If you’re an aspiring writer (or even an accomplished writer), you should be in a writer’s critique group.

I speak from experience, having been so fortunate to have found an excellent local group. It’s not just all the little writing tips and tricks I have gleaned from my interactions with other writers, the real benefit of a critique group is practicing to both give and receive quality critiques. Developing this skill will directly improve your talent as a writer.

Learning to deliver a thoughtful critique sharpens your ability to identify strengths and weaknesses in the writing of others, and this skill transfers directly to improved troubleshooting of your own writing. Learning how to receive a critique in earnest, and when and how to make changes based on this feedback, is also an essential skill for any writer who cares about the experience of their readers; a good critique can sometimes find inconsistencies in the elements of your story that might be invisible to you through over-familiarity with your own work.

What follows is a very short story that has benefited greatly from only two iterations of critiques from my local critique group, and it is dedicated to them, the AVL Writers.

         Mothers Against Adrenochrome, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, was sued by Mothers Against Drunk Driving, another 501(c)(3) non-profit, for trademark infringement no less. The lawsuit made no sense to me. We’re MAAD with two As, (M)others (A)gainst (Ad)renochrome, and they’re MADD with two Ds, (M)others (A)gainst (D)runk (D)riving. But the court sided with those foolish, petty women, granting the full amount requested in damages, plus all attorneys’ fees and costs, which has emptied the fund. Mothers Against Adrenochrome is done, and with Christmas just around the corner. The board of directors sent out a letter; they’ve scheduled a vote on a formal proposal to dissolve the organization. It’s just a matter of time. But I only joined our local chapter to find support for Harmony, my daughter, to help her get off this horrible stuff, so until the dissolution is official, we’ll continue on. I’m here for my daughter. I need to stay focused.

         There are only a few of us in our local chapter, and we all do what we can. Tuesday is my night to lead the local MAAD youth support group at the community center. It’s just me and a dozen young teens and tweens, sitting in a circle made of metal folding chairs. My daughter, Harmony, is in the group too. She won’t even look at me. She just sits there, silent, dressed in black from head to toe, cuts all over her forearms, her head shaved, the blood-crusted words HAIL SATAN carved into her forehead.

         “Everyone hold hands,” I said. “We’ll begin with a moment of reflection.”

         No one held hands, so I skipped the opening moment of reflection.

         “Harmony, honey, would you like to go first?” I said. “Tell us about your week.”

         Harmony just looked away. I knew that was too much to hope for. This time last year, our Tuesday evenings were Harmony’s junior riding lessons at the Equestrian Center. She was amazing. I was so proud of her. She was just a smart, beautiful thirteen-year-old girl with long blonde hair who loved to ride horses. Now she’s a bald fourteen-year-old with an illiterate thirty-five year old boyfriend with rotten teeth who introduces himself as King Kong. I have to try harder. I moved on to Colin.

         “How about you, Colin? Can we begin with you?”

         “Eat shit, Mrs. Hofmann,” said Colin. “I’m only here ‘cause the court says I got to. As soon as we’re done, I’m going out back to smoke a dog dick.”

         Dog dick! I cringed. Colin use to be such a sweet boy. They were all good kids not so long ago, before this horrible drug arrived.

         Adrenochrome has many street names. I know more about this stuff now than I ever wanted to. They call it dog dick, rape kit, the burning purple, bogeyman, hades, and even x-mas. I say x-mas, rather than just calling it adrenochrome, to build comradery will all the kids that are hooked on this stuff, but also because I can’t bring myself to say dog dick, not out loud anyway.

         “I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Christmas is just a week away. Let rap about how we can all have a Merry Xmas without doing any x-mas.”

         They all laughed, but not at my pun. They were laughing at me. I wasn’t getting through to them.

         “Just shut up, you corny old bitch,” said Aidan. Aidan was once a national spelling bee champion.

         “Has everyone been journaling like we discussed?” I said, and I took another sip from my water bottle. That’s when it hit me. I was hot, too hot. It had been building for a while, until it was impossible to ignore. I had to stand and move around. Then I noticed Emma, smiling like a devil.

         “You feeling okay, Mrs. Hofmann?” said Emma. I knew right away, she had put something in my water. It could only have been one thing.

