So my question is ...

[truepenny]

Why is it that I can face constructive criticism on my nonfiction with aplomb, savoir-faire, and general sanguinity, while any suggestion that my fiction is less than perfect throws me into a tizzy?

I mean, wtf?

And it isn't the whole love me and despair for I am the Dark Queen and my fiction is as perfect as my face thing, because I may have greatly inflated notions of my own competence as a writer, but I'm not that bad. And it's not that I don't expect suggestions for improvement--or, god help me, that I don't want suggestions for improvement. It's not that I resent the feedback. And I don't really believe that saying, "I think you need to do more with X" is the same as saying, "You are stupid and a bad writer." No, really, I don't.

Except some part of me does. Every single fucking time. I seem to be fundamentally incapable of detaching my ego from my creativity.

I think this is also why I'm always somewhat embarrassed to talk about my fiction with other people (critiquing, cocktail parties, family members *cringe*)--it's a holdover, maybe, from childhood and trying to explain the games I played, which were always very heavy on the make-believe and narrative, and generally did get me the what planet are YOU from? look. It makes me feel vulnerable (as, again, talking about my nonfiction does not). There's too much of me out in the open with the fiction; there's nothing to hide behind.

I'm tired of this. I'm tired of having to talk my Inner Basket-Case down from the ledge every single time I ask someone for feedback. And it's not fair to my critiquers either; it fucks up my reactions and makes me not ask questions that I should, because I'm wallowing in this vague but pervasive sense of mortification.

I'd like to get over myself now, please.

Comments

[tanac.livejournal.com]

If it helps any, I have the same problem. Mine manifests in me being able to give an impromptu speech to a roomful of people with no problem, but being unable to play music for anyone without extreme panic. I think it's because the one thing is just something that I can do - prepare for in some cases, plumb depths of knowledge or experience, whatever. But the other... that is *creating* something, and that is putting a part of myself out there for others to judge, and that is terrifying.

Not really any useful suggestions, other than practice really does make it easier to do(sort of like confronting phobias); just wanted to say that you're not nuts (or alone).

[truepenny.livejournal.com]

Okay, now I'm having heinous piano recital flashbacks. *shudders*

I think you're right. In some bizarre way the nonfiction is just "something that I can do." I'm good at it, but I don't CARE about it in the same way I care about the fiction. There's that lovely slight distance you can get with stuff you enjoy but don't CARE about that makes everything easy and delightful, and then there's doing the things you care about, and it's like being in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan.

I am glad to know I'm not the only one.

[heresluck]

But the thing is, you do ask for critique and take it seriously. I don't know that dealing with critique will ever feel easy, and I'm not sure that's a bad thing; as you point out, the fact that it's difficult is a sign of how much you care. Why should something so important be simple?

I've got a Laurie Colwin quote that I can't find at the moment -- something about "there is no safe and painless way to love; you have to stand and deliver, as the highwayman says," and I think the same thing goes for writing, and especially for seeking and accepting critiques.

[truepenny.livejournal.com]

Well, yeah.

I'm not arguing for simple, really--at least, I don't think I am. And I'm certainly not going to quit tilting at this particular windmill. I just want my emotional reaction to be less with the Soggy Kleenexes of Unjustified Basket-Case Woe. At least I don't actually burst into tears any more.

If you find the exact Laurie Colwin quote, will you give it to me? Because I'm thinking maybe I need it.

[papersky.livejournal.com]

I used to be like that, mainly because of traumatic critique experiences.

I got over it through:

a) publishing a lot of RPG stuff which I didn't feel much attachment to.

b) writing reviews and editorials for an Events Guide, which I didn't feel much attachment to. (The writing, anyway.)

c) usenet. You can write any twaddle on usenet, it's just conversation. But I got a lot of respect, which helped no end.

c) discovering a perfect reader who bullied me into taking myself seriously and getting it right. Then he broke, but anyway, while I had him I wasn't afraid of showing him things because he would neither snipe nor gush but see how they should be and indicate where they needed shoring up. This helped me feel more confident about showing them to other people. It also made me feel more confident about ignoring other people's idiotishly mistaken criticisms.

d) doing it in email, where I can have my reactions on my own and not in public. I still don't think I could take a face to face crit group. I can read in public, but that's not generally things i'm in the middle of working on, that's things that are finished.

Oh, and the other thing is that it really helps, with novels and reviews that are flaying and have the exact same effect on the psyche, if you have completed another one since. Then you can reassure yourself that all the faults they have correctly identified have been fixed in the next one at least, and furthermore if they say you're never shrill this is because they are morons, and this won't upset you in the slightest.

Jo, not the slightest bit bothered by the reviews on Amazon that say my first novel is the worst book they've ever read, nor do I let these outweigh the positive ones in my mind, not even on Thursdays. (I never could get the hang of Thursdays.)