The most important elements of a successful workshop are respect for the work, respect for the writer, specificity of positive and negative criticism, and brutal honestly. I believe in a reaction-based response, which basically means that if I'm bored by a scene or terrified for a character, that's what the writer needs to hear most. That's where we start. I'm not necessarily against suggestions or prescriptions for addressing perceived flaws, but treating somebody else's work like your own rough draft is just silly.

Any group of readers is only helpful to a writer if they share a certain general aesthetic. (Mine, essentially, is that I think fiction should be more about the heart than the brain. I read to have an experience outside of myself that somehow either rhymes with my sense of what it is to be human or expands that sense. If you find yourself talking to others about the thematic implications of your work, or dream about the Cliff Notes someone will write one day to explain the beauty of what you've done, we won't get along.) At the same time, workshops can be susceptible to Group Think, which is why when nine writers I trust accept a certain aspect of a story and one doesn't, I want to hear from the one.

The goal of a workshop is to let the writer know, as concretely and honestly as possible, how his/her work was read by thoughtful, articulate readers.

It is hard to say anything at all "about" workshop, really, since the individuals in the class make up a group dynamic that changes again and again; and, as in any workshop, comments are either helpful or they are not. Any notions I have about our workshop simply derive from the belief that a reader's intelligent and educated response can often assist a writer in the revision of her work. Our workshop is anonymous--there are no names or tell-tale remarks to suggest authorship of the poems we discuss--because it brings a courteous critical distance to our discussions. In class we begin by a reading of a work out loud--not by the poet, but by a reader whose only understanding of the writer's intention is on the page in front of her. We then proceed with a gut reaction--what seems strongest, most visceral and convincing on the page, and also what seems less so. While an initial reaction is often the most helpful gauge to a writer, we supplement this approach with a critical response, suggesting how to address problems, from line breaks and word choices to controlling metaphors and structural imperfections. I do not encourage revising poems for the poet, though occasionally we may come across a line that seems simply too appropriate for the poem not to suggest it. But precisely diagnosing the problem, suggesting a general direction, offering a hypothetical line, or rearranging the lines, words, or stanzas of a poem are always useful approaches, and in any case leaves the writer with considerations for revision.

What's Lake Charles Like?