Under the Microscope

After reading her "first public lukewarm review," Sarah Weinman asked fellow writers for their reactions to their first bad reviews. I could refer you to Sunday's recollection of my workshop with perhaps the most famous member of Hofstra's creative writing faculty, but truthfully, that wasn't the first time I took criticism.

In my early workshop days, my stomach flipped as soon as I finished reciting my work and started anticipating the verdict of my peers. As I commented on Sarah's entry:

My lesson didn't come on any one day. I used to believe a story could be dashed off, that if readers didn't get one part of a story or another it was their fault. That attitude didn't survive college, thank goodness.

Since embracing revision, I've never been confident (cocky?) enough to blow off criticism. In fact, if I look at any work after a long enough time, I see flaws left and right, things I could have done better.

I manage not to tear my hair out by remembering any submission is my best effort at the time. It's natural, necessary even, that my skills improve with more time and practice.

The more you write in any one field, the more natural it becomes. The vulnerable feeling of putting a story out there and the prickly feeling of a bad review are both soothed by the knowledge that--whatever happens--you'll be back to work tomorrow. Because writing is what you do.

One of the best editors' letters we wrote for Font ended with, "We thank those writers brave enough to put their work in our hands." I may always feel my greatest victory is having the courage to submit. But I'm also wary of submitting to the same market too often, going to the well, so to speak. The only way to keep growing is to keep looking for and trying new markets.