiny”, NYT bestseller Allison Brennan will be the keynote speaker, and Psychologist and Author Kelly L. Stone will present her half-day workshop on Sunday morning, “The Secret to Freeing Your Creative Mind.” Oh, and we’ll also have 3 editors and 3 agents taking pitches. If you’ve been thinking of attending a writer’s conference, M&M 2010 is the place to be!

It is a big deal to be nominated for a Maggie (the chapter’s equivalent of the Rita, Oscar and Grammy…all rolled into one!), and members will bow down before you if you are fortunate enough to win the Maggie. Seriously. Two of our very own PFHT blog sisters, Debbie Kaufman and Sally Kilpatrick were named finalists in this year’s Maggie competition. Even more important is the opportunity to meet others on the road to publication and to rub elbows with those who have been successful in their quest to be published. The weekend is so inspiring you’ll find yourself racing home on Sunday evening to finish that manuscript that’s been languishing on your computer.

My very first writer’s conference was Moonlight and Magnolias. I can remember being awed by the number of published authors, agents and editors milling around, the quality of the workshops—it was where I learned of my tendency to “head hop”—and experienced the nurturing characteristic that romance writers seem to possess. After that first conference, I was hooked and I haven’t missed a conference yet. Last year, I even hit the dance floor after the Maggie presentation!

I’ve had some awesome experiences at conferences. Imagine my first RWA conference, where I found myself helping Nora Roberts set up her table for the RWA Book Signing in Dallas. She is irreverent, but friendly, and is known for her unfailing support of newbie writers. But do not doubt that she’ll give you a friendly kick in the butt if you show any sign of self-pity. “This is a job,” she said that year. “If you want to make it in this business, you need to treat it as such.” You want to know why she’s so successful? She writes every day, even when she’s traveling or attending conferences. She does her own research. And she still finds time to give unpublished writers advice on different blogs she frequents. Nora Roberts is my hero.

So what are your conference highlights? What wonderful advice would you give to someone considering attending their very first conference?

I posted a request on my Facebook page asking for suggestions on this month’s blog post. Several people made suggestions, which I am going to use for posts later in the year (so be looking for that authentic, family tamale recipe, Tami!)

But this particular request struck my fancy. It took a while, but I think I’ve come up with a good top ten list of things you should NEVER blog about:

10. Your politics. Unless you plan to alienate a minimum of 50% of your readership, including your in-laws, you really need to stay away from this topic.

9. Your in-laws. Because even if you plan to tell a “cute” story that happened, in-laws will never take what you write on face value.

8. Your in-laws who are outlaws.  No need in airing the dirty laundry, unless you’re using the opportunity to remove yourself from the Christmas card list—permanently.

7. Your dirty laundry. Literally as well as figuratively. Trust me, it’ll come back to haunt you. Blog posts have a half-life equivalent to that of radioactive isotopes.

6. Isotopes. Unless your readership is 90% GA Tech graduates, most of us don’t know diddley about isotopes.

5. Bo Diddley. The celebrated rhythm and blues performer from the 50s whose big hit was, strangely enough, Bo Diddley.

4. The 50s. Especially if your readership’s idea of an oldie is Madonna singing “Like a Virgin.”

3. Madonna. I mean, what’s the point? Pretty much everything you’d want to know, and a lot that you didn’t, has already been written.

2. Topics you’ve already written about. I know, I know, that’s a stretch, but I’m desperate here.

And the number one thing you shouldn’t blog about? Drum roll…please….

1. Top ten lists!

Do you have anything you’d add to the list? Any examples of simply horrid blog posts you wish someone hadn’t written?

I’m not as old as Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson, both of whom were feisty young bucks by the time my mother gave birth to me. But ever since the day I hit 40, it seems as if that cute little saying, “She’s over the hill!” has evolved into “Watch the old lady tumble down the mountain!” Scary.

If the climb up the hill was rugged, trust me, it’s smooth as ice on the way down. Right now I’m on a ledge halfway down, I’ve got bruises and scrapes all over my body, sweaty fingers are gripping a clump of grass in a crevice, a tenuous hold at best, and my legs are flailing around, trying to find purchase.

It’s not pretty.

I have a t-shirt in my closet that says, “I got this shirt when I turned 40…I hate this shirt.” Two years ago, I crossed out the word “hate” and wrote in “love”. Yeah, 40 is a heck of a lot better than 5… Darn keyboard. Can’t seem to find that number…

But I digress.

I thought about my bucket list when my 20-year-old daughter, Jennifer, asked if I’d like to skydive with her this summer. “Skydive? You? Me? Are you CRAZY?”

After getting over the thought of watching my little baby girl hurtling toward earth at 55 meters per second, a niggling memory picked its way through my psyche and I remembered that I’d signed up at age 19 to skydive with a group of friends. Unfortunately I wound up having emergency surgery the week before, then pretty soon I got married; shortly afterward we were saddled with a mortgage, birthed three kids, now the grandkids…well, you get the picture. Responsibilities.

That dream of jumping out of an airplane only surfaced once—when I’d stepped outside for a few minutes and my two little boys locked themselves in the bathroom to test what would happen if they flushed a tennis ball down the toilet. Over and over they flushed, so many times that by the time I found them, the carpet was waterlogged halfway down the hallway and into three bedrooms. Oh, and hubby was out of town for a week. Of course.

Sorry. Some things you never forget, even at the ripe old age of 5…

I’ve been giving her proposal a lot of thought. School’s out. I’ve got good insurance. I’ve had a good life. And parachuting was on the original list, I reminded myself. Along with visiting New York City, several times—check; riding a camel to the Giza Pyramids in Egypt—check; sipping a glass of wine with friends at a restaurant somewhere along the Mediterranean (Alexandria)—check; roaming the Coliseum in Rome—check; watching a baseball game at every major league park (10 out of 30, not too bad); playing golf and enjoying a luau in Hawaii—check; publishing a novel—check. I’ve still got a few unchecked items on the list: traveling throughout Europe, sailing on the Atlantic, seeing the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the Great Wall of China.

