I’m a sensitive person. My mom said once, “Your radar is always up.”
I used to see it as a problem, this pesky radar. I don’t now. The radar is what makes me a good writer. I’m hyper aware of everything around me. I feel things deeply. It can be painful at times, but it also helps me connect to life and articulate experiences.
One downside of this radar is that it’s especially attuned to criticism. In a few weeks, my book will be out in the world (!) and I will have to contend with other people’s opinions of it. This will be a totally new thing for me. I’m a pretty private person, and my writing has always been shared with a select few loved ones (who are aware that I’m sensitive). The world is a scary place. And, frankly, people can be assholes on the Internet, emboldened by their anonymity.
So far, I’ve received two great trade reviews (you can read them here and here). Several people have received advance copies and posted feedback on Goodreads. Most of that feedback has been very positive. But, there have been a few not-so-glowing reviews that mention the same issue: “I didn’t like the main character” or, similarly, “I didn’t agree with the main character’s choices.” It takes everything in me not to respond and instigate a discussion about the beauty of flawed characters. Personally, I’m attracted to interesting characters, and I think flaws make characters interesting. I don’t really care if I agree with a character. I just want to be intrigued.
I don’t respond though. I take a deep breath instead. I need to learn to take reviews in stride. People will interpret my book however they want to, based on their own lives and belief systems. I have zero control over that.
In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert writes about how a reader approached her and said, “Reading about how X happened to you inspired me so much.” But, the thing was, X hadn’t happened to Elizabeth Gilbert and was not in her book. This reader somehow changed the narrative in her head in a way that resonated more with her. This just goes to show that when you write a novel and put it out in the world, it is no longer yours.
There are a couple reviews of my book on Goodreads that get details of my book blatantly wrong but, remembering Gilbert’s story above, I don’t correct people. It’s not my role. If they misread something, it’s probably for a reason. Their psyche is making sense of the book according to their individual needs. And that’s fine.
Gilbert writes:
“I submit that this woman has the God-given right to misread my book however she wants to misread it. Once my book entered her hands, after all, everything about it belonged to her, and never again to me. Recognizing this reality–that the reaction doesn’t belong to you–is the only sane way to create. If people enjoy what you’ve created, terrific. If people ignore what you’ve created, too bad. If people misunderstand what you’ve created, don’t sweat it. And what if people absolutely hate what you’ve created? What if people attack you with savage vitriol, and insult your intelligence, and malign your motives, and drag your good name through the mud? Just smile sweetly and suggest–as politely as you possibly can–that they go make their own fucking art. Then stubbornly continue making yours.”
I’ll always continue making mine. Because I have to. I just hope what I write connects with more people than it offends or alienates. That’s what writing and reading is all about, after all–connection.