Translated from the author’s original Chinese testimonial.
You can write fiction however you like day to day — but if you want to enter contests, you need to know how industry insiders see your work.
I’ve always written on my own, rarely interacting with other writers or readers. My sense of what works came from film critics’ roast videos and authors’ writing tutorials, because I believed that people who have read countless works end up pointing to the same workable techniques — creative directions that stand the test of time.
For fifteen years I worked on just one story, 《靈魂的羽毛》. Based on feedback from family and friends, I tore down and rewrote its structure several times, trying to produce a first chapter I wouldn’t regret — but I never found a clear direction.
A few years ago I saw Utsudo running critique sessions and watched from the sidelines for a while. If it were just a mutual-praise event for fellow writers, there’d be no point joining. After a few episodes, I realized she was seriously offering her views: she doesn’t tear people apart, but she doesn’t heap on empty praise either. More importantly, her likes and dislikes were close to the techniques I’d learned — in short, we valued the same things in a story.
So I entered the critique with the best version I had at the time.
Since she doesn’t really say harsh things, I felt that to get real value I had to read the unspoken meaning behind her reactions: how she reacts when she’s genuinely interested, when she isn’t, and even when a passage makes her cringe — all of which you can pick up by watching her critique other works.
After my first critique, my own conclusion was: bland and unremarkable — doomed.
Taking her reactions home, I re-examined how I was telling the story. Why had I thought it would be interesting to describe two sides hacking at each other before readers even knew the characters’ personalities, the setting or their motives?
So I changed my whole approach, focusing instead on the people, events and things the character sees, introducing the character and their world through their senses. When I showed the new version to family and friends, their eyes lit up — they said it was clearly a step above my earlier writing.
Just before KadoKado held its first creative writing awards in 2022, Utsudo opened submissions for critiques again. I signed up once more, curious to compare her reactions to the two versions.
This time she gave it a very good review, and I knew it was her genuine “this is actually good” reaction. I was thrilled, because it confirmed I really had improved — and I’d finally nailed the first chapter. Even if my entry to the KadoKado contest didn’t make the shortlist, it wouldn’t be embarrassing.
In the end, I survived the shortlist and, to my surprise, won an award. Looking back, having Utsudo critique my work wasn’t just a way to check the results of my effort — hearing it from her gave me confidence in my own abilities, and that confidence is what makes creative work constructive.
If a writer’s mind is worn down and their work can’t even convince themselves, how can it capture the judges’ attention? So I believe writers owe themselves and their work a chance: let Utsudo, a long-time industry veteran, take a look — the key to breaking through your blind spots may be in her advice.
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