Creative writing - From think to ink - Lindstrom Simeon 2015

Pride, ego and growth

Writing is an inherently narcissistic activity. You know those people who glibly mumble that they don’t care about what anyone thinks because they only write for themselves and blah blah blah? Yeah, don’t listen to them. We all write for a reason, and writing means nothing without an audience. Even if you never show your work to another living soul, well, you still wrote it for someone. That’s the way that language works.

That someone may have only been in your head somewhere, and you may have been writing to them all along, unbeknownst to you. You might be writing to an imagined reader in the future, to a version of yourself, to your deceased mother, to a rival. But unless it’s a grocery list, I can guarantee that every scrap of writing was written for a reason, and for someone.

This is a good thing. A crucial feature of any communication is that it starts at point A, and travels to point B — even if you’re not entirely sure who’s at point B just yet.

Now, as long as this is the case, you as an author are opening yourself up to a bit of a nasty reality: the possibility of a poor reception. The fact is, there is always the risk of miscommunication and misunderstanding. The possibility that even if you’re understood, you can still be rejected. People who claim to not care about this are, I believe, in denial because the fact is so hard to digest.

Many people have never recovered from the first pain of having shared and expressed themselves only to find that their audience was unmoved, uninterested or worse, actively scornful. Putting out a creative effort is like baring your soul, and to have someone sneer at it can be a feeling almost worse than death.

It’s no wonder that being creative and sharing your work with others is a project so fraught with ego. When someone rejects what you’ve slaved and laboured to create, it’s easy to shut down and think they’re wrong, that they’re being hostile. It’s easy to launch into believing that their opinion was worthless to you anyway, that they merely didn’t understand you, that their taste in art was crappy all along, that you in turn judge them, that they’re jealous, that they don’t know what they’re talking about, and on and on and on…

Now, while this reaction to criticism is entirely understandable, it doesn’t mean it’s something you should accept.

Luckily for writers, fantastic opportunities for growth and self-development exist. Unluckily, they exist in a difficult-to-access location on the other side of rejection and criticism. This growth is only available to those writers who have the guts to acknowledge that they could improve, and should. It’s a kind of growth that only comes after the bravery of facing up to weaknesses and doing the difficult work of being better.

The tricky thing about big, fat, stupid egos is that nobody will ever really admit to having one! Read the following sentences and see if you’ve honestly ever felt them or expressed them. Tick all that apply:

·  When someone doesn’t like my work, I secretly think they just don’t “get” it

·  My writing is only for a small group of people anyway, and I’m not writing for those people who don’t like me

·  I’m only writing for myself, I don’t care what anyone thinks

·  I would join a writing group, but I’d prefer professional advice, not just the uninformed opinions of strangers

·  Non-writers don’t understand the struggle anyway, so their opinion means nothing to me

·  I’ve done my best to express myself, if people don’t understand, it’s on them to try to interpret my work, not on me to explain it better

·  If people don’t like my work, I might as well just stop writing

·  I believe people are generally vicious and cruel to writers, and I’m not willing to open myself up to that

·  Unless I can be guaranteed a good reception, I don’t want to risk sharing my work

·  I would rather die than share an imperfect work in progress

·  I prefer to write alone — other people’s opinions are great and all, but I never really change anything according to their feedback

If any of the above hit a little close to home, it’s likely that writing for you has a fair chunk of ego involved. Don’t worry — that just happens to be the case with basically every writer that ever lived. The trick, however, is to really understand how your own ego and the need to defend it appears in your writing process.

It’s OK to feel insulted and personally offended when someone doesn’t like your work — but a skilled and competent writer has learnt to get over this quick so they can get to the important work of being better. Could they learn something from the criticism? If they didn’t personally write this piece, what would they think of the assessment?

When you write, throw your heart and soul into the endeavor like your life depends on it. When you edit and evaluate a piece, though, take a big step back and become impersonal. A little cruel, even. This is the only way to stay vital and creative but also keep a good sense of perspective on how to improve.

An inconvenient truth

What I’m about to tell you now is an unpopular opinion and one you won’t find in other writing guides. I’ve said above that if you are willing to accept criticism and move on, you get the reward of becoming a better writer. Abandoning your ego when necessary can lead to greater rewards and an enhanced competence as a writer. Fine and good.

But what if your original motivation for writing was no more complicated than, “I want people to praise me and to get glowing feedback. I want to be perceived as brilliant and smart and talented. I want to be popular.” Now, I’m not saying that this Big Why is any less legitimate than any other. If this is your real reason, well, welcome to the club — like I said, writing is inherently narcissistic.

But it also means that you might choose to abandon writing altogether if it means you’re signing up for more criticism and rejection than praise and glory. Many people have claimed to want to pursue writing because their friends and family have fed them encouragement. However, when they step out into slightly more hostile territory, and are asked to abandon the ego for a bit to do some hard work on their writing skills, they may suddenly find that writing isn’t so fun after all, and that they are not in fact prepared to travel that route.

Again, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Understanding and exploring your real motivations is always a smart thing to do. If you eventually learn that you’d rather write for friends and family or a small niche of people, there’s nothing wrong with that. What doesn’t make sense is signing yourself up for the sometimes grueling work it takes to improve as a writer if it doesn’t actually tie in with your deeper motivation.