It was Fall of 2020. The Age of Distance Learning. With flu season on the rise, COVID-19 had just emerged from its summer hibernation and had begun to ravage school hallways again, forcing teachers and students alike to retreat to the new frontiers of cyberspace. For many students, long-distance made digital learning more difficult. It was an epidemic of loneliness. Isolation. And yet, during this time, many students still turned to creative writing as a cathartic outlet or, as one of my friends so aptly described it, “a void to scream into.”

In the solitude of quarantine, I became a creature of habit—reading, writing, and editing. By then I’d been grading assignments as a teaching assistant for eight months at Polyphony Lit, a literary magazine for high school writers and editors. I thought I had it down to an art. Fifty-some students had already funneled through our virtual editorial training course, studying literary elements in poetry and prose, learning how to craft detailed constructive criticism. I had established a steady rhythm, filling out the gradebook rubric, writing feedback for students, and then giving the thumbs-up to our managing editor. This student is ready to work as a junior editor.

Many students still turned to creative writing as a cathartic outlet or, as one of my friends so aptly described it, “a void to scream into.”

One student, however, broke from this rhythm.

That October, a student (who I’ll refer to as E.) submitted her final assignment for the course. In this assignment, we ask students to read a sample poem and write three paragraphs of constructive critique for the author with editorial suggestions, supporting details, quotes from the text, and thought-provoking questions.

For this section of the assignment, though, E. had written less than 30 words.

The poem flows. It is rhythmic and the use of she builds a strong feminine tone into the poem. Great work!

This wasn’t the first time a student had written such short commentary for their assignment, so I provided E. with some feedback, encouraged her to resubmit, and within a week, she responded with a more detailed critique.

In the future I would love to see more uses of active verbs because I think it would certainly strengthen the imagery of your poem. You did a good job with it already. Another thing worth considering is to explore some of the deep intentions behind your word choice. I see you building contrasts with the word’s “ash” and “glory”. It is a good image that could be developed into something great.

This was a good start. It was clear E. had made observations about the author’s strengths and weaknesses. She was motivated enough to take another stab at the assignment, and her efforts were clearly visible, so I felt certain that she showed potential as an editor. There was still a lot to unpack though. While zeroing in on word choice served as a good starting point, it was also just the tip of the iceberg. What was significant about the contrast between “ashes” and “glory”? What deep intentions did E. interpret, and how could the author develop these intentions further?

It seemed like E. was still struggling to articulate her thoughts. Why? I wondered. Maybe it wasn’t so much that E. had failed to understand my feedback, but rather that I’d failed to convey my feedback in a way that would resonate.

After reviewing E.’s new commentary, I turned to my managing editor for advice. What should I do now? I asked.

Maybe nothing, he suggested. If I’d provided feedback, and the student re-submitted without much improvement, then why try it again? Was the third time really the charm? How would the student benefit if I was just going through the same process again? It would’ve been easy to simply move on, but I couldn’t shake the notion that I, as the teaching assistant, had failed. That I was overlooking something fundamental. Maybe I was the one that needed to adapt.

Levels of Editorial Commentary

When training new editors at Polyphony Lit, I often keep my eyes peeled for three qualities in their work. The way I see it, editorial commentary can be broken down into three levels based on the student’s ability to comprehend, analyze, and synthesize information from a reading.

Level 1: Comprehension

The ability to explain or summarize the content of a piece.

Level 2: Analysis

The ability to explain individual literary devices or overarching subtextual development (such as themes or character development) and how these devices support the piece on a craft level.

Level 3: Synthesis

The ability to draw new conclusions and present a unique argument or opinion, while drawing support from existing details, evidence, and rationale.

A well-rounded editor is able to use all three skills in combination throughout their constructive critique. Though, of course, it takes time and practice to build these skills. Think of these levels as ascending terraces of a mountain range, each with increasing altitude. In order to develop strong communication skills, students must gradually acclimatize. In order to analyze a literary work, you first need to master comprehension skills. Similarly, you’ll need practice with both comprehension and analysis before you can synthesize information to develop your own message.

