Let’s be honest. I believe most of these people. Most of them, not all.
Let’s be honest. I’ve been writing for more than half a century (sounds more impressive than saying more than fifty years, either that or more arrogant). During that time I’ve belonged to many critique groups. I’ve never reaped rewards beyond the cookies and the coffee, and of late I’m diagnosed as diabetic, so the cookies have taken a certain toll.
Let’s be honest. Most of the critiques I’ve received have been well-intended, and all of them have led me to believe what I’ve known all along, that what I write is not publishable; it never was and it never will be. Not because I cannot understand what the fickle market wants, but because I don’t own the talent to compose a marketable story. I’m a word user, a verbal abuser, not an author in the making.
Let’s be honest. My latest experience with a critique group left me frustrated, saddened, defeated and blocked.
Let’s be honest. At the least the authorial creature wants to scream, “You didn’t listen!” Exclamation point included. But he cannot say anything. That would be breaking the rule. And let’s remember, it’s a good rule.
Let’s be honest. Again about that arrogant inner-creature; and yes, I mean to say that each and every one of you who claims to be a writer owns such a monster, so don’t bullshit me. What’s that high-falutin fruitcake do when he realizes that for all his feelings of frustration, these folks are right about his work? His work is not publishable, and he’s no kid sporting gray hair and sagging testicles just for the fun of it. What does he do? He stops writing for a while, a long while. When next he picks up his pen, he writes without publication in mind. And then he writes at infrequent intervals. Pardon the adverb, but at very infrequent intervals. As in, almost not at all.
Let’s be honest. As if you didn’t already know this, I am that creature. I’m today forcing myself to write this. As well, I’m forcing myself to post this on my blog (and god, I despise the word “blog”), because I realize that someone I know will likely read this, and so I’ll pay the price. But honesty is worth the price.
Let’s be honest. I could backtrack just a bit, back pedal, shuffle like a sad vaudevillian. After all, I’m not you, and you are perhaps a member of the majority of writers who find great value in participating in a face-to-face critique group. Matter of fact, I hope you are indeed a member of that fortunate majority.
But . . .
Let’s be honest. I am not.