         “I cast a spell on you,” said Ava. She was in on it too. I paced frantically. I couldn’t cool down. I wasn’t sure I was breathing. Harmony just turned away.

         “You dosed her?” said Aidan. “L.O.L. The purple’s got her now.”

         “Hope you’re not busy for a few days,” said Colin. He and Aidan bumped fists.

         I don’t remember everything after that. I know I was naked. I remember running into traffic, and attacking passing cars. I was lucid enough to remember being downtown, negotiating deals to acquire more x-mas. When I was low on funds, I paid in favors. This went on for days. I slept in storm drains or hidden in bushes. I ate out of dumpsters. And all the while, Spirit was all around me, talking to me night and day, telling me that I was The Greatest of the Magi, The Epiphany, The Morning Star, The Burning Purple. I had many names, and Spirit spoke them all to me, over and over, louder and louder, unrelenting, drowning me in revelation until I understood, until no doubt remained in me: I am the Anointed One. I am Jesus Christ. And just in time for Christmas too.

         The following Tuesday evening I returned to the community center, for the MAAD youth support group, but the building was dark. I opened the place, unlocking the doors and turning on all the lights, then I sat alone in the wellness room, our usual meeting spot. But I wasn’t alone for long.

         “Mom?” said a voice.

         I turned quickly. Harmony stood in the doorway. “Harmony, honey, come in.” She looked fantastic, wearing a lavender mist colored Gap Kids’ vintage hoodie with matching Gap Kids’ cargo sweater pants. The HAIL SATAN carved into her forehead was hidden behind a bandage, and her hair was slowly returning. She looked like a kid again.

         “Mom, what are you doing here?” said Harmony.

         “The same thing you’re doing,” I said. “It’s time for our MAAD support group.”

         “But it’s Christmas Eve. No one is coming.” Harmony approached me slowly. She took my hand so softly. She always was such a gentle child. “It’s time for you to come home,” she said.

         “Not yet, sweetheart.” I caressed her face. “I still have work to do.”

         “Mom, can I ax you a question?”

         I nodded. “You can ax me anything.”

         “Did you murder Kong?”

         “Has King Kong been hurt?” I said with sympathy.

         “The police can’t find his head.”

         And I doubt they ever will. I focused to maintain my concerned expression.

         “Mom, can I ax you another question?”

         I nodded. “Please do.”

         “Did you steal FleaBiscuit from the Equestrian Center?”

         FleaBiscuit was a champion thoroughbred racehorse weighing 1,200 pounds. I had to laugh. “Now why would I do that?” Of course, I already knew the answer.

         “Someone fed FleaBiscuit a dog dick…”

         I corrected Harmony with a disapproving look.

         “I mean… x-mas. Someone took FleaBiscuit from the Equestrian Center, and dosed him with x-mas, then turned him loose at the Mothers Against Drunk Driving December chapter event.”

         “Goodness,” I said.

         “Two people died,” said Harmony, “and a bunch of others were hospitalized. Emma’s mom is in a coma.”

         “If God wills it,” I said, and I hung my head in silence.

         “Mom, why are all the other kids scared of you now?”

         “Scared of me?” I said. “Who’s scared of me?”

         “Emma and Ava,” said Harmony. “And they won’t say why. Also Colin, and Aidan, and all the others. They’re afraid to even speak your name, like you’re the boogeyman or something.”

         “The boogeyman?” I said. “That sounds pretty serious. Well you tell them, the bogeyman only decapitates naughty children, so they have no need to worry.”

         “They’re off it now, all of them,” said Harmony. “They begged me to tell you. They made me promised, that I would find you and tell you; they’re done with the purple.”

         “Done with adrenochrome?”

         Harmony nodded solemnly.

         “And what about you?”

         “I’m done too, Mom,” said Harmony. “I’m totally done with it. I’ll never touch that stuff again. People are dying. I’m scared. It’s caused so much pain. I just want things to go back to normal. I want to go back to school. I miss riding horses. I can’t wait for my hair to grow back.” Then she was crying.

         I embraced her. My dear girl was back, the best Christmas gift I could have ever wished for. And it’s all thanks to me, Jesus Christ.

         Tomorrow’s my birthday. How should I celebrate? I know, I’ll smoke a big, fat dog dick.