Some students might understand analysis and synthesis already. Meanwhile, others might need to start with comprehension and work their way up. It’s important to keep in mind that not everyone begins at the same elevation. Some students will start at sea level, and that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes, we will need to determine how comfortable students feel. Which level should be their starting point? From there, it will be easier to gauge how quickly students are ready to ascend to the next level.

At Polyphony Lit, our editors learn how to develop communication skills using all three methods above. With this in mind, our editors construct their feedback for authors in a very deliberate form. This feedback is written in a Google Doc and separated into two sections.

First, our editors write specific commentary, a section that usually features about eight to 10 line-by-line observations. Here, an editor might write, “Line 1: I love how you hook readers by starting with this thought-provoking question” or “Line 2: This transition feels a little sudden to me. I might recommend easing readers in with a bit more prelude.”

Then our editors write general commentary, a longer message which delves deeper into the elements that cannot be examined through just a single line. Here editors often open on a positive note by highlighting the author’s strengths. They might write, “I enjoyed your use of descriptive language, and I found the speaker’s voice relatable.” This encouraging tone helps to establish trust between the author and editor, and editors must maintain this tone throughout their entire feedback.

In the latter half of their general commentary, editors provide critique on the piece and offer specific editorial suggestions. Here they must back up their suggestions with supporting details and explanations for why they feel the suggested revisions would improve the author’s work. Here an editor might write, “I noticed throughout the piece that you developed tension between the speaker and her mother, and I’d love to see more anecdotes from the speaker’s childhood that further explore the origins of this fraught relationship. Is the mother critical of the speaker because she is haunted by her own childhood failures?” To substantiate this critique, the editor might refer to one line where the speaker’s mother “glares at her” and then a later line where the speaker crawls home from school with a fever and the mother “cradles her.” Why is the mother judgmental in some circumstances but tender in others? In this case, the editor might suggest providing more insight into the mother’s thoughts so readers will better understand her complex and contradictory behavior.

Why do our editors use such a specific structure, you might wonder? There’s a method to our madness. This structure allows editors to freely explore their thoughts before attempting to organize these thoughts. By writing specific commentary, students develop comprehension and analysis skills. Here they examine the author’s work on a micro-level, exploring how a writer constructs their work through easy-to-identify elements such as word choice, metaphors, or descriptive language. An editor can simply jot down observations while reading and then review and refine these notes upon subsequent reads. In this way, specific commentary helps students acclimatize because it lays the groundwork; it teaches editors how to be active readers and pay close attention to their initial impressions so that, when they write their general commentary, they’re prepared to assemble their observations into editorial suggestions that are both actionable and constructive.

Editors must consider their audience; they are no longer passive observers—instead they’re actively developing a message for the author’s eyes.

At first some students may find general commentary challenging. In order to maintain an encouraging tone, students need to be selective with their word choice and thoughtful about how they address the author. Here editors must consider their audience; they are no longer passive observers—instead they’re actively developing a message for the author’s eyes. For example, instead of writing “this image is cliché,” an editor might instead write, “I’d love to see you add your own unique twist here, just as you did with the vivid image from Line 1.” As you can see, the former approach might simply come across as judgmental, while the latter approach highlights the piece’s potential for improvement. This latter approach identifies a technique that the author has done well already and encourages the author to continue utilizing this technique.

General commentary is also challenging because the organizational structure no longer parallels the line-by-line structure of the reading. At this point, editors need to be resourceful as they create a structure tailored to convey their own unique message. This is where synthesis comes into play. Here editors must present an opinion, provide clear reasoning, and defend their opinions with supporting details.

Formulating a message can sometimes seem daunting to an editor-in-training. Luckily the specific commentary gives students a starting point. We often ask editors to look back at their specific commentary while crafting their general commentary and consider some of the following questions.

Did you notice any recurring patterns while writing your specific commentary?

Which lines did you find most confusing, and what do you want to learn more about? Which lines did you find most powerful, and what made these lines so effective?

