Our critics' advice

When Ralph Richardson heard that Donald Sinden was writing his autobiography (it's better than you'd expect), he sent him a note: "Don't tell them how it's done!" The old joker knew very well that you can't tell them how it's done. You don't know yourself until you've done it. You can give them little tips, of course, like don't turn your back on the bastards or they'll make a break for the bar. But how to do it . . .

Computers know how to do it, of course. "I see you are writing. Can I help?" Certainly you can, my dear. Make the first par tempting, the last par amusing, the bit in between about 800 words and have it ready by 5pm. On second thoughts, I'll write it myself. I remember how, when Charles and Diana got married, the BBC's subtitling computer went quite mad under the pressure of the job ("The belles are wringing! God Sieve the Queen!").

Anybody who can write can be a TV critic for a month. After that you need stamina. I got the job because I had a TV set. This was not strictly necessary. Richard Ingrams once did a memorable review with his ear pressed to a hotel wall. We made the job up as we went along. At first we just watched TV at home and phoned copy in; now we still work at home, but from DVDs. You may find the company of shadows a little isolating.

Nobody will tell you which programme to write about and, if they do, throw a tantrum. The programme will choose itself, though you may have to wrench the DVD from the slavering jaws of the company who made it. Together, you and the programme will create what Alan Titchmarsh would call an FI cross, something hybrid, striking and saleable.

It feels as if I am handing on a torch to you. Here, catch! I just wish it were burning more brightly at the moment. Try waving it about a bit.

'Write about the band, not missing your train home'

Alexis Petridis on pop

I decided to become a music journalist when the police turned up midway through a gig my band was playing. Nothing illegal or untoward had happened; whoever called them just wanted us to stop playing. But we didn't give up that easily: at 17, we were already seasoned veterans of negative audience reaction. They booed; they threw food at us; they fought to get to the exits.

I'd love to tell you this was because our music was too edgy and confrontational, that it challenged our audience's bourgeois morality. The truth is we were just terrible, something that began to dawn even on me when Thames Valley police showed up. I knew I wanted to work in music, but clearly I wasn't going to be a performer. A devoted reader of the music press, I had recently bought Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, an anthology of writing by the late and legendary rock critic Lester Bangs, a book that has convinced generations of impressionable 17-year-olds that being a music journalist might actually be more fun than being a rock star - and definitely more fun than getting a real job. It sounded good. It certainly sounded better than my band.

The best advice I can offer is to write as much as possible: it's the only way you improve. And don't just copy other music journalists: you can learn loads about style from film-writing and TV reviews and literary criticism. If you're reviewing a gig, talk about the gig, not your journey there and back, however much that seems part of the whole thrilling experience. Readers want to know about the band, not you missing your train or who you talked to in the queue. In fact, avoid using the first person unless it is absolutely necessary.

The more you listen to an album before you review it, the more it sharpens your judgment and tightens up your argument: whether you like it or hate it, every time you play it you'll find more reasons why. Criticism isn't about how you feel about something, but why you feel that way.

'Walk around your building in different weather'

Jonathan Glancey on architecture

Unless you're in the middle of a desert or on the high seas, it is difficult to escape architecture. Or should I say buildings? There is a difference. A simple brick shed, 90% of new British homes and 99.95% of supermarkets are not architecture. Why not? Because architecture implies building as a work of art. Not necessarily grand art, but art all the same.

I began writing about architecture when I joined the Architectural Review in my early 20s, with a head full of Gothic churches, classical temples, English country houses, a slight understanding of Le Corbusier and an eagerness to know much more than I did.

How do you write about a building? Start by walking around it, and preferably at different times of day, and even in different weather. Building are not paintings; they are designed to get wet and to fend off the sun. Buildings are not films; they are designed to be seen in bright light, dull light and the dark. Explore the inside as if trying to create the plan of the building in your mind's eye. Think of how well, or not, the plan works with the purpose of the building. Does it all come together? Does it get on with its neighbours? Buildings are rarely isolated artworks, and a very exciting building can end up looking ridiculous in context. Has the architect managed to bring daylight into the building? Is it uncomfortably claustrophobic, or generously designed, no matter how small?

Think harder. Does the building make you feel special in any way - sad, angry, happy? Are there aspects that puzzle you - for instance, you might find a fortune spent on the set-piece spaces of a new public building, but the lavatories are mean, cramped and horrid. The architects of the Parthenon didn't have to worry about such things, but contemporary architects do; the best take lavatories, door handles and other details as seriously as grand lobbies and auditoriums.

Write honestly and in your own style. Don't try to be clever or use jargon. Don't say what others have said, unless you want to quote them. Let the architecture speak for itself. It surely will.

'Don't take too much notice of what people around you think'

Michael Billington on theatre

I started out reviewing for student news-papers: always a good discipline because it gets you used to writing to length and makes you instantly accountable to readers. As a student, I also did a fair bit of acting and directing, which makes one aware of the practical problems of putting on a play. But the main thing is to see as much as possible: everything from Shakespeare to stand-up, physical theatre to panto. I was lucky to be brought up in the Midlands, where there was a vast range of stuff on offer. But go to everything that moves because the more you see, the richer your opinions become. Last but not least, it's crucial to read widely, and not just about the theatre. Absorb the past masters of English prose. Criticism isn't just about expressing opinions. It's about being able to write with whatever grace and fluency one can muster. A final thought: always write as if your work is going to be published, either in print or online. If you have enough tenacity and stamina, one day it will be.

