O wow O wow O wow O wow
A writer friend on Facebook asked a pointed question: how do you deal with rejection? How do you deal with ‘no’s from people who do not believe in your work? How to handle the thorns of professional jealousy? The idea that people out there just do not like your contribution to the world and are not shy in saying so?
Ow.
Her question jolted me because I have been wrestling with this issue for the past two weeks, and not the sexy kind of wrestling with bulging muscles and oil, but the kind where you’re suddenly pinned hard and something in your shoulder pops and with pained surprise you realize, ‘I didn’t know I could hurt there.’
I had been warned aplenty, and even accepted, that this very day would come: a bad review in a very public space.
Last week it happened.
King Perry has enjoyed dozens of gorgeous, articulate, gushing reviews on various websites. Safe to say I have been officially dazzled and left speechless. But I finally racked up a 2 star review on amazon.com and it just fucking hurt. The reviewer didn’t like narrator, Vin, and hated the approach of the entire book. He or she gets to do that. I can’t say the reviewer was unfair or even particularly unkind…that person just really could not stand the book.
Ow.
Then, someone else chimed in and agreed.
Ow. Ow.
When I wrote a few paragraphs ago that I had accepted “this day would come,” I guess my acceptance included the mental picture that when this day arrived, I would read the offending review scanning the New York Times and eating grapefruit wedges with a tiny fork. My newly-hired editor/Italian massage therapist would offer a foot massage to help me deal with this bitter anguish, and I would accept his offer, saying, “Some people just don’t get it.”
Never mind the fact that I do not read the New York Times and I don’t own those tiny grapefruit forks.
But the biggest problem is that these people who didn’t like the book are not insensitive assholes. Nope. They just didn’t like it.
I considered writing replies to the review, snarky one-liners or heartfelt passages explaining my perspective. Every writer who warned me of this day’s arrival had also warned me in the verbal equivalent of all caps: DON’T DO THAT. Do not write a reply. Do not get sucked in.
Yes, but now that the day was here and it hurt, I really, really wanted to write a response.
The problem with hurt is that there’s nowhere for it to go. You’re stuck with it. Anger feels like action. Sadness, well, I have a plan: cry, eat, or do laundry. But hurt…hurt just sits there like a hot coal and you watch the sizzling, inert, orange glow. As my Facebook friend asked, “Any tips for maintaining hope and self-belief when faced with The Great Wall of No and keeping the Wolf of Professional Envy from the door?”
Turns out, I have a few ideas.
1. Have a best friend named Ann.
I immediately called my Ann. Together, we explored my hurt and this was key: we made it about me. Instead of ranting about the review or the exact words in the review or how X was unfair and they should never had said Y, etc., she helped me gently uncover the hurt behind the hurt, the thing that made this a glowing hot coal instead of just a lump of coal. How had the review slapped my ego? How did I let this review define me as a person?
You may not have an Ann (and I would prefer you not steal mine). But find the friend who will do more than say, “Oh, poor baby,” and invite that friend to ask you the tough questions: what ugly parts of yourself does this touch? How are you refusing empathy and kindness to this situation? What is it about you and your expectations about the world that made this feel like an arrow to the heart?
I know from personal experience that the answers are often unflattering.
2. Get all Pollyannaish.
We tend to treat optimism and positivity as if it’s naivete, like we must shed ridiculous silver linings before someone else points out we should be miserable.
After she read the review, Ann emailed me and her subject line boldly proclaimed, “HOW WONDERFUL!” She gleefully explained how people were debating the book in a very public forum, so fully engaged with the characters that they developed a powerful dislike. She noted that the review didn’t say, “Badly written,” or “Untalented hack,” but rather focused 100% on who-the-hell-does-this-character-think-he-is?
She asked pointedly if this wasn’t exactly what I wanted in constructing a character, someone memorable enough to rant about, to love, to think about a week later? Yes, yes it was. Wasn’t this review, in fact, exactly what I wanted as a writer?
Sigh…yes.
It’s hard to love rejection.
