Writers use “workshop” as a verb. As in, “Your book is coming along. You should workshop it.”
I haven’t done a workshop in many years. But for a while there, workshopping was a huge part of my writing life. It basically defined my grad school program–and most grad school programs (which is important to note if you’re considering such a thing).
Personally, I don’t like workshops. I may have just made a few enemies saying that. Writers seem to either LOVE them or DESPISE them. There is no in-between. One of the main reasons I don’t like workshops is that I am a very solitary creature and I consider writing to be a very solitary activity, especially when I’m in the process of it. After I’m done with something, I have a small handful of people I trust to read my stuff and tell me if it sucks or not. I don’t bug them while I’m writing though. I don’t ask them to critique as I go, one chapter at a time. That process is sacred to me, private.
Another reason I don’t like workshops is because people are either 1) way too polite, or 2) way too mean. In most of the workshops I’ve been in, we gave our pages to everyone else in the workshop and then took theirs home. When we reconvened, we gave each other feedback (and then handed over new pages). What I’ve witnessed is that if someone’s work is really bad (and it’s really not a subjective matter, trust me), nobody wants to say it. Instead, they fixate on small things that they know won’t break the writer’s heart, like, “On page 49, you said it was snowing, but isn’t it supposed to be May?” The thing is that a writer needs to know if their work sucks and it’s better if the news comes from people who are gentle and caring (as opposed to from a potential agent or publisher who responds with something harsh and insensitive).
On the opposite extreme, people can also be really mean–but, interestingly, not to the people whose work sucks. I’ve noticed that people are harshest with those whose work is actually pretty decent. Maybe there’s a competitive thing going on? Or maybe people critique hard when they see that a piece has some potential, trapped beneath a few character issues and plot problems? I want to think it’s the latter. It’s like if people are convinced there’s a giant turd buried under a pile of dirt, they won’t dig too viciously; if they think it might be a diamond, they will be relentless.
In general, whether people are nice or mean, very few of my workshop experiences have offered any kind of helpful direction. They have just been a bunch of people talking in “workshop language.” I’ve always left confused and lost. Amy Klein did a blog post about the “writing workshop glossary” for the New York Times that made me nod in hilarious recognition. Here’s my interpretation of the workshop language in Klein’s glossary:
“Find Your Own Voice”
Anyone who has been in writing workshops or classes has heard this. If you give or receive this advice, you should know that it’s code for, “you kind of sound like other writers” or “you are not unique or original.” Courageous critics will go a little further and tack on something like, “I’m just not hearing YOU in these pages.”
“I Don’t Find the Character Sympathetic”
This just means, “I don’t like your protagonist” or “Your protagonist annoys me” or “I don’t really care what happens to your character, meaning I don’t really give a crap about your story.” This is a fun one.
“What Does the Character Want?”
This translates to, “I’m not really sure what this story is about” or “This is boring as hell.”
“What Is this Story Really About?”
This is a workshop favorite. People ask this one a lot, with great emphasis on the “about.” What they are wondering is, “What is the deeper meaning?” or “What grand thing are you trying to communicate?” It can be a way of calling your story superficial or scattered or unfocused.
“Show, Don’t Tell”
This is just a way of saying, “I don’t like the way you wrote this” or “Could you be a little more creative in writing about the trees outside the windows/the morning dew/whatever?” They’re kind of saying that you’re not poetic enough or a little lazy with your descriptions.
“Kill Your Darlings”
This means, “You have a lot of extraneous shit in here and you should cut it out” or “I know you love this line/paragraph/chapter, but it blows.”
***
There are many writers who benefit from workshops, and learn to interpret the language and find ways to improve their stories. I, for one, will continue to be a socially awkward hermit who prefers to have a select group of readers crush her soul when necessary. Whatever your way, good luck!