Sense and Sensitivity

“What do you think?”
I’m sure these are the four most terrifying words that I can say to my husband. You see, when a writer asks a loved one for an opinion, there are two possible things she means –

1) I’m feeling insecure about this and need you to tell me what you honestly think.
or
2) I’m feeling insecure about this and need you to tell me you think it’s great.

The problem lies in the not knowing which question is being asked…and usually, the person asking doesn’t have a clue either.

Fortunately, my husband has the amazing ability to sense which answer I need to hear. When I need a little encouragement, he can calm my fears with a few simple words. And when I’m looking for brutal truth, well, he is able to subtly tell me it needs a bit more work without sending me into a fit of tears – a truly amazing feat because, as you certainly know by now, I’m “sensitive.” And how does this annoying personality trait fit into my life as a writer? That’s still to be determined.

I fully admit that I’m too sensitive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a little criticism. I can be sensible. I recognize that the only way to become a better writer is to have my work evaluated, and yes, criticized. I can handle it though; I’m stronger than you think. Yes, I may be sensitive, but when it comes to my writing, I’m learning to be strong. I have to be.

I am, however, at the complete mercy of my reader. I despise pretty much everything that I write until someone, anyone really, grants me their approval. Now, we don’t have to delve into my psyche to know that I place far too much importance on what other people think. Lately, however, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, because what people think (or at least what they say) is usually encouraging. Their compliments leave me floating on air. In a matter of seconds I go from thinking I should not only delete my latest document but destroy the entire hard drive, to wondering if I should hire a literary agent or just take my work straight to the best publisher in town. It's a bit pathetic, really.

I spent this past week working on some writing samples for a potential client. I wanted them to be perfect, but as usual, I detested every word I came up with. I set myself a deadline of Friday morning, and yet, I was getting nowhere.

So, I’m working on it, but by Wednesday I’m ready to give up. I am desperate for advice on how to improve this drivel. I mention the project to Roger, but as I watch the color drain from his face I realize that he might need a break from handling my fragile ego. I decide to let him off the hook and go to my sister for advice, though I’m not sure why. She’s quick to hand out praise, but she has yet to give me a suggestion, much less advice. And yet, I think if any of my loved ones are going to be genuinely helpful, it will be her. Of course, despite her good intentions, Darby doesn’t always have the best response time – not so good for the neurotic writer anxiously awaiting approval and/or advice and on a self-imposed deadline.

By Thursday night, I’m convinced that Darby has read the samples and hates them and is currently trying to decide how to break it to me that I’m hopeless and should close up my laptop forever (a bit over dramatic, I know). The writing samples must be even worse than I originally thought, but by now it’s too late to revise them. I’ll have to submit them as they are, pathetic as they may be.

Only I can’t do it. I need a little encouragement, a gentle nudge. For this I go to my mother. Where else would I turn for biased confirmation that I’m a genius? I send her my work on Thursday night, and in a matter of minutes, she emails me back to say that 1) I am brilliant, 2) I am too good for the job for which I am applying, and 3) She has mapped out a marketing plan for the series of books that she knows will emerge from my work. I laugh out loud as I read her email. Thank you, Mom. That was exactly what I needed.

Friday morning I send it in, and as it turns out everyone really likes it. I don’t know if I got the job, but at least I can relax in the knowledge that it doesn’t suck.

Eventually though, I'd like to get to the point where I can decide for myself that it doesn’t suck. I don’t want to be at the mercy of someone else’s opinion – good or bad. Everyone loves a compliment, and at this stage of my writing career I cling to them, but the world won’t always be so kind. I think part of becoming a writer is learning to accept your work, knowing that it’s never perfect, but at some point you have to let it go. You have to put it out there for both the complements and the criticism. And you can’t take either one too seriously.

And if you get your feelings hurt along the way, well, I recommend calling Mom.