I do not love flare ups of jealous for professional colleagues. And yet is this not part of the whole wonderful/shitty package of daring to boldly step into the circus tent marked ‘For Writers Only?’ It hurts, yes, and generally I am a fan of avoiding hurt.
But hey! After 20 years of writing in secret, I finally stepped into the big tent marked For Writers Only! Instead of bemoaning a few detractors, I have decided to find someone nearby to hug and whisper, “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m finally here.”
3. Let the universe laugh at you.
As I began to feel actual gratitude for the pokes to my ego and what it revealed, I wrote an email to another friend trying to articulate this odd journey from pain to general hurt to acceptance to thankfulness. To better describe my initial reaction using as much drama as possible, I typed: ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow.
But as my fingers flew across the keyboard, auto-correct kept changing what I typed to: O wow O wow O wow O wow.
I love it.
O wow!
Most of the people I love like transforming themselves into better people. We try. Some days we’re successful and some days we’re not. I’ve heard these transformation challenges described as FGOs: Fucking Growth Opportunities. Once we’ve reached the far side of a miserable life challenge and are finally gaining some perspective, we laugh (well, mutter/chuckle) about how the universe just handed us another crap-tastic FGO.
Nobody particularly wants the growth opportunity life presents. I wanted this challenge, not that one; that one is ugly. In the novel I published, Perry doesn’t like his FGO. Vin certainly doesn’t like his. And some days I don’t care for mine much either.
But the Sparkling Spirit that laughs through all of us says, “Hey. I just gave you an opportunity to say ‘O wow.’ Will you take it?”
Today, I say ‘O wow.’
I still don’t like that it’s not possible to prepare yourself for those shallow, stabby hurts. I don’t like that at all. I am still unprepared for the next one and maybe there is no way to prepare, just take a deep breathe and realize that doing what you love also offers pain.
Still, in anticipation of the next FGO, I think I had better go shopping for grapefruit forks.
April 20th, 2012 at 9:41 am
Brilliant! Just brilliant!
April 20th, 2012 at 2:12 pm
Hehehe. I growl, gnash my teeth, and shake my gnarled fists. Then I go and read one of the good reviews. :P
Btw, I love this turtle-shaped lamp.
April 20th, 2012 at 2:14 pm
So glad you enjoyed it, Vanessa. Thank you for visiting.
April 20th, 2012 at 2:17 pm
thanks, Lou! I love that you have gnarled fists that you shake. I may have to borrow those.
The lamp is cool, ain’t it? All the images on this website are things in my home.
April 20th, 2012 at 2:22 pm
I know. FGO’s seldom come in our first choice of form. Seems unfair, but there it is. Congratulations on how you’ve handled yours!
More importantly, I suggest you never ask your editor (even if he is Italian) to massage your feet. Not a good plan.
Instead of investing in small silver grapefruit forks, hire a raven-haired Italian masseur (or two) to do the job properly. You’ll feel better in no time.
April 20th, 2012 at 2:31 pm
Don’t read reveiews. That’s all I got.
Except of course sometimes I do it… For my last bad review I emailed my editor and made her tell me why it was a good book, and how great a writer I am, and etc., etc., Very handy.
April 20th, 2012 at 10:25 pm
I am delighted to share the ugly bits with you, Babycakes! Thank you so much for including me in this. You KNOW how much this goes both ways!
And, um, not to be indelicate, but I am wondering if the Italian masseur is included in the “best friend” perks package? I have feet, too, and a bruised ego most days, and I’m sure I could scare up a bad review, if necessary. Just curious…
April 20th, 2012 at 10:26 pm
I do have a very small fork that I could contribute.
April 20th, 2012 at 10:47 pm
LLoyd – thanks for the foot massage advice. I will bow to your experience on this one.
Ann – wow…not read the reviews, huh? I may have to consider that. But I’ve made a few new friends that way, so I dunno if I could. But I will totally think about it.
Ann – no. N.O. I know we’re friends and all, but there are limits on this friendship, so leave my editor alone. When he works my feet and he says, “They’re so adorable,” I will able to trust that he’s spelling the words right in his head instead of wondering ‘did they know which version of their/they’re/there they just used. I refuse to share that with anyone.