Oh, and hitting the New York Times bestseller list. Gotta have a stretch goal on the old Bucket List, right?

I’ve crossed out several items, so I’ve decided to add to it. Carol Burnside’s cruise (see her blog from last Friday) is definitely on the list. And, yes, jumping out of an airplane with Jennifer this summer is on the list. I’ll let you know how it goes. If anything, it’s good research for my next book. Surely I can find somewhere to put in a scene of my heroine jumping out of an airplane.

Screaming bloody murder the entire way down.

Any suggestions? What would you put on your list?

This month’s topic is the craft of writing. What am I good at? What do I struggle with? There are some times when the answers to those questions would be, “Nothing.” “Everything.”

Each of us who has taken up the quill in hopes of publication goes through periods when it seems that everything we write is, for lack of a better word today…crap.

So what’s up with that? It’s the rare writer who can’t come up with a great plot idea.  Spend any time in a room full of writers and they’ll talk your ear off about their latest story idea. That’s why we decided to pursue this goal. We’re good readers and know a good story when we hear one.

In my process, I typically start out with a “high-concept” premise (shorthand for putting two diametrically-opposed movies together and calling it a story.) Just kidding. But depending on the genre of writing, commercial writers like me come up with a fantastic story line destined to make the top of the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. (If not me, then who? Nora Roberts?)

I semi-plot out some scenes I have in mind that will take me to the “black moment” when all seems lost. I usually already know how I want the story to end (happily ever after, of course), but know that the “pantser” in me (my characters have a will of their own) will probably dictate that the ending could be different. I’m okay with that.

Then I take a look at the goal, motivation and conflict for each of the characters and between them. Who are they? What makes them tick? What do they want and why can’t they get it? Do they have any personal “quirks” or idiosyncrasies?

Finally, I write my synopsis, give it to critique partners, friends, my husband…anyone willing to give me some feedback on the story. Is it a good premise? What about the conflict? Good enough? After all, no one wants to start a book if it’s flawed to begin with, right?

Check, check, check.

This then comes to the crucial part of the process. Sitting my butt in the chair and starting. Yup, that’s my nemesis. I don’t have writer’s block. How could I? The story is THERE, waiting for me to tell it. But I can find a thousand little ways of keeping my focus on other things than writing that story.

Liz Strauss says “writers are a paradox of ego and self-doubt.” So true. A writer is always in the process of becoming a better writer. There is always room for improvement, so in our twisted way of looking at it we actually believe where we are in the process can’t possibly be good enough. Make sense?

The truly successful, in my opinion, are able to transcend that self-doubt to let their ego fly. After all, it’s not the words…it’s the story. Tell the story as if there were no tomorrow, using the words you have now, today. Listen to the dialogue in your head, allowing your characters to come alive by the words they say and how they say them. Let the story take precedence and the words will come. Unlock the story from your mind and give the story a chance.

Will it be good enough? Who knows. The editing is every bit as important as the first draft. But what I do know is that if it’s still locked in my mind and not on paper, the answer is a definite “no.”

Thoughts?

When I first began writing in hopes of publication, I was pretty nervous about getting my work in front of others. Oh, I had my husband read my early writing, and since he was a high school English teacher, he was good for grammatical errors, or to help with that one descriptive word that I couldn’t, for the life of me, pull out of the hat.

I ventured out to sending a chapter or two to my sisters, who absolutely loved my work—of course. Sisters are supposed to love your work, especially if they ever want to read about themselves in a positive light in your next novel! And my writing was…adequate. But I had lots to learn about the craft of writing a good story; in fact, I’m still learning. Most importantly, my sisters aren’t writers and, while they certainly boosted my confidence, they didn’t necessarily help me craft a better story. Fortunately, critique groups have a much deeper purpose in helping an author create a story that cannot be done by those whose purpose in life is to love you. Just sayin’!

Ultimately, not all critique groups or partners are created equal. Some may not have developed the expertise to help you in the way you need to be helped. Others may not have the confidence to “tell it like it is” and simply become cheerleaders (I’m not saying that’s bad…sometimes we do need a little “rah-rah” to keep us writing!) And some may just not like your sub-genre or feel uncomfortable reading more graphic scenes.

A good critique group or partner is a diamond in the rough! They help you by finding the holes, inconsistencies, and general “blah-ness” that pulls your reader away from what it is you’re trying to get across. They are readers, first and foremost, whose opinion is greatly valued by the author. That doesn’t mean you change everything to please them,–but you listen. What are they pointing out as problematic? Is your voice overwhelming the point of view of a particular character? Are there inconsistencies that are perfectly clear to you but not to another? Maybe you know “too much” and need to back up and give the reader more backstory so that it is clearer to them. And, of course, you want that one critique partner who is an exceptional copy-editor and can find grammatical and typographical errors in her sleep!

All of these characteristics of a good critique group, and many, many more, helped take my stories from “adequate” to sparkling. My critique partners didn’t write my stories. They were the beta testers that helped me find problems in my work and sometimes gave me suggestions on how to fix them.

Wouldn’t you much rather have a critique partner point out the problems in your story than an agent or an editor in a rejection letter? I don’t have a problem with an editor or agent rejecting my story because it just isn’t right for them at this time. I do have a problem with them pointing out mistakes that could have been caught by a good critique partner. Partial and full manuscripts sent out should reflect your best work. A good critique group helps you get there.

Comments? What do you want and need in a critique partner? What are good characteristics of a critique partnership for you?