Criticism can be hard to hear, especially from friends. When I was a teenager, any criticism, no matter how well meant, would be greeted with a sulky silence from yours truly. Of course, my knowledge of good fiction writing had only really begun, so this attitude was both laughable and childish. I should’ve been eager to learn, not closed off. But in many ways. I was still a child, so at least I had an excuse back then for reacting so mulishly.
However, years later, long after I’d given up writing after four or five (very bad, although I was only 17) attempts to write a novel, I returned to writing via fanfiction. My stories were short, fun, and silly. It was my attempt at a darker, more serious piece that got got torn to shreds that stopped me dead. I just stared dumbly at the words on the screen, before blocking said critic, furious and, strangely, humiliated.
But something about what that person had said kept bouncing around my head. During one of those nights when insomnia struck, I realised, reluctantly, that some of what she had said was accurate. It had been a bad piece. And the more I considered her words, the more I found myself agreeing with her about it. She may have expressed them bluntly, but she had put forth genuinely helpful feedback. And I had just disregarded it and sulked.
I don’t know where that person is these days, but I owe you an apology and my thanks. The latter especially is long overdue.
Thank you.
Bloody Roses 