And yes, I would like that small fork. Thank you.
April 20th, 2012 at 11:07 pm
While I am not a novel writer, I do a lot of academic writing which gets to go through the peer review cycle, and because it’s anonymized, sometimes the things that are said can be really hurtful.
However, after doing this for *cough*7*cough* years, I’ve found that practice actually helps, even for this. Bad reviews don’t particularly bother me on a personal level; I read the review, think about how to improve my paper (and sometimes I just flat out disagree with the reviewer and don’t follow their advice) but it’s no longer that gut punch.
Not particularly helpful to you now, but I guess I just want to impart that it does get easier.
April 20th, 2012 at 11:09 pm
Er, and it should be said, the first time one of my papers got rejected, I had a [not-so] little cry. It sucked a whole hell of a lot.
*HUG*
April 21st, 2012 at 5:14 am
Great counsel from Ann, as always. Love the Vin-ning she did getting you to look at how it was about you and not the reviewer. Especially liked how she noted that this was exactly the kind of negative review one would want. That is, being less than charmed by the personality of the narrator and his behaviors, not the writing itself. I’m reminded how on, er, “those weekends” it is quite common for men to have a “who the hell do these people think they are pulling off a stunt like this?” They’re sense of order and propriety are shaken and they are forced to make room for this technique and see its value or reject it due to its flouting a perceived set of rules. So, yeah, great work Ann. And you, too, Edmond, for considering it. (Keep an eye on that masseur, however; she’s not THAT trustworthy.)
I’d like to point out that any review that is wholly 4 and 5 stars makes some people (OK, me) suspicious. I wonder things like, “Are these all posts by hired guns?” or “How many different usernames and accounts does this guy have to review his own book this many times?” Really? Everyone thought EVERYthing was wonderful? I distrust that. The dim 2 star review in the midst of all those bright and glorious 4- and 5-star constellations is a contrast that makes the whole galaxy that much more beautiful and believable.
May 16th, 2012 at 5:16 pm
I feel for you.
Apart from all the good hedonistic and practical suggestions, here’s what I console myself with.
They don’t like the characters: this can be because of three things.
1. The reviewer has a very narrow preconception of who books should be written about. Just “nice/lovable” boys and girls. K.A.Mitchell is doing a series about bad boys. Neither of them may be people the reader wants to bring home and meet Mommy, but to me they still deserve to learn a few lessons and find their own happiness and I’m happy to read about that. Others can’t divorce themselves enough from the character they’re reading to do that.
2. The reviewer is either a writer or a frustrated would-be writer who would have handled things differently. No getting around that one.
3. Somewhere along the way you didn’t do enough to make the reader care about the character. Unless you’re writing “good” literature, even anti-heroes need to have “Save the Cat” moments. (Look up Blake Snyder for more info on that front)
I recently got a two star review which ended up saying it would be a great prequel to a TV series but lammented certain aspects that weren’t fleshed out enough. She gave the answer in her own review, the story isn’t over yet and I was keeping some secrets for reveal later.
Part of the problem is that the reviewer doesn’t “trust” the writer enough to realise that some aspects of plot and character may be deliberate.
I’ve had some pretty heavy criticism from beta readers too. “This section is bloated and weak” and one script analysis of something I thought was great came back with pages of negativity. I must admit getting that feedback at critiquing stage is preferable than from a reviewer. Then I could decide whether I wanted to act. Sometimes, I pushed it further along the path I was going in rather than took their suggestion. The main thing their response told me was that it obviously needed work.
Once a book is published, it’s still worth looking at what they say and seeing if there is a lesson to be carried forward for your next book.
However, having said all that. Being still a newbie, one bad review from a stranger can overcome ten good ones. (Especially if the good ones are from friends) so I feel your pain.
Sorry for commenting so much. Keep writing!
A.B.
May 19th, 2012 at 4:32 pm
These are fantastic suggestions and lessons learned. How delightful of you to take the time to write this reply. Thanks.