The Art of Receiving Criticism

Receiving criticism, no matter how constructive it’s meant to be, is difficult. Even when we know that something we wrote (or said or did) didn’t hit quite right, negative feedback can be tough to take, not necessarily because it hurts our egos or reminds us of our flaws, although that might be part of it, but because it means there’s more work to be done. And that can be overwhelming. 

You may begin to question everything. Where do I go from here? How can I fix the problem without undoing it all? How can I make changes without losing the essence of my work, without unraveling the entire piece? Or should I? Should I ignore the holes, patch things up, start over completely, or scrap it altogether? 

The answer comes in the pause. 

Sit with the criticism for a moment, an hour, a day or two. Wash the dishes, take a shower, go for a walk or a drive. Be where your hands are busy, where your phone, computer, or pen are inaccessible (or make them so), where you can think about your words, your storyline, your character–or not think about them–for a while.

Remind yourself that you wanted the truth. You wanted someone else’s eyes and ears. You asked for others’ opinions and expertise. You sought readers. You hired an editor. You wanted someone to give you honest feedback, or at least you thought you did. 

Sure, it’s nice to receive only kudos and glowing praise. But that doesn’t make your writing better. That doesn’t make your story work or your poem flow. That doesn’t make people see what you want them to see or feel what you feel when you put down your words. You want to make your writing mean something to your readers. So trust them to know how to help. Let others show you where you may have gone astray, and be open to their suggestions. 

When you’re ready to make changes, start slowly, with the tiniest thread. Not the delicate, tricky spots, but the easy fixes. Start with an edit that, now that you’ve sat with it awhile, makes perfect sense and won’t take much time to smooth out. In a poem, it might be an “of” or a single comma or where you broke a line in two. It might be a word that doesn’t quite work the way you intended it to. Maybe, in truth, you can’t remember why you chose to use it in the first place. And you begin to realize how helpful the feedback was. You find yourself nodding along to the notes and comments as you read through them again, and you see how right they were. Soon, you’ll get into the rhythm of revising, much like the way the words unfolded onto the page in the first place, expertly stitched in a steady line.

You may come to a wrinkle, your words jamming as you try to correct them. These things happen. That’s when you need to back up, clear the tangle, and start again. Maybe there’s feedback that still doesn’t feel right; it’s okay to stand by your words. Trust yourself too. You know what you need to do. 

Remind yourself that you are a writer. You are a storyteller, a poet. And revision is part of the process. You must let others try things on for size so you can repair the tripping hazards that get in the way. But then, do what you do best. Trim off the excess, clean up the edges, rearrange the colorful pieces, and secure them in place with tight little stitches. Let the feedback you receive, along with your own inner voice, guide you until the fabric of your handiwork comes together seamlessly to create something beautiful, and better than it was before.