How did the author develop their language, and is there any way they could improve it? How did the author develop pacing? Which sections might benefit from further refinement?

Why do you feel the piece would benefit from the revisions you’ve suggested? And which specific lines from the piece illustrate your reasoning?

Asking detail-oriented questions will encourage students to edge beyond their comfort zone, to back up their opinions with examples or reasoning. At the same time, though, questions can instill students with a sense of excitement. The process of digging into the details doesn’t need to be painstaking; instead, it can be adventurous; a revelation!

Acclimatization

After much deliberation over these levels of editorial commentary, I finally returned to E.’s assignment, and acclimatization was the word that ultimately stuck with me. If a mountain climber doesn’t prepare for thin air, then she’ll be struck by a wave of dizziness. Headaches. Nausea. The throbbing pressure of altitude sickness. To jump from sea level straight to the summit ridge is too ambitious, so perhaps all E. needed was some gradual exposure. Some questions to break the ice.

Some students, I’ve discovered, present their most thought-provoking ideas on discussion boards or in Zoom discussion groups, in a space where they can hold an open dialogue with fellow writers. A back and forth conversation can create an exchange of ideas, something that students find exciting.

I thought this image was really vivid. Did you also like this image?

I found this information confusing. What about you?

Did you catch the historical allusion here? That completely changes the context for me!

If I wanted E. to expand on her ideas, then I couldn’t just send her back to a blank page with a blinking cursor and tell her to write. I needed to start a dialogue. So I replied to her with a more informal message.

Hey, is it alright if we discuss a little bit? I wrote. I’m curious to hear more of your thoughts. No need to write additional commentary—I’d just like to have a quick chat in the comments here, just to get a feel for how the poem resonated with you. I agree with you here, that the phrase “came down” is kind of vague; it doesn’t really convey the movement vividly. If you were rewriting this poem, then how might you replace this word? Anything goes here, so don’t be afraid to suggest creative alternatives!

It wasn’t long before E. wrote me back.

I think I would have picked a more fluid verb for “came down,” she said. Connected to the second line with “tip toe,” the verb, I think, could be quiet and fluid. This verb felt important to me because it is in the first line and it really should be refined enough to catch the reader’s attention.

We were on the right track. E. had voiced a new opinion, and this was exactly what I’d hoped to see. Of course, as editors, it is our responsibility to back up opinions with supporting details and maintain a positive tone. But first, an editor needs to generate ideas and understand their own responses to a poem. Now that I’d given E. a safe space to share opinions, she was generating. She was brainstorming freely, and this, I decided, was the way to go. So I asked more questions.

At what point did the author’s message become difficult to follow? I asked. I noticed you used the word “stark” in your specific commentary—and this is a really illustrative word, by the way!—so what makes it feel stark to you? For me, I think it has something to do with the mood shifting from one line to the next. . . . But maybe the poem left a different impression on you?

In response, she said, I liked how the author introduced the reader gradually with one subject, “she,” to another subject, “I.” That build-up is very nice.

Sometimes, as an editor, you need to work backwards. You don’t always start with a clear understanding . . .

My question seemed to give E. pause, as if she was retracing her steps.

I guess I just had this image of soft, tiptoeing, slow like a weighted feather to suddenly fiery that made me a little confused. Definitely the mood shifted with “fiery arms.”

And my last question for you, I wrote. Did you like the poem? And what was your favorite part or your least favorite part? I’d love to hear your opinion.

I do like this poem, E. said finally. It felt complete and the imagery was very powerful. My favorite part is towards the end with repetition of “sticking” and “she [verb].” My least [favorite] part might be the transition in the mood. I think that could use some work. Again, I am glad that my opinion is valued! I hope I explained it clearly.

And there it was: with just a few questions, E. had expanded her constructive critique. It hadn’t arrived all at once. Nor had it arrived in chronological order. But sometimes, as an editor, you need to work backwards. You don’t always start with a clear understanding, and sometimes you need to ask questions to form a deeper understanding of a poem.

