To the lovers, to the haters, and to those in between, I thank you . . .
The fear of rejection is so pitifully human. We seek approval from just about everyone: family, friends, strangers even. It's unsettling to know how much I need other people to like me, especially considering I'm usually too introverted to even look at anyone else. I go through life with the same mantra: keep your head down and your mouth shut. Stay invisible. Stay safe. And now? Now I have to look up.
Writing exposes you to all sorts of criticism, not all of it drawn up in a constructive, well typed review. Every aspect of my character is up for scrutiny. Not to say I'm important enough to warrant that much of anyone's attention or time. But as long as there's the Internet, there'll be hungry trolls skulking around, eager to rip someone apart. I know the criticism is going to get fugly. I'm going to cry. I'm going to get pissed, and after reconsidering the value of anything I've ever written, I'm going to eat an obscene amount of fast food and fall into a depression induced mini-hibernation in which I sleep for 15 hours. I'll try to ignore the world that rejected me and recede into the sanctity of my own mind--the very place that the world tells me isn't good enough or smart enough or interesting enough to tell a meaningful story. Do you see? I'm never safe, even from myself. And that's why this book deal is a blessing-curse: I ask too much, and I can't quit wishing to come true what will never happen.
As of now, I've six Goodreads reviews for PAPER HEARTS and several blog reviews, some good, some bad. Unfortunately, these reviews confirmed many of my fears: I was called out on issues I knew were there but didn't have time to fix or were so ingrained in the story that I simply couldn't remove them. My writing style has been called "immature," my story not worth reading. I feel attacked, raw and bleeding. I'm questioning the very way I think and feel. I mean, I want to make a living at this. Shouldn't I be better by now? Will I ever be "good enough"? Words of strangers are wrecking what little self-esteem I do have. And all the time I keep telling myself that I don't have to be enough for everyone, just enough for those that need me to be. I know I have to learn from every experience, from each and every comment, cruel or kind. I know I can grow and I can learn. Will I ever be a literary genius? Of course not. But I'd like to think I can help someone, somewhere. If one person gets it, if just one leaves the page a better person than when they began, then it's worth it. I'm going to try, and fail, and then try some more. I'm going to be ridiculed and rejected. And you know what? That's okay.
I'm not hiding anymore.
Writing exposes you to all sorts of criticism, not all of it drawn up in a constructive, well typed review. Every aspect of my character is up for scrutiny. Not to say I'm important enough to warrant that much of anyone's attention or time. But as long as there's the Internet, there'll be hungry trolls skulking around, eager to rip someone apart. I know the criticism is going to get fugly. I'm going to cry. I'm going to get pissed, and after reconsidering the value of anything I've ever written, I'm going to eat an obscene amount of fast food and fall into a depression induced mini-hibernation in which I sleep for 15 hours. I'll try to ignore the world that rejected me and recede into the sanctity of my own mind--the very place that the world tells me isn't good enough or smart enough or interesting enough to tell a meaningful story. Do you see? I'm never safe, even from myself. And that's why this book deal is a blessing-curse: I ask too much, and I can't quit wishing to come true what will never happen.
As of now, I've six Goodreads reviews for PAPER HEARTS and several blog reviews, some good, some bad. Unfortunately, these reviews confirmed many of my fears: I was called out on issues I knew were there but didn't have time to fix or were so ingrained in the story that I simply couldn't remove them. My writing style has been called "immature," my story not worth reading. I feel attacked, raw and bleeding. I'm questioning the very way I think and feel. I mean, I want to make a living at this. Shouldn't I be better by now? Will I ever be "good enough"? Words of strangers are wrecking what little self-esteem I do have. And all the time I keep telling myself that I don't have to be enough for everyone, just enough for those that need me to be. I know I have to learn from every experience, from each and every comment, cruel or kind. I know I can grow and I can learn. Will I ever be a literary genius? Of course not. But I'd like to think I can help someone, somewhere. If one person gets it, if just one leaves the page a better person than when they began, then it's worth it. I'm going to try, and fail, and then try some more. I'm going to be ridiculed and rejected. And you know what? That's okay.
I'm not hiding anymore.
date
newest »
newest »
message 1:
by
Karen
(new)
Jan 30, 2014 07:52PM
It's so hard to accept negative criticism with grace. If they say your writing is immature, well, so what, you are only 20. You have decades to go before you are a seasoned writer, but you are one step ahead of most writers in the world, you are published. Don't you dare let any critics lower your self esteem; you know you are good, now you just need to get polished and that takes time.
reply
|
flag
Dear Karen,Ir'a not the constructive criticism that hurts: it's the exceptionally harsh words that upset me. As for improving as a writer, I'm praying you're right and that I'll improve with time.
Thank you so much for your kind words, they were much appreciated. :)
All my best,
Stephanie
