This month, I will talk about critique sessions and critique groups. I’ll address critique sessions first.

For years, I have been a member of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group, which hosts the Write Stuff Writers Conference. As long as I have been associated with them, the conference has had a “Page Cut” critique session as one of the Friday night offerings of this three-day conference.

An attendee can sign up—there is a small fee—and we limit the number to ten authors per room and allow up to three rooms. On the day of, the author brings four copies of a no-more-than-one-hundred-word synopsis of their work and four copies of the first page of their novel (about 250 words). In both cases, the documents are devoid of the author’s name. In the front of the room is a host/reader and a panel of three experts. These experts—authors, editors, and agents—are the presenters for the Saturday, all-day three-ring circus of sessions, which is the main event of the conference.

During the Page Cut session, the host reads the synopsis and the first page to the panel and audience of each participant in turn, the panel can follow along with their copies and then give their first impressions of the work. (The presenters like this since there are no pre-conference evaluations they must do.)

The fun is—while waiting with bated breath for them to come to your work—you hear the anonymous works of others, have your first impressions, and see how they compare to the experts. (OK, someone in the room is going to know it’s your work, but for the most part, you are anonymous.)

Our Friday night social follows the Page Cut, and there is a cash bar if you really need it.

Concerning critique groups, I am sure there is a range of opinions. My own is that we need one. Particularly if you are self-publishing and not inclined to afford more than a proofreader. Your critique group is the one who will say, “Who’s speaking here?” or “Wait, didn’t you kill that character off in chapter one?”

I have been part of various critique groups, although only one at a time. There can be—and should be—a good amount of time dedicated. Every group is set up differently. In one of my groups, a member submitted a piece for a given month, and the other members critiqued it. The next month, another member submitted a piece for consideration.

In my present group—the word ‘present’ is misleading; we have been together for more than a decade—we meet monthly, each of us submits ten to twenty pages of our work in progress ahead of time. In Word, we use the review function and make copious notes and analyses. In our Zoom meetings, we share these documents and discuss them. There are three of us, and the meetings are about three hours long. I am not sure that critique groups of more than five people can be useful.

I will note here, this group used to be the perfect critique group. Pre-pandemic, we met at each other’s houses, followed the process pretty much as described above, then the host treated the other two to lunch. Being foodies, it was a competition to outdo each other for those few years. The word “Camelot” comes to mind.

Then the pandemic hit, and one of us moved way out of state. Since then, the meetings have been over Zoom. Still highly valuable. We understand each other’s work and what we are trying to achieve, although we are in different genres. Nonetheless, we miss the lunches.

Below is my recipe for Gado Gado sauce, an all-time favorite of our competitive lunches. Put it over your choice of steamed vegetables and shredded cooked chicken if you wish.

Gado Gado Sauce

2 cups warm water

1 ½ cups peanut butter

3 tsp minced garlic

1 tsp red pepper

6 tbsp lemon juice

4 tbsp molasses

6 tbsp soy sauce

If you decide to start your own critique group, consider meeting at a restaurant. I was part of one of those, too.