You’ve finished a story or a book. Naturally, you want people to read it. And ideally, you want them to love it. After all, it’s your baby, your work—something you’ve poured hours (and probably a bit of your soul) into. So asking for feedback? That can feel scary. And sometimes, the feedback you do get isn’t actually all that useful.
So how do you ask for feedback—and receive it—in a way that actually helps?
Not everyone is great at giving feedback.
Especially on stories. It can be surprisingly hard to explain why a certain scene or plot just doesn’t land. That’s why it’s worth asking people who can articulate what they think and why. They don’t have to be writers themselves. In fact, a thoughtful reader who can explain what works (or doesn’t) might be even more valuable.
You’ll often hear people say: “Don’t ask your mum for feedback.” That’s… relative. If your mum is a “Oh darling, how lovely!” kind of mum, then sure, maybe not. But if she’s the honest, analytical type? Go for it.
There’s nothing quite as frustrating as hearing: “Yeah, it was nice.” That’s the literary equivalent of answering “fine” when someone asks how you’re doing—it’s polite, but not helpful. It’s not that people don’t want to help. Most of the time, they just don’t know what you’re actually asking.
When you ask for feedback, steer the conversation.
Ask questions like:
- What was your overall impression?
- Can you describe the story in your own words?
- What scene stood out most to you?
- Can you describe the main character in five words?
Questions like these give your reader a direction—and give you the kind of insight you can actually use.
Don’t just listen—dig deeper.
Feedback is only useful if you understand what’s behind it. If someone says a scene dragged, ask why. Was it the pacing? Too much description? If a character annoyed them, what exactly pushed that button? And if something worked really well—why did it land?
By asking follow-up questions, you’ll start to see your work through someone else’s eyes. That’s how you spot patterns, catch bad habits, and figure out what really makes your story tick.
And remember: it’s not criticism—it’s an experience.
When a story is close to your heart, feedback can feel like criticism. Especially the sharp kind. Maybe your main character—based loosely on yourself—gets called a “self-absorbed wet blanket.” Or that touching romantic scene in chapter three, the one that made you tear up? “Cliché. A bit much.”
Ouch.
Still, painful feedback can teach you something too. Ask why someone had that experience while reading. Maybe that scene only feels cliché and could be lifted with a shift in perspective or a stronger line of dialogue. Sometimes, all it takes is a tweak to turn ‘meh’ into magic.
You won’t agree with everyone.
That’s normal—some things are just a matter of taste. I use a simple rule of thumb: if two or more readers mention the same issue, I take a long hard look at it. If it’s just one person, I consider it, but I’ll probably leave it.
And if you’re writing something experimental or unconventional? Expect confusion. Expect criticism. That doesn’t mean it’s bad. But it does mean you need to know whether your innovation is actually landing. Use your feedback questions to figure that out.
Because there’s a difference between “fresh and original” and “I have no idea what this is meant to be.” Good feedback helps you land in the first camp.
Do you use beta readers?
Do you have a critique group, do you have tips for fellow authors? Drop a comment and let me know.