Ignorance is bliss. One of the biggest hurdles I’ve found in writing is transitioning from the mindset of being a reader, and a rather critical one at that, into someone who consistently creates. And consistent creation, unfortunately, requires not being frozen with self-esteem issues, indecision, and perfectionism.
There is a great deal of hypocrisy in the process of being someone who reads books as critically as I used to. Well–I still do it, I just find myself at odds with how I speak about my feelings afterwards. It’s very, very easy to judge a work, and then to justify it by telling yourself that it’s just your opinion. That someone putting their art out there means exposing themselves to your innocent critique and that you should tell people if something is bad so they don’t have to suffer the torments of finding out themselves! One of the prerogatives of art, after all, is to allow discourse.
But as a writer, I find that I’m starting to tire more and more of it these days. It’s why I’ve begun limiting myself on social media. Seeing readers comment about other writers’ works sometimes makes me rage a little, especially when the sense of entitlement rears its ugly head. “So and so should finish this series!” “That writer should just stop screwing up!” “That part was boring, I don’t know what that writer was thinking.” “So and so’s work has massive issues! Pacing! Characters! Thin worldbuilding! What was the point of all that?”
It doesn’t mean that these opinions are invalid, or that people shouldn’t have them. I just get very tired of reading it these days, especially when I have to now go back and sit in front of a blank screen and try to produce words because this is my job now and is the value of one’s work diminished because some people are going to comment on one aspect that may or may not have been on purpose? As if the act of writing isn’t exhausting enough, slinging it into the world becomes an exercise in self-control and finding inner peace.
I read about writers who resort to stalking reviewers, and I see them as the poor souls who slipped off the deep end. Didn’t take enough precautions to protect themselves. Most of us are more aware than that (or, like me, just drown out the worst in booze and self-loathing), but it’s still common for us to tell each other not to read our reviews. Don’t go on Goodreads. What are you, insane? A one-star review can erase the taste of three five-stars. A good review with a backhanded complaint still stings. Everything stings. Why does it sting? Do you guys realize how hard this shit is? That there isn’t a template, what’s “good” is different for everyone else (my debut has been described as both “Not very good” and “Apparently you get better, but I can’t see how because this is awesome!”), we’re working long hours blind and for most of us it’s not for fame or fortune, it’s because this is something we can do that can feed our families…
One of my friends fondly describes all of this as the road to liver failure. I call it the road to madness. Now that I think about it, it seems bizarre to base an entire industry and entertainment around the anguish of a select few people. It’s not like with a movie where an entire team can take the brunt of the critique. With books, it’s all on the writer.
I’m still a tough critic, but I’m a lot more careful now with how I word things, and lately I try to look at things from multiple perspectives before I comment. What was the author trying to do? Was this material even designed for me? What did they do right, nevermind what they did wrong? But I’ve also begun to avoid in-depth discussions on all of these, for my own sanity. Which sucks, because I enjoy talking to people about this stuff, but I only have so much energy, and what I’ve got left has to go into these damn books.
