My oldest son reads my WIPs from time to time, or part of them anyway. Normally his critique is similar to my husbands; "It's good. Finish it."
Good to know, but not terribly helpful.
That isn't to say he doesn't point out flaws when he sees them. In some cases he takes delight in it. Which brings me to the fateful example of the story I was working on that involved a tungsten golem.
Fresh from writing a scene I was very happy with, I had the sudden need to share it. The only fresh victim available was my son.
He agreed, and sat down at my computer to read.
Several very long minutes, and a few misinterpreted snickers later, he turned to me.
"So, the indestructible golem comes after the heroes, and falls through a burning draw bridge?"
"Yeah."
"That is so lame."
"It's not lame."
"Yes it is. Why didn't you just have the hero throw a coin off the bridge? The golem is so stupid it would go, "Oh, look, shiny!", and jump after it." He went through a great show of panamiming my lumbering golem skippig like an idiot onto the bridge, and flinging himself off it with ignorant bliss.
Choking on my pride, and laughter, because it was funny as hell, I tried to remain indignant. "That's lame."
"Not as lame as falling through the bridge. Why didn't you just make him out of cheese. A cheese golem. That would be cool."
"I'm not making my golem out of cheese."
Anyway, the argument continued like that for several minutes until he said he could write it better. So I dared him to.
A half-hour later he ran into my room, and plugged a flash drive into my computer.
"OK, I'll show you how that scene should've went."
He rewrote my scene as he had suggested. Cheese golem and all.
Once I stopped laughing, and dried the tears running down my face, I still persisted in defending my original scene, that he was now totally mocking. Cheese golem. Hmmph.
To clear up our dispute, I emailed both versions of the scene, his and mine, to my best friend back home. (Clearly thinking she would take my side.)
Her response came as a phone call. With sadistic glee she told me through her laughter that his was better, and mine was indeed- lame.
Two years later he still makes fun of that scene. The word "golem" is now forbidden in my house.
Thankfully I was able to redeem myself with another character from a separate story.
He heard my laughing the other day and came to investigate.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading an old story I'd forgotten about."
"Which one?"
"One of my old Zareck stories."
"Wait . . . you've got another Zareck story? Why haven't I seen it?"
"Because I never finished writing it."
"Well get to writing woman!"
Ok, there's hope for me yet.
Good to know, but not terribly helpful.
That isn't to say he doesn't point out flaws when he sees them. In some cases he takes delight in it. Which brings me to the fateful example of the story I was working on that involved a tungsten golem.
Fresh from writing a scene I was very happy with, I had the sudden need to share it. The only fresh victim available was my son.
He agreed, and sat down at my computer to read.
Several very long minutes, and a few misinterpreted snickers later, he turned to me.
"So, the indestructible golem comes after the heroes, and falls through a burning draw bridge?"
"Yeah."
"That is so lame."
"It's not lame."
"Yes it is. Why didn't you just have the hero throw a coin off the bridge? The golem is so stupid it would go, "Oh, look, shiny!", and jump after it." He went through a great show of panamiming my lumbering golem skippig like an idiot onto the bridge, and flinging himself off it with ignorant bliss.
Choking on my pride, and laughter, because it was funny as hell, I tried to remain indignant. "That's lame."
"Not as lame as falling through the bridge. Why didn't you just make him out of cheese. A cheese golem. That would be cool."
"I'm not making my golem out of cheese."
Anyway, the argument continued like that for several minutes until he said he could write it better. So I dared him to.
A half-hour later he ran into my room, and plugged a flash drive into my computer.
"OK, I'll show you how that scene should've went."
He rewrote my scene as he had suggested. Cheese golem and all.
Once I stopped laughing, and dried the tears running down my face, I still persisted in defending my original scene, that he was now totally mocking. Cheese golem. Hmmph.
To clear up our dispute, I emailed both versions of the scene, his and mine, to my best friend back home. (Clearly thinking she would take my side.)
Her response came as a phone call. With sadistic glee she told me through her laughter that his was better, and mine was indeed- lame.
Two years later he still makes fun of that scene. The word "golem" is now forbidden in my house.
Thankfully I was able to redeem myself with another character from a separate story.
He heard my laughing the other day and came to investigate.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading an old story I'd forgotten about."
"Which one?"
"One of my old Zareck stories."
"Wait . . . you've got another Zareck story? Why haven't I seen it?"
"Because I never finished writing it."
"Well get to writing woman!"
Ok, there's hope for me yet.
Made of cheese 
