I’m a psychology major and a creative writing major, which means that the only thing I hate more than talking about my feelings is talking about my writing. I find it awkward, uncomfortable, and nerve-wracking. Here you are with a piece that you’ve worked on for weeks or months – or possibly years – offering it up for the perusal and attendant critiques of strangers. Unfortunately, workshops are a staple of the creative writing field, which means that I have to do this frequently, and when choosing a piece to workshop, I try to minimize my own pain and the pain of everybody else in the class. Workshopping is bad enough. Here are some tried-and-true tips to keep the torture to a minimum.

First of all, pick your piece carefully. Don’t bring in your cherished novel that you’ve been working on since you came out of the womb. That’s way too much pressure to put on your classmates, who don’t enjoy workshopping that much either and are just waiting for it to be their turn so they can force everyone to read their work. Conversely, don’t waltz in on workshop day with some piece you just dashed off the night before. We’re all stuck here for the same amount of time. Might as well give us something worthwhile to look at.

Most classes have you critique the piece in question prior to workshop day. This is good, because I’ve seen the expression on my own face when I get a first look at a particularly odious piece of writing, and it’s not something that whoever produced that writing, however odious it may be, should have to see. Therefore, it’s in your best interest to use this pre-workshop time wisely. Get all your cringes, eye-rolls, and sounds of disgust out early. This is an important thing to do, because workshop is supposed to be a Sacred Space and we’re all supposed to be professional.

Now, you’ve arrived at workshop, and you’re there for one of two reasons: Either it’s your day to workshop and you’re dying to hear what everyone else thinks of your writing, or it’s not your day and you just can’t wait for it to be over. It’s a good idea to conceal both of these reasons from your fellow classmates. Nobody likes that kid who’s so eager for feedback that they’re practically jumping out of their chair, and nobody likes the kid who looks like they’re taking a nap on their keyboard. Moderation is your friend.

If it’s your workshop day, the most important thing to do is control yourself. As I said before, nothing kills an already somber mood faster than an overenthusiastic writer who’s clearly waiting for everyone to tell them how great their piece is. Remain calm. Even if you think you’re the best writer ever to walk the earth and you’re only here because you had to fill a credit requirement, it’s a good idea to pretend you’re at least open to feedback. Practice nodding, smiling, and not going red in the face every time someone tells you that your main character is underdeveloped.

If it’s not your workshop day, your job is both to provide critique and hide just how much you wish you were somewhere else. Sometimes these tasks work at cross purposes. For instance, when I’m bored in workshop and feel like my time could be better used counting the dead bugs in the windowsill, I tend to get particularly harsh in my critiques. This isn’t always a bad thing, but the goal of the non-workshopper in a workshop class is to act mildly interested and avoid being noticed. If you don’t think you can hide your saltiness in class, put it all in your written critique. This way you can vent your rage against the other person’s cliché, trope-ridden piece without outing yourself to the rest of the class as a huge jerk.

Keep all this in mind the next time it’s workshop day. Remember, we’re all suffering equally. Don’t make it harder.