I work at a middle school. I’ve been called a lot of names by 11-to-14-year-olds in nine years. Doesn’t bother me; angry kids will say angry things.
In those years I’ve also talked to a lot of kids who got in trouble because “he called my mom a ho!” or “she called me a bitch!” and they got in a fight. My question is always the same. “Does his/her saying it make it true?”
I try to live by that as well. I’m not particularly thin-skinned. When someone makes assumptions about me that aren’t true, I mostly let them slide off my back.
That’s a lot harder to do when it’s about my writing, though. Not because I think my writing is perfect, but because I know quite well it isn’t. All writing could be better. Mine is no exception. Writers have blind spots. Editors, betas, and reviewers are the marvelously helpful people who point them out.
The first time I got critiqued, it hurt. The people were actually very gentle–no less a personage than Michael Collins said good things, but still–there were actual critiquey bits and I got hurt feelings.
That was twenty-two years ago. After a while I figured out that the best betas were the ones who made my manuscript bleed, because that made me a better writer. I’ve told myself over and over for two decades that I don’t get to dismiss critiques I don’t like. I do need to evaluate them for their worth (sometimes people are *gasp!* wrong!) but dismissing them out of hand wastes everyone’s time.
I made fourteen thousand words worth of suggested changes and have acknowledged (cheerfully!) that the manuscript is better for it.
Describing me as unprepared for feedback because I don’t agree on every point is condescending, inaccurate, and hurtful.
I’ve spent twenty years getting and giving critiques. I’ve written ten novels. Get off my lawn.
There. I feel better. This has been your Internet Rant of the Night. Oops. We now return you to your regularly scheduled surfing already in progress.
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