Oh criticism. Can't live with it and can't live without it. I'm convinced that my natural state of - say no until it's proven you need to say yes - has led me to be the world's worst pessimist and a hardened critic. My mother spent her life criticising me in an attempt to make me better - a better swimmer, reader, piano player etc etc. The only lasting result has been to make me hyper - critical of myself and others. Somehow every job I ever had - apart from the selling of cyanide, involved me picking fault with others. I inspected businesses and then moved on to inspecting schools and wrote reports listing their faults - oh and the good bits too. So I'm used to giving criticism. I critique others work as honestly as I can and they critique mine. So I'm used to receiving criticism too.
Now I'm out in the wide world and strangers are offering opinions on my stories. I hear the cries - All subjective. One person's POV etc etc. I never read them - many proclaim. I couldn't not read a review of one of my books. The very typing of those words still sends a shiver of delight down my spine. I'm lucky. I finally heard yes from a publisher. Not in the sphere I wanted but it was still a yes. Now I live with the consequences. My babies have faults and it's my fault they do. I wanted them to be perfect and they're not. I still love them. But I'm going to keep trying to be a better and better writer and maybe one day I'll please everyone.
Ohh - a flying pig!!!!