A few practical tips:

- Aim for a snappy intro

- Always be honest to your own reactions

- Back up your arguments with some concrete examples

- Mix analysis with vivid description of acting and design

- Try to put a play in context: either the author's previous work, the theatre's track record or the larger context of life

- Structure the review so that it comes to a well-argued conclusion

But don't:

- Fake a response: the reader can always tell

- Pretend to have seen what you haven't

- Insult people just for the hell of it

- Offer an unregulated stream-of-consciousness

- Take too much notice of what your friends or the people around you think

- Let your phone go off during the show.

'Don't trust your prejudices but believe in your instincts'

Adrian Searle on art

The only rule: look, look again, and keep on looking. If you don't like looking, don't write about art.

There are lots of ways of writing. Read other critics, and not just the ones who write in newspapers. You can be as creative and as mischievous, as serious or as funny as the mood takes you or the situation demands. Think about the details and also about the bigger picture. Find out how artists think, what they say and how they make their work. Find out about materials. Read everything: it'll all be useful.

Context matters a lot, and don't forget you are part of that context, too. Don't always trust the things written on the gallery wall or in an exhibition catalogue. Never write about what you haven't seen.

Don't trust your prejudices but believe in your instincts. Respect your readers, many of whom know more than you do. Also remember that they might not have seen the things you have chosen to write about, so tell them what things look and feel like and what they make you think. Tell them why some things matter, and others don't. Ask yourself questions. Remember that we live in 2008, not 1688.

And by the way, you might not know what you think until you've written about it. Writing is a voyage of discovery. You will get lost and you will get things wrong. That can be worth reading, too. Be honest, even when you're making things up. Don't worry if what you are doing isn't exactly criticism. Critics work with what other people do; but don't be afraid and go your own way.

'I imagine myself taking mental snapshots during a show'

Judith Mackrell on dance

One of the hard truths about dance criticism is that you're on your own. Aside from the small repertory of ballet classics, most of what you see is brand new: you have nothing beyond the performance to refer to, no books or DVDs to check your impressions against. You have to develop an instinct for spotting the half-dozen or so choreographic images that embody the style of the work, and what it is about.

I imagine myself taking mental snapshots during a show: if I can come up with a few phrases to attach to these snapshots, it makes it easier when I sit down to write. Language is a difficult issue: description is vital, since many readers won't have seen the work, but technical language is a problem. Beyond familiar terms such as arabesque or pirouette, you have to find your own words for explaining a step and communicating what makes it interesting.

There is no formula for reviewing dance beyond the need to grab your readers' attention. Flag up what kind of work it is, what the buzz is, and what you thought of it. The description and analysis follow.

'You need an undying excitement about going to concerts'

Tom Service on classical music

There was a particular moment when I knew I wanted to write about music for newspapers. I grew up in Glasgow, and after hearing a Bruckner symphony performed for the first time - a life-changing experience - I waited eagerly for the reviews. What I read the next day appalled me: the Herald critic didn't think Bruckner was up to much. It was a good performance if you liked that sort of thing, he wrote, or words to that effect. I felt personally insulted. And I felt that what the world, or at least the Scottish press, needed was someone who could tell them just how wonderful Bruckner was.

I still believe that the essential quality you need is passion, an undying excitement about going to concerts or operas, experiencing performances in the flesh. But I've discovered that there is something even more important: you also need to stay open to new experiences; new music, of course, but also a desire to hear different interpretations, and to investigate repertoires you didn't know, or thought you didn't like.

Every piece of writing you do involves a confrontation with your own prejudices, your own tastes. Any act of real criticism is about transcending those limits and expectations. Which even involves admitting, in my case, that Bruckner cannot be - and should not be - everyone's favourite composer, whatever I think about him.

What's also crucial is that there is a diversity of voices writing about music, so the art form is continually refreshed by new personalities and perspectives. Which, of course, is where you come in.

'Being a critic means not swallowing the hype'

Peter Bradshaw on film

The way I got started was simply gaining a background in writing and journalism. First, I took a degree in English - and then a PhD in Renaissance English literature. The second qualification isn't strictly necessary, though getting a degree is always a good idea. I never did a journalism diploma, and in fact I didn't do much journalism at university, though I followed one basic ground rule that still holds true. To be a writer, you must first be something even more difficult: a reader. You must read voraciously, eclectically and habitually: fiction, poetry, history, biography, drama, essays, blogs, and of course journalism. You must read the best writers around, and figure out which you like and why.

After university I did shifts on newspaper gossip columns, before graduating to general feature writing. From there, I specialised in writing about a great passion: cinema. In my experience, very few people get to become movie critics or book critics or theatre critics without this general background: specialising too early can be a bad and self-limiting career move.

Being a critic means exercising independent judgment, combining a grasp of the bigger picture and an ability to zoom in on the fine detail. It means not swallowing the hype and being sceptical. It also means being passionate in defence of something or someone you love, and unafraid to champion something new, or retrieve from oblivion something unjustly neglected. A critic has to be a good and entertaining writer, especially in the world of movies, where there are so many reviews and reviewers around: you have to cultivate your own voice.