I have a slight problem accepting criticism. It’s really painful for me. I’m not saying it’s easy for anyone, only that I’m more familiar with my own emotional progress as I work through the Stage of Revision Grief. For me, it goes something like this:

Denial

Upon receiving constructive feedback, my gut reaction is always “Who the hell are you again? Because you’re an idiot and clearly not qualified, because there’s nothing wrong with my book.” 

If the feedback comes from someone I know and respect, then it’s more like, “Well, you obviously didn’t understand what I was trying to do.” Or possibly, “Were you drinking heavily when you read this?”

For me, the denial stage doesn’t last long. I am too wracked with self-doubt, so I move quickly on to:

Anger

For me, this is usually self-directed. “Why am I such a shitty writer?” or “I’m just wasting my time. I would be a much more productive member of society if I gave up writing to fold T-shirts for the Gap.”

Occasionally, my anger is directed at others. “I brainstormed this idea with four other people. Why didn’t any of them tell me it was stupid? Why did my trusted friends let me waste 6 months on this project? Why didn’t my high school guidance councilor tell me my talents were better suited to folding T-shirts at the Gap?”

Or even directed at a higher power. “Why? Why am I cursed with great story ideas without the talent to write them?”

Inevitably, this leads to:

Depression

This looks like all of the above, but I am surrounded by empty wine bottles and cookie crumbs.

The next morning, I wake up, ready to:

Bargain

“Okay. I’m contractually obligated to finish this rotting piece shit. For that reason only I’m going to do these revisions. But as soon as I’m done with this book, I’m quitting. For real this time. I am absolutely giving up writing. No. More. Writing. Ever.

Then I download an application for The Gap and work on it during breaks.

Luckily, at some point during revisions, I reach:

Acceptance

 Slowly, the realization dawns that this may not be the worst book ever written. It may even, in fact, be (gulp) readable. The editorial feedback may not be the worst ideas ever. Or even if the editor’s suggestions are stupid (and some times they are), then at the very least, they’re a sign that something wasn’t right and it’s my job to figure out what.

Okay, so the book isn’t the perfection I imaged when I first had the idea. That’s okay. It doesn’t have to be perfect to be entertaining. Maybe it’s not brilliant and exquisite, but it won’t get any better if I just sit here, pouting. Time to put on my big girl panties and get to work.

And so I do…

After nearly 30 published or contracted books, I can tell you that it doesn’t get any easier. Facing my fears, my perfectionism, my anger, my general brattiness is just part of the process. Somehow, I come back to writing over and over. And I have yet to turn in my application to The Gap.(But that is still my back up career.)