Your explanations are perfect, I wrote. In fact, the thoughts you shared are so clear and thoughtful that I would encourage you to hold this as an example for the future! If you can illustrate your thoughts for the author the same way you just illustrated them for me, then I think you’ll be prepared to tackle any poem.

Questions as a Way In

Although my communications with E. took place entirely via messaging and not in-real-time, I’ve come to discover that this same technique—prompting students with one-on-one questions—can work well in a classroom environment as well.

When speaking to a classroom, it can be tempting to explain your own perspective on a poem. To delve headfirst into a lecture. But it’s a delicate balance, knowing when to step in—and when to step back. There are times when you’ll need to nudge the discussion with a question and get the cognitive cogs spinning. And there are times when you need to become, as the French say, laissez-faire. Hands off. Don’t touch. Wind the spring and then let it go. Once the gears have started spinning, don’t stick your fingers in, because this will bring the creative machinery to a screeching halt.

It’s a delicate balance, knowing when to step in—and when to step back.

Whenever my students write constructive critique, I encourage them to ask questions. Poetry can often be intimidating. Obscure in meaning or esoteric in language. It’s okay, I tell them, to not know what the author is saying. You don’t need to be an expert on every poetic device under the sun to be an editor. If a particular line leaves you perplexed, tell the author, I found this line perplexing. Then take the opportunity to explain, more precisely, why it didn’t make sense to you. You might ask, Why did the speaker say this? What drove the speaker to this breaking point? Please tell us more about the speaker’s childhood or show us something that will provide more context. Speculation through questions is a great way to build generative writing skills and overcome writer’s block.

What happens if the students feel stuck though?

Maybe it’s best to start someplace simple. Right away students will be cowed by deep-diving questions like What was the author’s message? or What does this symbol represent? The group will fall silent. Eyes will dart nervously. The entire space will crackle with subliminal fear. What if I answer the question wrong?

Sometimes it’s best to start by asking students for gut reactions. To obliterate this perception of “right” and “wrong” answers by asking a clearly subjective question. Sometimes I’ll start with simple questions like, Did you enjoy this piece? or What’s your favorite line?

By asking for an opinion, you create a space where students can voice their thoughts without needing to worry (just yet) about defending their position.

Once you’ve established this groundwork, it will become easier to dig in and examine more details from the reading. Once students have shared their perspectives, you can then challenge them to explain their points of view by examining the craft elements. At this point, you can prompt with further questions. If you didn’t like the second stanza, why not? Was it unclear or abstract? Did it need more vivid imagery? If the poem’s ending seemed cliché, what was cliché about it? How could the author infuse the ending with more personalized details? If you were revising this piece, then what would you change?

Although giving lectures can certainly help to convey information, in order to become effective communicators, students must be able to do more than simply listen. If you give students the opportunity to explain themselves and express their opinions, this allows them to think critically, to actively translate their thoughts from abstract notions into concrete words.

If you give students the opportunity to explain themselves and express their opinions, this allows them to think critically, to actively translate their thoughts from abstract notions into concrete words.

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In a way, E. had challenged me just as much as I challenged her. Even while I asked her questions to prompt her, I was also asking questions of myself. If a student is struggling, is it because they inherently don’t understand the material? Or is it simply because the teacher needs to explain the material in a different way? How can I, as an editor and creative writing mentor, lecture on the importance of clear and precise communication, unless I think carefully about communicating with my own audience?

At Polyphony Lit, we provide constructive critique on every submission, whether that work is accepted or rejected, because we believe that every writer has something important to say and that their work has value. Similarly, this is my mission in the classroom: to support all my students, regardless of their prior experience or skill.

Incidentally enough, about a year later, I was revising Polyphony Lit’s editorial training course, and E’s work came up again. At this point, I was selecting new sets of sample commentary that our editors had written. Real-life examples that would illustrate for students what well-written commentary looked like.

Without even realizing it, I ended up selecting E’s work (some new commentary that she’d written as a Junior Editor on our staff). It was a full-circle moment, because her writing would now serve as an example for future students to follow.

I couldn’t have planned it better.

Featured photo by eberhard grossgasteiger.